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A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brotherswill attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of theseadventures of two lads of high ideals, who play fair with themselves,as well as with the rest of the world.

These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches ofsports and athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone,and cannot fail to be of immense benefit to every boy who readsthem.

They have the splendid quality of firing a boy’s ambition tobecome a good athlete, in order that he may develop into astrong, vigorous right-thinking man.

On the way East with his athletic team Frank Merriwellaccepted the invitation made by Hugh Mortonto stop off at Omaha and visit the Midwestern AthleticAssociation.

Morton, a young man of twenty-five, was presidentof the Midwestern. He and Merriwell, the formerYale athlete, had met and become acquainted by chancein Los Angeles some weeks before, and there seemed toexist between them a sort of fellow feeling that causedthem to take unusual interest in each other.

Merry and his friends were invited by Morton towitness the finals in a series of athletic events whichwere being conducted by the club. These contestsconsisted mainly of boxing and wrestling, althoughfencing, which was held in high esteem by the association,was one of the features.

In explanation of the rather surprising fact thatfencing was thus highly regarded by an athletic associationof the middle West, it is necessary to state thata very active member of the club was M. FrançoisL’Estrange, the famous French fencer and duelist,whose final encounter in his own country had resultedin the death of his opponent, a gentleman of noblebirth, and had compelled L’Estrange to flee from hisnative land, never to return.

As fencing instructor of the Midwestern A. A.,L’Estrange soon succeeded in arousing great interestin the graceful accomplishment, and he quickly developeda number of surprisingly clever pupils. Inthis manner fencing came to be held in high esteem bythe organization and was a feature of nearly all indoorcontests.

At first Omaha did not appeal to Frank; but hequickly found the people of the city were frank, unreserved,genial, and friendly, and after all, a personlearns to like a place mainly through the character ofits inhabitants.

At the rooms of the Midwestern, Merry and hiscomrades met a fine lot of young men, nearly all ofwhom made an effort to entertain the boys. The visitorswere quickly convinced that they were welcomeat the club and that they could make themselves athome there without offending any conservative andhidebound old fogies. Although the Midwesternwas cautious and discreet in regard to admitting members,and it was necessary for visitors to obtain admittancein the proper manner, once inside its portals aperson immediately sensed an air of liberty that wasmost agreeable.

“The forming of cliques in this club has beenfrowned down,” Hugh Morton explained. “I havevisited clubs of similar standing in the East and foundthem full of cliques and restless with petty jealousiesand personal dislikes. We hope to suppress such thingshere, although I regret to say that of late the club hasseemed to be gradually dividing into two parties. Thusfar everything has been good-natured and unruffled;but I fear that I see a pernicious undercurrent. I maybe wrong; I hope I am.”

The morning after Merry’s arrival in the city theBee noted the fact, giving him half a column andspeaking of him as “that wonderful young Americanathlete who had maintained and added to his reputationsince leaving college, yet who had persistently abstainedfrom professionalism.” A list of his contestsand victories during his Western tour was also given.

At ten o’clock that forenoon Frank and Bart Hodgemet Hugh Morton by appointment in the receptionroom of the Midwestern. Morton rose and advancedto meet them, smiling a welcome.

“Look here,” said Frank, when they had shakenhands, “I don’t feel just right about this.”

“About what?” questioned the Omaha man.

“Taking you from your business this way. When Iaccepted your invitation to stop off here, I didn’t expectyou to waste your time on us. Business is business,and——”

“Don’t you worry. My business is fixed so it willnot suffer if I leave it. I’m delighted with this opportunity.Yesterday I gave you a look at the stockyardsand the city. To-day, you told me, you wantedto take things easy and just loaf around. I’m morethan willing to loaf with you. And my business willgo on just the same.”

“All right,” smiled Frank. “You know your ownaffairs, and we’re glad to have you with us. Bartand I were talking about fencing on our way here.We’ve been wondering how much we have deterioratedin the art since quitting active practice. It has surprisedus—and stirred us up somewhat—to find thesport features in this club. Bart has challenged meto give him a go at it. If we can have a set of foilsand——”

“Just follow me,” invited Morton. “I’ll fix youout.”

As they were about to leave the room a tall, slender,dark man of thirty-six or thirty-seven entered. ImmediatelyMorton paused, saying:

“Mr. Merriwell and Mr. Hodge, I am sure you willappreciate the honor of meeting our fencing instructor,Monsieur L’Estrange. Monsieur L’Estrange, this isFrank Merriwell, the most famous American amateurathlete of the present day.”

The Frenchman accepted Frank’s proffered hand.He was as graceful in his movements as a junglepanther. About him there was an air of consciousstrength and superiority, and instantly he struck Frankas a person who could not do an awkward thing or fallinto an ungainly pose. His training was such, thatgrace and ease had become a part of his nature—notsecond nature, but nature itself.

“Monsieur Merriwell,” he breathed softly, “it givesme ze very great pleasure to meet wiz you, sare. Ihave meet very many of your famous American athletes.Eet is ze grand passion in this country. Eet isgood in some ways, but eet nevare make ze feenishedgentleman—nevare.”

“I agree with you on that point, monsieur,” confessedFrank; “but it fits a man for the struggle oflife—it prepares him to combat with the world, andyou know the success and survival of the fittest wasnever more in evidence, as the thing of vital importance,than at the present time.”

The eyes of the Frenchman glistened.

“Very true, sare; but mere brute strength can nevaremake any man ze fittest—nevare. You theenk so?You are wrong—pardone me eef I speak ze truthplainly.”

