"Who are you?" he demanded, "and where are you from?"
"I'm the 'Chicken'; they know me around Chicago, if they don't here. Maybe you've heard of me; but it don't make any difference whether you have or not. I'm the Chicken, all right; and it's Chick for short." Chick did not so much as move an eyelash while he made this retort; but his questioner was plainly affected.
"The Chicken!" he exclaimed. "The Chicken is dead. We got it straight. Shot by——"
"Shot by a cop, eh? That's the story, and it goes, all right. Only it happens that it wasn't the Chicken as was shot; cause why? The Chicken is here."
"Who was it, then?"
"It was a pal of mine. A likely gun he was, too. I jest changed hats with him when he slid under. The rest of the clothes didn't make no difference. They thought he was the Chicken—and it didn't hurt him any to have 'em think so, while it helped me a lot."
"All right, Chicken," said Handsome, extending his hand a second time. "I know about you. You're all right. Who are these other two?"
"Search me, Handsome. I reckon we're all strangers."
Handsome turned to Ten-Ichi.
"What's your handle, covey?" he growled.