Demorest briefly explained that he had walked by the old road and probably missed him.  But by this time the waiters, crushed by the spectacle of this travel-worn stranger’s affectionate reception by the great financial magnate, were wildly applying their brushes and handkerchiefs to his trousers and boots until Stacy again swept them away.

“Get off, all of you!  Now, Phil, you come with me.  The house is full, but I’ve made the manager give you a lady’s drawing-room suite.  When you telegraphed you’d meet us here there was no chance to get anything else.  It’s really Mrs. Van Loo’s family suite; but they were sent for to go to Marysville yesterday, and so we’ll run you in for the night.”

“But”—­protested Demorest.

“Nonsense!” said Stacy, dragging him away.  “We’ll pay for it; and I reckon the old lady won’t object to taking her share of the damage either, or she isn’t Van Loo’s mother.  Come.”

Demorest felt himself hurried forward by the energetic Stacy, preceded by the obsequious manager, through a corridor to a handsomely furnished suite, into whose bathroom Stacy incontinently thrust him.

“There!  Wash up; and by the time you’re ready Barker ought to be back, and we’ll have supper.  It’s waiting for us in the other room.”

“But how about Barker, the dear boy?” persisted Demorest, holding open the door.  “Tell me, is he well and happy?”

“About as well as we all are,” said Stacy quickly, yet with a certain dry significance.  “Never mind now; wait until you see him.”

The door closed.  When Demorest had finished washing, and wiped away the last red stain of the mountain road, he found Stacy seated by the window of the larger sitting-room.  In the centre a table was spread for supper.  A bright fire of hickory logs burnt on a marble hearth between two large windows that gave upon the distant outline of Black Spur.  As Stacy turned towards him, by the light of the shaded lamp and flickering fire, Demorest had a good look at the face of his old friend and partner.  It was as keen and energetic as ever, with perhaps an even more hawk-like activity visible in the eye and nostril; but it was more thoughtful and reticent in the lines of the mouth under the closely clipped beard and mustache, and when he looked up, at first there were two deep lines or furrows across his low broad forehead.  Demorest fancied, too, that there was a little of the old fighting look in his eye, but it softened quickly as his friend approached, and he burst out with his curt but honest single-syllabled laugh.  “Ha!  You look a little less like a roving Apache than you did when you came.  I really thought the waiters were going to chuck you.  And you are tanned!  Darned if you don’t look like the profile stamped on a Continental penny!  But here’s luck and a welcome back, old man!”

Demorest passed his arm around the neck of his seated partner, and grasping his upraised hand said, looking down with a smile, “And now about Barker.”