"Drop it!" Nick ordered sharply. "I didn't hurt you, when I might have done so easily. Are you satisfied?"
The anger of the man seemed to pass as quickly as it had arisen, and he grinned as he slowly resumed his former position beside the fire.
It was quite true that he was not hurt; it was equally true that he knew that this stranger might have hurt him severely had he chosen to do so, and have been entirely excusable for doing it too.
"All right, pard, you pass," he said. "What's your handle?"
"I'm called Dago John by them as know me. What's yours?"
"Hand—— The guns call me Handsome, by way of shortening it. Shake?"
"Yes," said Nick; and they clasped hands for an instant. Then Handsome added:
"Who might these gazaboes be?"
"Search me, Handsome," growled Nick, resuming his seat, and beginning to refill his pipe. "If they ain't a part of your outfit, they sure ain't a part of mine."
Handsome wheeled upon Chick then.