“But I do not think so, monsieur. It takes a combinationof strength and brains to make a well-balancedman.”

“And skeel—do not forget skeel. Eet is ze most importantof all, sare.”

“Brains give ability, strength gives power to exercisethat ability.”

“And skeel defeats ze man with strength and brains.Oh, eet does! Ze man with too much strength, with zebeeg muscles; he ees handicap against ze man withjust ze propare development and no more. His beegmuscles tie him, make him awkward.”

“Again I am compelled to agree with you,” smiledFrank; “and I confess that I consider fencing the mostperfect method of developing ease, grace, quicknessand skill—attributes essential to any man who desiresto reach the highest pinnacle of development.”

“You have ze unusual wisdom on zat point, sare,”acknowledged L’Estrange. “Eet is strange, for seldomhave I met ze great athlete who did not theenkhimself superior to ze expert fencer. Eet is plain youknow your weakness, sare.”

Bart Hodge opened his lips to say something, butMerry checked him with a quick look.

“I have fenced a little, monsieur,” explained Frank—“enoughto get an idea of its value and importance.”

“Zat ees goode. You take eet up at school—at college?”

“Yes, first at Fardale, and later I followed it up atYale.”

“Ah! but you could not have ze propare instruction—no!no! Ze American instructor he seldom knowvery much about eet. He ees crude; but he have ze—ze—whatyou call eet? Ze swell head. He theenk heknows eet all.Oui!”

“That is a fact in many instances,” acknowledgedMerriwell.

At this point Morton whispered in Bart Hodge’sear:

“L’Estrange is started and he will bore Merriwellwith talk about fencing, unless we find a way to interruptit and break away. We must be careful not tooffend him.”

There was a strange, half-hidden smile on Bart’slips as he turned to their host.

“Let the man talk,” he said, in a low tone. “Beforehe is through Merry will give him the call. Youmay not believe it, but I doubt if the Frenchman cantell Frank anything new about fencing.”

“Oh, L’Estrange is a graduate of Joinville-le-Pont,the great government school of France.”

Morton said this as if it settled a point, and Hodgeknew the man thought him presuming in fancyingFrank’s information on fencing was to be comparedwith that of the great French master of the art.

In the meantime, all his enthusiasm aroused,L’Estrange ardently continued:

“You speak of ze brain, sare. When you fence, zebrain ees prompted to act without a moment of zehesitation. To hesitate means to make ze failure. Zefencer must be readee with hees wit, skill, and action,like ze flash of lightning. So ze fencer fits himselffor ze struggle of life. He is full of ze resource, he isqueek to detec’ ze strength or ze weakness, of an argumentor situation, and he acts like electricity, sweeftand unerring. Zis make him a bettair business manzan other men.”

“Every word of this is true,” nodded Merry.

“In societee he is at perfect ease; in business he canstand ze great strain. His blood ees fresh, his tissuesare firm and he has ze grand enthusiasm.”

“And enthusiasm is absolutely necessary for a manto make the best of himself,” said Frank. “The manwho goes at any task with indifference is invitingfailure. No matter how well he may think he knowshis work, he must keep up his enthusiasm unless he iswilling to see that work deteriorate. Lack of enthusiasmcauses thousands to fail and fall by the waysideevery year.”

“True, true, sare. I see you have ze enthusiasm ofze boy steel with you. You have nevare met withanything to dull eet.”

“Not yet; and I hope I never may.”

“To keep eet you should fence, Monsieur Merriwell.Some time eet may safe your life.Oui! Oncesince I come to zis country I hear a noise in ze night.I rise and go to discovare ze matter. I find ze burglaire.He attack me wiz ze knife. He was beeg andstrong—ze brute! I see ze umbrellare in ze corner. Iseize eet. I keep ze burglaire off. I punish heem. Ithrust, hit him in ze face. I give eet to him hard.Soon he try to get away. He rush for ze door. Isprang between. I continue to administaire ze punishment.I make him drop ze knife. Ze noise havearoused ze rest of ze house. Ze police come. Zeburglaire ees marched to ze jail. Ha! If I had beenze athlete, like you, zen with hees knife ze burglairehe cut me to pieces—he keel me.”

“That was fine work,” agreed Frank.

“Not yet you are too old to acquire ze skeel. Youknow a leetale about eet now. That help you. Findze French master and keep at eet. Take no one butze French master. Ze Italian style is not so good.That has been proved many time. Ze Frenchman iscool and he stands on guard with ease. Ze Italian hewill move all ze time. He jump here, there, everywhere.He crouch, he stand straight, he dodge. Everyminute he seem ready to jump. He makes strangesounds in hees throat; but he is not dangerous as heseem. Did you ever hear of Jean Louis?”

“Yes; he was a famous French duelist.”

“Oui, oui! When ze French army invade Spain, in1814, Jean Louis keeled thirteen Italian fencing masters,one after ze other. Zat profe ze superiority of zeFrench method, sare. Ze Italian believe strength isneeded to make ze perfect fencer. That is wrong. InFrance manee persons of ze highest rank are wondairefullyskillful in ze art, yet they are not remarkablefor strength. Eet is ze light touch, ze grace, zeart, ze composure, ze ready wit that count.”

“How about duels at German colleges, like Leipzigand Heidelberg?”

