"Come with me--you--if you want to see the chief. I'll take you to him.
The rest of you can wait where you are."

CHAPTER IV.

THE OUTLAW'S HOME.

A dead silence reigned around that camp fire for several moments after
the two departed; but then the seven strangers who were left seated
themselves in various attitudes, filled their pipes--or lit the stubs of
half-smoked cigars, produced from their pockets; and after that, little
by little, conversation was indulged in.

The night was warm and balmy. There was no reason why any of them should
seek other shelter than the boughs of the trees which already covered
them; but Nick knew from the manner in which Handsome had left them that
he expected to return, and that there was some other place near by to
which he intended to take them--if the chief should say the word. And he
saw now that Patsy, by rare forethought, had prepared for that very
emergency.

More than an hour had passed before Handsome made his appearance again;
and then he loomed suddenly beside the camp fire, as silently and as
stealthily as an Indian. Even Nick Carter, who was on the alert for his
approach, did not hear him coming.

"I'll take you now!" he said briefly to Nick. "The others can wait."

Without a word more he turned away again, and Nick, leaping to his feet,
followed him in silence through the darkness.

The night was almost black in there among the trees, although the moon
was shining above them; but nevertheless Nick had no difficulty in
following his guide.

They made directly for the railway tracks, and crossed the fence that
intervened; but when they reached the top of the grade, Nick's guide
halted and faced him.

"You said you are Dago John," he said slowly. "Who might Dago John be,
pard?"

"They call me Dago John because I look like an Italian, I suppose,
although I am not one," replied the detective. "But I try to carry out
the idea. If you have worked your way through the South at all, maybe
you've heard of Sheeny John. It will do as well as Dago John. A name
doesn't make much difference."

"It makes a sight of difference here, my friend. What's your lay?"

"Anything that I can turn my hand to--or my brains."

"You have an education?"

"Yes."

"Can you write a good hand?"

"It's my one fault that I can--too good a one."

"Have you looked through the screens?" (Been in prison.)

"Never yet--to stay there. What do you want to know all this for?"

"I'v