"Dago John, he calls himself," was the reply.
"The man you spoke of?"
"Yes."
"Who is so strong that he could throw you over the fire into the bushes, and who did not harm you when he might have done so, after you had struck at him with your fist?"
"The same."
She turned her attention to Nick then.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"Just what you see, missus; no more and no less," replied Nick, speaking boldly, for he deemed that to be the surest way to her favor.
"I see very little; nothing whatever that betokens the strength you are said to possess."
"You can't always tell what's inside of a crib before you crack it," was the reply; and the woman smiled.
"Where do you come from?" she asked.
"I ain't giving out my past history, lady, if it's all the same to you," said Nick coolly; and she frowned. Evidently she did not like this answer.
"What errand brought you to this part of the country, and finally induced you to make your camp in the woods out there?" she asked, smiling again.
"I suppose you want the plain truth, lady?"
"Yes," she replied, in an easy tone; "that is, if you put any value on your life."
"Well, the truth is this: I have heard, here and there, a good deal about a certain person who is known as Hobo Harry, the Beggar King. I have heard that he has gathered around him a lot of my kind, and I reckoned that maybe he'd give me a show to be one of them. That's what I came here for, and that's why I camped out there in the woods."
"And who are the three men who came with you?"
"Nobody came with me. I came alone."
"There were three other men there when Handsome found you? No?"
"Yes."
"Who are they?"
"Handsome can tell you that as well, or better, than I. He did the questioning."
"Why do you want to join the forces of Hobo Harry?"
"Because I'm tired of going it alone, and because I have heard that he takes good care of his followers."
"What can you do?"
"I can do anything that I am told to, once I have acknowledged a chief."
"That is a good answer. It covers a good deal of ground. Now, who told you about Hobo Harry?"
"I have heard about him in a good many places."
"Who told you where to find him?"
"A gun friend of mine, who croaked down in Indianapolis, a month ago or more. Jimmy the Sly he was called." (It was true that there had been a Jimmy the Sly, who was one of the many of the band who had been arrested and imprisoned; and after his release he had gone to Indianapolis, and died there, in a hospital. Nick knew this from his interview with the railroad president, and therefore he was not afraid to make use of the name.)
"So you knew Jimmy the Sly, did you?"
"Yes."
"Describe him to me."
"He was tall and slender, with a pock-marked face, and the longest fingers I ever saw; and he had a wart on the side of his nose, and a – "
"That will do. That is sufficient. How comes it that Jimmy never mentioned you to me?"
"You'll have to ask Jimmy that, I reckon – and you might burn yourself if you undertook to do it. I reckon it's hot where Jimmy is, madam."
She smiled at this. Nick could see that he was making a good impression upon her. He was still wondering if she were indeed the chief, or if she were only his representative. It was certain that he had had no expectation of finding a woman in this place.
"And what do you wish me to do with you, now that you are here?"
"I reckon that I'll have to leave that to you. I didn't come with my eyes shut. I guessed pretty well what I was up against. But I came here to be made one of you, and I hope you will give me a chance."
"What do you know of Hobo Harry?"
"Nothing."
"What do you think he is?"
"The head gazabo of this bunch."
"What do you suppose he is like?"
"Just at present writing, madam, he looks to me very much like a beautiful woman who has the grace of a siren and the courage of a lion."
"You should be a Frenchman instead of an Italian."
"I am neither one nor the other. I'm just a – a yeggman."
"You were about to say something else."
"I was going to say – a crook."
"You have not been a yeggman always, have you?"