“Oh, no, no, no! The German have a mixture ofze French and ze Italian method. Zey are fightaires,but zey count on ze strength, too. Years ago fencingwas ze study paramount at ze great German colleges;but too manee students they are killed at eet. Ze mostpeaceable never was he sure of his life for one day.Later ze method change, and now eet is to cut andscar ze face of ze adversary. Ze German never haveze grace of ze French.

“You stay here, Monsieur Merriwell—you see zefinals? Well, zen you see my greatest pupil, FredDarleton, defeat his opponent. Of Monsieur DarletonI am very proud.Oui! He is a wondaire. I beliefhe can defeat any American in ze country.”

Hodge made a protesting sound in his throat; butagain Frank shot Bart a glance of warning.

“I shall be delighted to witness the work of Mr.Darleton,” said Merry. “It has been some time sinceI have fenced, Monsieur L’Estrange, and I know Imust be very rusty at it; but you have reawakened myenthusiasm for the sport, and I feel like taking up thefoils again. If I were to remain in Omaha anylength of time, I would seek to become one of yourpupils.”

L’Estrange bowed with graciousness.

“Eet would give me pleasure to instruct you, sare,”he said. “Eet would give me delight to show you zereal superiority of ze duelist, ze fencer, over ze athlete.You watch ze work of Fred Darleton to-night. Eetwill delight you.”

As Morton led them away, he said:

“You got off easy, Merriwell. Once get L’Estrangearoused and he can talk a blue streak about fencingfor hours. He’s really a wizard with the foils, andthis fellow Darleton, of whom he spoke, is likewise awonder. Darleton is not popular with many membersin the club; but I believe that is because of his remarkableskill at cards.”

“He is a successful card player, is he?” questionedFrank.

“Altogether too successful. He makes his spendingmoney at the game.”

“What game.”

“Poker.”

“Do you permit gambling for stakes in this club?”

“It is permitted,” confessed Morton, flushingslightly. “Of course gambling is not open here. Wehave a private card room for those who wish to playfor stakes.”

Merry said nothing more, but he was thinkingthat the practice of gambling was a bad thing for anyorganization of that sort. It was not his place, however,to express such an opinion.

A short time later Merry and Bart were fitted outwith foils, masks, and plastrons, and they preparedfor a bout, both eager to discover if they retainedtheir old-time skill at the art.

That Frank retained all his old-time skill he soondemonstrated. Hodge was not in bad form, but Merrywas far and away his superior, and he toyed with Bart.

Morton looked on in some surprise.

“Why, say,” he cried, “both of you chaps know thegame all right! You could cut some ice at it.”

Bart smiled.

“I could have told you that Merry knew it,” he said.

“L’Estrange could make an expert of him,” declaredMorton.

“Perhaps he might surprise L’Estrange,” saidHodge.

“I think he would,” nodded the host, without detectingBart’s real meaning.

Frank and Bart went at it again. In the midst ofthe bout two young men sauntered up and paused,watching them with interest.

“Why,” said one, “they really know how to fence,Fred!”

“That’s right,” nodded the other. “They are notnovices.”

Morton quickly stepped to the side of the two.

“These are my guests, gentlemen,” he said.

“Oh,” said the taller and darker chap, “I understandyou have Merriwell and his friends in town. Iseither of these fellows——”

“Yes, that one there is Frank Merriwell.”

“Introduce me when they are through. I am interestedin him as an athlete, although I may not beas a fencer. Evidently he thinks himself pretty cleverat this trick, but his form is not correct, and he makesa number of false moves.”

Bart Hodge heard these words distinctly, and helowered his foil, turning to survey the speaker.

“You see, Darleton!” muttered Morton resentfully.“They have heard you!”

Darleton shrugged his shoulders.

To cover his confusion, Morton hastened to introduceDarleton and his companion, Grant Hardy, toFrank and Bart.

“Mr. Darleton,” said Merry, “glad to know you.I’ve just been hearing about you from your fencinginstructor.”

“Have you?” said Darleton, with a quite superiorair. “I’m afraid Monsieur L’Estrange has been boastingabout me, as usual. Just because I happened to beparticularly apt as a pupil, he is inclined to puff meon every occasion. I don’t fancy it, you know, but Ican’t seem to prevent it. People will begin to think mequite a wonder if he doesn’t stop overrating me.”

“But he doesn’t overrate you, my dear fellow,”quickly put in Grant Hardy. “I’ve seen you holdL’Estrange himself at something like even play, and heis a wizard.”

Hodge laughed a bit.

“Why do you laugh?” asked Hardy, with a flashof resentment. “Do you think——”

“I laughed over Mr. Darleton’s modesty,” saidHodge. “It is useless for him to seek to conceal thetruth from us in that manner. He is quite the wonderof this club.”

Hardy missed the sarcasm hidden in Bart’s wordsand his face cleared.

Darleton, however, was not so obtuse, and he surveyedBart searchingly, a flush creeping into hischeeks.

“I observe that you fence after a fashion, Mr.Hodge,” said Darleton, and the passing breath of insultlay in his manner of saying “after a fashion.”

“Oh, not at all!” protested Hodge; “but I assure youthat my friend Merriwell can put up something of anargument at it when he is in his best form.”

“Indeed?” smiled Darleton, lifting his eyebrows.“Then I am led to infer that he is not in his best formjust now.”

“What leads you to infer that?”

“Oh, your manner of speaking the words, of course.I would not comment on what I have seen him do.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No, indeed.”

“Sometimes our ears deceive us,” said Bart; “but Ifancied I did hear you—never mind that.”

