er."

"What is that?"

"Well, you might find occasion to want to hide yourself away while you
are in there."

"That is more than likely, Bill."

"Well, just arter you pass through the hole that is under the Dog's
Nose, and about twenty rods from there, you'll find a place where there
is a bowlder sort of set into the rocks. You won't notice it unless you
look for it, but it is there. Under it you'll find a small stone wedged
fast. If you pull out that small stone, and then push on the big rock,
it'll swing around like it was on a pivot, and you kin step inside the
hole it leaves, and close up the door after you. You'll find an
interestin' place in there, too, if you ever have occasion to use it,
mister; and nobody will find you there, either."

CHAPTER XIII.

BLACK MADGE'S LIEUTENANT.

The detective passed the remainder of that day, and much of the night,
in old Bill Turner's company, and during that time they talked
incessantly about the mountains to which Nick was going, about the
caverns in those mountains, and the trails through them; and when the
conversation was finished Nick felt that he could find his way without
difficulty wherever he cared to go among them.

When he saw that the old man was tired out, he sent him to bed, and
himself dropped upon a couch in Turner's living room, where he slept
like a top till morning.

Soon after dawn they were both astir; and after they had eaten some
breakfast, and Turner had made his usual pilgrimage to the post office,
they began again upon the plans and went over them for the last time.

And then came the task of making the changes in their personal
appearance. This, to the layman, sounds like no easy task; but to Nick
Carter it was merely the practicing of an art of which he was thoroughly
a master.

He had brought with him the things necessary to accomplish the changes;
and when the old man returned from the village he set to work--first
upon himself--for he knew that he must make his own disguise letter
perfect if he hoped to deceive such a man as Handsome.

He first made up his face, not with paints, but with stains that would
not wash off, to represent the leathery, weather-beaten countenance of
the old man; and here he was, perhaps, fortunate in the fact that the
profusion of white whiskers worn by the old man rendered his face the
easier to copy, and in reality concealed much of it from view.

Then he adjusted the beard.

But not as false