He was evidently equally unprepared for the three silent seated figures before the door, and for a moment looked at them blankly with the doubts of a frequently deceived perception.  Was he sure that they were quite real?  He had not dared to look at his companion for verification, but smiled vaguely.

“Good-evening,” said Demorest pleasantly.

Whiskey Dick’s face brightened.  “Good-evenin’, good-evenin’ yourselves, boys—­and see how you like it!  Lemme interdrush my ole frien’ William J. Steptoe, of Red Gulch.  Stepsho—­Steptoe—­is shtay—­ish stay—­” He stopped, hiccupped, waved his hand gravely, and with an air of reproachful dignity concluded, “sojourning for the present on the Bar.  We wish to offer our congrashulashen and felish—­felish—­” He paused again, and, leaning against the door-post, added severely, “—­itations.”

His companion, however, laughed coarsely, and, pushing past Dick, entered the cabin.  He was a short, powerful man, with a closely cropped crust of beard and hair that seemed to adhere to his round head like moss or lichen.  He cast a glance—­furtive rather than curious around the cabin, and said, with a familiarity that had not even good humor to excuse it, “So you’re the gay galoots who’ve made the big strike?  Thought I’d meander up the Hill with this old bloat Alky, and drop in to see the show.  And here you are, feeling your oats, eh? and not caring any particular G-d d—­n if school keeps or not.”

“Show Mr. Steptoe—­the whiskey,” said Demorest to Stacy.  Then quietly addressing Dick, but ignoring Steptoe as completely as Steptoe had ignored his unfortunate companion, he said, “You quite startled us at first.  We did not see you come up the trail.”

“No.  We came up the back trail to please Steptoe, who wanted to see round the cabin,” said Dick, glancing nervously yet with a forced indifference towards the whiskey which Stacy was offering to the stranger.

“What yer gettin’ off there?” said Steptoe, facing Dick almost brutally.  “You know your tangled legs wouldn’t take you straight up the trail, and you had to make a circumbendibus.  Gosh! if you hadn’t scented this licker at the top you’d have never found it.”

“No matter!  I’m glad you did find it, Dick,” said Demorest, “and I hope you’ll find the liquor good enough to pay you for the trouble.”

Barker stared at Demorest.  This extraordinary tolerance of the drunkard was something new in his partner.  But at a glance from Demorest he led Dick to the demijohn and tin cup which stood on a table in the corner.  And in another moment Dick had forgotten his companion’s rudeness.

Demorest remained by the door, looking out into the darkness.