He broke off abruptly, but he had informed Darletonthat his words, spoken when he first appeared onthe scene, had been overheard.

Darleton shrugged his shoulders, a gesture he hadcaught from his French instructor.

“Fancy leads us into grave mistakes at times,” hesaid. “It should not be permitted to run away withus. Now, I have known fellows who fancied theycould fence, but very few of them have been able tomake much of a go at it.”

This was a sly thrust at Merry. Frank lookedpleasant and nodded.

“I have even known instructors to be deceived in theskill of their pupils,” he remarked, reaching homeand scoring heavily.

This reply brought the blood flashing once more toDarleton’s cheeks.

“In case you were the pupil,” said the fencer, instantly,“no instructor could feel the least doubt in regardto your skill.”

His words plainly implied that he meant lack ofskill, although he was not that blunt.

“Although you are not inclined to comment on thework of another,” returned Merry; “it is evident thatyour observation is keen, and with you, one’s backmight not be as safe as his face.”

This was a coup, for Darleton lost his temper, showinghow sharply he had been hit.

“I’ll not pass words with you, Mr. Merriwell,” heexclaimed, “as I am not inclined to waste my breathuselessly. If at any time while you are here you feelinclined to demonstrate what you can really do—orthink you can do—you will find me at your service.”

Hodge stiffened. It was a challenge.

“Thank you for your kindness,” smiled Frank, perfectlyat his ease. “I may take you at your wordlater on.”

Darleton and Hardy turned away.

“He may,” observed Hardy, speaking to his companion,but making sure Frank could not fail to hear,“yet I doubt it.”

Hodge seized Frank’s arm, fairly quivering withexcitement.

“You’re challenged, Merry!” he panted. “You mustaccept! Don’t let him off! Teach the fellow a lesson!”

“Steady, Bart,” said Merriwell softly. “There isplenty of time. Don’t fly up like this. Do you wantto see me defeated?”

“No! He can’t defeat you!”

“How do you know?”

Hodge stared at Frank in doubt and astonishment.

“Is it possible you are afraid to face him?” hegasped.

“I don’t think so; but you should remember that heis in perfect form and condition, while I am rusty. Inorder to meet him and do my best I must practice.That I shall do. Wait. I promise you satisfaction—andMr. Darleton the same!”

Bart Hodge was not aware that Frank had been sothoroughly aroused; but when he was called to Merry’sroom in the hotel that day after lunch and found twocomplete fencing outfits there—foils, masks, jackets,and gauntlet gloves—he realized that there was “somethingdoing.”

Frank closed and locked the door.

“Strip down and make ready,” he said grimly. “I’mgoing to brush up and get in condition, and you arethe victim.”

“I’m happy to be the victim now,” declared Bart;“in case Mr. Darleton is the victim later.”

Something more than an hour later the comradeswere resting after a bath and rub down. Bart’s eyesshone and his dark, handsome face wore an expressionof great satisfaction.

“You may be rusty, Merry,” he observed; “but Ifail to see it. I swear you fenced better to-day thanever before in all your life.”

“You think so, Bart; but I can’t believe that. Aman can’t be at his best at fencing, any more than atbilliards, unless he is in constant practice.”

“Oh, I know I’ve gone back; but you have not. I’llwager my life you can give Fred Darleton all he islooking for.”

“It would be a pleasure to me,” confessed Frank.“Somehow he irritated me strangely.”

“I’d never supposed it by your manner.”

“If I had lost my temper I should have been defeated.Mr. Darleton has a temper, and I shall counton it leading to his downfall, in case we meet.”

“You’ll meet, for you are challenged. He thinksyou a mark, Merry. He’ll be overconfident.”

“Another thing I count on as aiding me. Overconfidenceis quite as bad as lack of confidence. Darletonhas been praised too much, and he believes he isvery nearly perfect as a fencer. A defeat now willeither make or mar him. If defeated, he will eitherset about working harder to acquire further accomplishment,or he will quit.”

“I believe he’ll quit.”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t like him, Merry.”

“There is something about him that I do not fancy,myself. I’ve not seen him enough to judge what itis. I’ve tried to think it might be his freshness inshooting his mouth the way he did; but something assertsthat I should have disliked him had he kept hismouth closed. He has an air of directness; but behindit there is a touch of cunning and craft that stampshim as crooked. I may sympathize with a weak chapwho goes crooked through temptation; but I have nosympathy for a sly rascal who is dishonest with deliberation.If Darleton is naturally honest, I havemisjudged him.”

There came a heavy knock on the door and the soundof voices outside.

Bart unlocked the door, and Joe Gamp stalked in,followed by Jack Ready, Hans Dunnerwurst, andJim Stretcher, all of Merriwell’s party.

“Ding this tut-tut-tut-tut-tut——” began Joe.

“Tut, tut!” interrupted Jack. “Eliminate repetitionsfrom your profuse flow of language, Joseph.”

Gamp flourished his fist in the air and began again:

“Ding this tut-tut-tut-tut-tut-tut——”

“Whistle, Joe—whistle!” advised Frank.

Whereupon the tall chap recommenced:

“Ding this tut-tut-tut—whistle—town! It’s all uphill and dud-dud-dud—whistle—down!”

“Oh, Joseph, you’re a poet!” exclaimed Ready.

“Yah,” said Dunnerwurst gravely, “oudt uf himboetry flows like a sbarkling rifer.”

“We have decided in solemn conclave,” said Ready,“that the streets of this prosperous Western burghare exceedingly soiled.”

“Und some of them been stood their end onto,” putin Hans.

“It’s hard to keep your fuf-fuf-fuf—whistle—feetfrom slipping in the sus-sus-sus—whistle—street,”added Gamp.

“There he goes again!” burst from Ready. “I neversuspected it of him. Crown him with laurels andadorn him with bays.”

“What is the difference between the bay and thelaurel, Jack?” laughed Frank.

“Ask me not at this unpropitious moment,” entreatedthe odd fellow. “We have been meanderinghither and yon over Omaha—yea verily, we have beeneven as far as the stockyards of South Omaha. Wehave waded across streets that were guiltless of beingcleaned even since the day they were paved. We haveascended streets which led into the clouds, and we havedescended others which led into the gorges and valleys.We have gazed in awe upon the courthouse, withblind justice standing on its battlements, balances inhand. We have seen the post office and expressed ouradmiration. Alas and alack, we are wearied! Wefain would rest. Omaha is all right for those whothink so; but some day she will rise and butcher herstreet-cleaning department. She will be justified. Ihave spoke.”

With this he dropped on a chair and fanned himselfweakly.

“What have you fellows been dud-dud-doing?” inquiredGamp, noticing for the first time that the boyswere in bath robes and that fencing paraphernalia wasscattered about the room.

Frank explained that they had been fencing.

“Jee-whickers!” cried Joe. “You used to be prettygood at it when you were at cuc-cuc-college. Youwere the champion fuf-fuf-fuf-fencer at Yale, allright.”

“He’s just as good to-day as he ever was,” declaredBart; “and Mr. Darleton will find out that is goodenough.”

“Who’s Darleton?” asked Stretcher.

Then they were told about the affair at the club,which quickly awoke their interest.

“Omaha takes on new fascination for me,” averredReady. “I felt like folding my tent and stealing awaya short time ago; but if Merry is going against somegentleman with the inflated cranium in this burgh, Ishall linger with great glee to watch the outcome.”

“You talk the way a cub reporter writes, Ready,”said Stretcher. “Big words sound good to you, but ifyou know what you’re saying you’ll have to showme.”

“I shall refrain from exerting myself to that extent,my boy,” retorted Jack. “It’s not worth while.”

“Where are the rest of the boys?” asked Frank.

“Scattered broadcast over the mountains and valleysof Omaha,” answered Ready. “Fear not forthem; they will return in due time.”

“How does Omaha strike you, Jim?” inquired Merriwell.

“She ain’t in it much compared with Kansas City,”said Stretcher. “We have some hills there, you know.I’ve yet to see any country that can get away from oldMissouri. When you get ahead of Missouri, you’llhave to hurry.”

“It does me good to see a chap who will standup for his native State,” said Merry, winking at someof the others but maintaining a grave face beforeStretcher. “Of course Missouri may have her drawbacks,but we all know she is a land of fertilityand——”

“Fertility!” cried Jim enthusiastically. “You bet!Crops grow overnight there. Yes, sir, that’s straight.It’s perfectly astonishing how things grow. As an illustration,when I was about seven years old mymother gave me some morning-glory seeds to plant. Ialways did love the morning-glory flower. I thought itwould be a grand thing to plant the seeds beneath mychamber window, where I could look forth each morningon rising and revel in the beauty of the purple blossoms.I got busy and stuck the seeds into the groundone afternoon about five o’clock. I knew the soilwas particularly rich right there, and I counted on thevines growing fast, so I lost no time in stringing anumber of cords from the ground right up to my window.

“That night when I went to bed I wondered if theseeds would be sprouted when I rose the followingmorning. It was warm weather, and I slept with mywindow open. I suppose I kicked the bedclothes off.Some time in the night I felt something pushing me,but I was too sleepy to wake up. About daylight Iwoke up suddenly, for something pushed me out ofbed onto the floor. I jumped up and looked to seewhat was the matter. Fellows, you won’t believe it,but the vine—or, rather, a profusion of vines—hadgrown all the way up to my window in the night,had found the window open, had come into the room,and, being tired from its exertion in growing sohard, I presume, had climbed into my bed and pushedme out.”

A profound silence was broken by Dunnerwurst,who gurgled:

“Uf I faint, vill somebody blease throw me on somevater!”

“Stretcher,” said Merry, “I don’t suppose there isever anything in your State that is not grand andsuperior? There are no drawbacks to Missouri? Soil,climate, people—all are of the first quality?”

“Oh,” said Jim, with an air of modesty, “I presumeany part of the country has its drawbacks. The soilof Missouri is magnificent and the climate superb—asa rule. I presume there are sterile spots within theboundaries of the State, and I have experienced someunpleasant weather. The winter that old Jake diedwas unusually severe.”

“Who was Jake?”

“A mule, and the dumb companion of my innocentboyhood. You see, I always wanted a dog. Lots ofboys I knew had dogs. Tom Jones had a shepherd,Pete Boogers had a collie, Muck Robbins had a yallercur, and Runt Hatch had two bull purps. I pesteredpaw for a dog. He didn’t have any use for dogs, andhe wouldn’t give me one. I told him I must have a petof some kind. ‘All right, Jim,’ says he, ‘if you wanta pet, there’s Jake, our old mule, you may have him.’Now, Jake was pretty well used up. He was spavinedand chest foundered and so thin his slats were comingthrough his hide. He wasn’t beautiful, but he hadbeen a faithful old creature, and paw was disinclinedto kill him. He thought it was a great joke to giveme Jake for a pet; but I was just yearning for somethingon which I could lavish my affection, and I beganto pour it out on Jake.

“I petted the old boy, gave him good feed, tookhim into the cowshed nights, and did my best to makehim generally comfortable. Jake appreciated it. Youmay think dumb creatures, and mules in particular,have no sense of gratitude, but such is not the case.Jake understood me, and I did him. I could actuallyread his thoughts. Yes, sir, it’s a fact. At first pawgrinned over it and tried to joke me about Jake; butafter a while he got tired of having his best feedgiven that old mule and finding the animal beddeddown in the cowshed. He said it would have tostop. Then he got mad and turned Jake out to pickfor himself. I brought Jake back twice, but bothtimes paw raised a fuss, and the last time, he got soblazing mad he swore he’d knock the mule in thehead if I did it again.

“That was in the fall, with winter coming on. Itried to plead with paw; but it was no go. He saidJake would have to shift for himself in the open.Jake used to come up to the lower fence and call to memelodiously in the gloaming, and I would slip downand pat him and talk to him and sympathize with him.But I didn’t dare do anything more. Well, that winterwas a tough one. Never had so much coldweather packed into one winter before that. Jakesuffered from exposure, and my heart bled for him.He grew thinner and thinner and sadder and sadder.Paw’s heart was like flint, and I couldn’t do anything.Jake hated snowstorms. Every time one camehe thought it would be his last; but somehow he worriedthrough them all until the snow went off andspring set in. Then Jake brightened up some andseemed more like himself.

“But late in the spring another cold spell struck in.It was near the first of May. In the midst of thatcold spell our barn got afire one night. When Jakesaw that fire, he says to himself, ‘Here’s my chance toget warm all the way through.’ He found a weakspot in the fence and got over it, after which hewaltzed up to the barn and stood there, warming firstone side and then the other by the heat and enjoyinghimself.

“We had a heap of corn stored in the barn. Aftera while the roof of the barn burned off and the firegot to the corn. When this happened the corn beganto pop and fly into the air. It popped faster and fasterand flew high into the air, coming down in a greatshower. Jake looked up and saw the air plumb full ofgreat, white flakes of popped corn. The poor, oldmule gave a great groan of anguish. ‘I’ve lastedthrough twenty-one snowstorms this winter,’ says he,with tears in his eyes; ‘but this one is my finish.’ Thenhe lay right down where he was and gave up the struggle.In the morning we found him frozen stiff.”

Ready sobbed and wiped his eyes.

“How pathetic!” he exclaimed chokingly.

“Poor Shake!” gurgled Hans.

“That story should be entitled ‘The Tale of aMule,’” observed Frank.

“It is evident,” said Bart, “that Missouri mules aresometimes more intelligent than the inhabitants of theState.”

“Oh, we have some dull people, of course,” admittedJim. “I remember the janitor at our old school—hewas a trifle dull. Poor old Mullen! One day he threwup his job. They asked him why he did it. Says he:‘I’m honest, and I won’t stand being slurred.’ He waspressed to explain. ‘Why,’ he exclaimed, ‘when I’msweeping out, if I happen to find a handkerchief orany little thing, I hang it up, like an honest man.Every now and then the teacher, or somebody whohasn’t the nerve to face me, gives me a slur. A fewdays ago I come in one mornin’ and I seen writ onthe blackboard: “Find the least common multiple.”Well, I just went searching the place over from top tobottom, but I couldn’t find a sign of the old thing anywhere.I don’t believe nobody lost it. That made mesore, but I stood for it all right. Yesterday mornin’in great big letters there was writ on the blackboard:“Find the greatest common divisor.” Says I to myself:“Now, both of them blamed things is lost, andI’ll be charged with swipin’ ’em.” And I throwedup my job.’”

They laughed heartily over this story, and, havingaroused their risibilities at last, Jim seemed satisfied.

It was the night of the “finals” at the Midwestern,and the clubrooms were thronged. Frank and all hisfriends were there. Morton had introduced them tomany well-known young men of the prosperous Nebraskacity, and they were being made to feel quite athome.

Much of the general conversation concerned thecoming bouts. Opinions were freely expressed as tothe abilities and merits of different contestants andthere was much good-natured argument and banter.

There was also not a little quiet betting.

In one of the big main rooms of the club, Merrymet three Yale men, who expressed their delight at seeinghim there. While he was talking with them FrançoisL’Estrange came up. The Frenchman knew themalso, and he paused to shake hands all round.

“What’s the matter, L’Estrange?” asked one. “Youseem rather downcast and troubled over something.”

The fencing master shrugged his shoulders.

“Eet is unfortunate,” he declared. “I haf to geefyou ze information zat there will be no fencing zisnight.”

“Why, how is that?” they exclaimed.

“Meestare Marlowe, who was to meet MeestareDarleton, ees not here.”

“Not here?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“He haf sent ze word zat he is very ill.”

“Cold feet!” cried one of the gentlemen. “That’swhat’s the matter! Marlowe squeals!”

“Sure thing!” agreed another. “It’s a shame, buthe has made a clean backdown.”

“He was all right last night. I saw him then,” putin the third gentleman.

“Eet is very strange,” said L’Estrange regretfully.“I understand eet not why he should haf ze cold feetand be ill. I suppose ze cold feet ees unpleasant, butzey should not make him squeal.”

“What we mean,” explained the first gentleman, “isthat he is afraid to meet Darleton. He has defeatedevery opponent in the contests, and it has been hisboast that he would defeat Darleton. His nerve failedhim.”

“Eet ruin ze sport for zis night,” declared the fencingmaster. “Zere ees no one who is for MeestareDarleton ze efen match, so zere will be no fencing.”

At this point Darleton himself, accompanied as usualby his chum, Grant Hardy, came pushing through thethrong, espied L’Estrange and hurried up.

“I’ve been looking for you, professor!” he exclaimed.“What’s this about Marlowe? Is it true thathe has quit?”

“Eet is true.”

“Well, that’s just about the sort I took him to be!”cried Darleton angrily. “He’s a great case of bluff!He’s a bag of wind! He’s a quitter! He knew I’d defeathim. Now, what are we going to do?”

“Zere is nothing we can do,” answered the fencingmaster regretfully.

“And our go was to be the feature to-night. Everyone will be disappointed. It’s a shame. Besides that,Marlowe had no right not to give me a chance to showhim up. I meant to put it all over him, the slob!”

Darleton’s chagrin over his lost opportunity to “putit all over” the other fellow seemed to lead him into acomplete loss of temper, and he indulged in languagewhich on any occasion he would have condemned inanother.

Suddenly his eyes fell on Frank Merriwell, and apeculiar expression came to his face.

“Why, here is the great athlete who fancies he issomething of a fencer,” he said. “Good evening, Mr.Merriwell. I suppose you came to see me outpointMarlowe? Well, you will be disappointed, I regret tosay.”

Hodge was near, and the words and manner ofDarleton had caused him to bridle until he was on thepoint of exploding.

“I regret very much,” said Merry quietly, “that weshall not have the pleasure of witnessing the fencingbout between you and Mr. Marlowe, sir.”

He was calm, polite, and reserved.

L’Estrange spoke up:

“I suppose we might geef ze exhibition ourselves,Meestare Darleton,” he said. “Zat might please zespectators bettaire than nothing.”

“But it would not be like a bout in which there wasan element of uncertainty. Every one would knowyou could defeat me easily if you cared to. If Icounted on you I’d win no credit, for they would sayyou permitted me to do it.”

The desire of the fellow for applause and his thirstto display his skill by defeating some one was all tooevident.

Suddenly he turned sharply to again face Frank.

“How about you?” he asked.

Merry lifted his eyebrows.

Hodge felt a tingling, for he realized that an openchallenge was coming.

“About me?” repeated Frank questioningly.

“Yes, how about you? You think you can fence.”

“I have fenced—a little.”

“I was told to-day that you are a champion ateverything you undertake. That’s ridiculous if youundertake many things. You have undertaken fencing.Well, I’d like to convince some people that thereis one thing at which you are not much of a champion.”

“Would you?” asked Merry, smiling pleasantly.

“Indeed I would. The crowd wants to see a fencingbout to-night. Marlowe has taken water. He isn’there. You are here. Of course we can’t fence forhonors in the series, as you have not been engaged inprevious contests. All the same, we can give an exhibitiongo. There will be an element of uncertaintyabout it. What do you say?”

“Why, I don’t know——” came slowly from Merry,as if he hesitated over it.

“Oh, if you’re afraid,” sneered Darleton—“if youhaven’t the nerve, that’s different.”

A strange, smothered growl was choked back in thethroat of Bart Hodge.

“I don’t believe I am afraid of you,” said Frank,with the same deliberate manner. “I was thinking thatsuch an affair would be quite irregular if interpolatedwith the finals.”

“Don’t worry about that. If you are willing to meetme, I’ll fix it.”

“Of course I’m willing, but——”

“That settles it!” cried Darleton triumphantly.“You hear him, gentlemen. He’s ready to fence me.He can’t back out.”

“As if he would want to back out!” muttered BartHodge softly. “You’ll get all you’re looking for to-night,Mr. Darleton.”

“On guard, gentlemen!”

It was the voice of François L’Estrange.

The regular finals were over. As a finish to theevening’s entertainment, the announcer had stated that,in order not to disappoint those who had expected towitness a fencing contest, an arrangement had beenmade whereby Frank Merriwell, a guest of the club,would meet the club’s champion, Fred Darleton.

Darleton had appeared first on the raised platformand had been greeted by hearty applause.

Then came Merriwell, and the applause accordedhim was no less generous.

The preliminaries were quickly arranged.

L’Estrange was agreed on as the referee.

“On guard, gentlemen!” he commanded.

At the word the contestants faced each other, andthen they went through the graceful movements ofcoming on guard, their foils sweeping through the air.Simultaneously they advanced their right feet and wereready.

“Engage!”

The foils met with a soft clash and the bout had begun.

The great gathering of spectators packed on thefour sides of the raised platform were hushed andbreathless. They saw before them two splendid specimensof youthful manhood. Between them it was indeedno easy thing to make a hasty choice. Both weregraceful as panthers and both seemed perfectly at homeand fully confident. Frank’s face was grave and pleasant,while Darleton wore a faint smile that bespoke hisperfect trust in himself.

Frank’s friends were all together in a body. Amongthem Harry Rattleton was the only one who expressedanxiety.

“I know Merry could do that fellow ordinarily,”said Rattles, in a whisper; “but I fear he’s out of trimnow. Darleton is in perfect practice, and he will betthe guest of Merry—I mean get the best of him!”

“Don’t you believe it!” hissed Hodge. “Don’t youever think such a thing for a second! Merry may notbe at his best, but he is that fellow’s master. He hasenough skill to hold Darleton even, and he has themaster mind. The master mind will conquer.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Harry; “but I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid!” growled Browning, also aroused.“You make me tired!”

Thus crushed, Rattles relapsed into silence, but hewatched with great anxiety, fearing the outcome.

At the outset the two fencers seemed “feeling eachother”—that is, each tried to test the skill, techniqueand versatility of his opponent. Both were calm, cooland calculating, yet quick as a flash to meet and checkmateany fresh mode of attack.

Ordinarily the spectators might have become impatientover this “fiddling,” but on this occasion allseemed to realize the fencers were working up to thepoint of genuine struggle by exploring each other’smethods. Besides that the two displayed variety andchange enough to maintain unwearied interest in thesepreliminaries to the real struggle.

The eyes of François L’Estrange took on a light ofkeener interest as the bout progressed. He watchedthe stranger from the first, having confidence in theability of his pupil, and silently praying from the outsetthat Merriwell would not be too easily overcome. Satisfaction,not anxiety, took possession of him as hebegan to realize that Frank possessed unusual knowledgeof the art, and was capable of putting that knowledgeto clever use. The Frenchman continued to believethat Darleton would finish the victor.

The two young men advanced, retreated, circled,feinted, engaged, disengaged—all the time on the alertfor the moment when one or the other should launchhimself into the encounter in earnest. The foilsclicked and hissed, now high, now low. At intervalsthe fencers stamped lightly with the foot advanced.

“Mon Dieu!” muttered L’Estrange, still watchingMerriwell. “Who taught him so much!”

Suddenly, like a throb of electricity, Darleton madea direct lunge—and the real engagement was on.

L’Estrange’s pupil was led into the lunge throughthe belief that Merry had exposed himself unconsciouslyin the line in which he was engaged.

Quick as the fellow was, it seemed that Frank hadknown what to expect. He made no sweeping parry,but, quicker than the eye could follow, he altered theposition of his foil by fingering and turned Darleton’slunge. Following this with almost incredible swiftness,Merry scored fair and full in quinte.

L’Estrange suppressed an exclamation of displeasure,for he realized his pupil had been decoyed andled to expose himself. Too much confidence in himselfand too little regard for the skill of his opponent hadcaused Darleton to give Merry this chance to score.

“Touch!” exclaimed Darleton, with a mingling ofsurprise and dismay.

He recovered instantly, a bitter expression settlingabout his tightened lips.

“So you fooled me!” he thought. “I’ll pay you forthat! It may be your undoing, Mr. Merriwell!”

He believed Frank would become overconfidentthrough this early success; but he did not know Merriwell,whose observation and experience had long agotold him that overconfidence was the rock on whichmany a chap has stranded in sight of victory.

Darleton was in earnest, now; there was no morefooling. He sought for an opening. Failing to findit, he tried to lead Frank into attacking and leaving anopening.

Merry pretended to attack, but it was only a feint.When Darleton parried and tried the riposte, his thrustwas met and turned. Then Frank attacked in earnest,and his button caught his opponent in tierce.

Darleton leaped away, but did not acknowledge thetouch. Instead, he claimed that Merriwell had simplyreached his right shoulder, which did not count.

L’Estrange’s pupil was white to the lips now. Hecould not understand why he had failed, and he feltthat there must be many among the spectators whowould maintain that he had been unfair in claiming hewas not fairly touched the second time.

The dismay of the pupil was no greater than thatof his instructor. L’Estrange was angry. In Frenchhe hissed a warning at Darleton, urging him to bemore cautious and to try his antagonist in anotherstyle.

Frank understood French even better than Darleton,and he was warned of what to expect.

Therefore when the Midwestern man sought anopening by “absence,” Merry declined to spring intothe trap and expose himself. To many it seemed thatthe visitor lost a chance to score, but all were awarethat he prevented Darleton from counting when thelatter followed the “absence” by a flashing thrust.This thrust was turned, but Darleton had learned hislesson, and he recovered and was on guard so suddenlyFrank found no advantageous opening.

Although his pupil had failed to score, L’Estrangeshowed some satisfaction, for he saw that Darletonwas now awake to the danger of failing to cover himselfinstantly after an attack of any kind. At last theOmaha man knew he would have to exert himself tothe utmost to defeat the stranger he had held in scornfulcontempt.

“Now he knows!” whispered L’Estrange to himself.“Now he will defeat Merriwell with ease!”

A moment later Darleton met and turned a fierceattack. Then he counted cleanly.

“Touch!” cried Frank promptly.

Harry Rattleton gave a gasp of dismay.

“I knew it!” he palpitated. “You see I’m right!He’ll win over Merry!”

“You’d better go die!” grated Hodge. “Frank hascounted on him twice already!”

“Only once.”

“Only once acknowledged, but Merry counted twice,just the same.”

“Either time,” declared Morgan, “would have endedthe affair in a genuine duel.”

“Sure!” growled Browning.

“But not in this sort of an encounter,” said Harry.“Here a touch is a touch, and Darleton is on eventerms with Merry now.”

After this none of them paid much attention toHarry’s fears, as he expressed them. They werewholly absorbed in the cleverness of the two youngmen on the platform, who were circling, feinting, attacking,parrying and constantly watching for an openingor seeking to create one through some trick orartifice.

Three times Darleton sought to reach Frank andfailed, but each time he prevented a successful riposteon the part of Merry. He was at his very best, andfor a few moments his skill seemed superior to that ofthe visitor.

The shadow that had clouded the face of L’Estrangepassed away. Confidence came to him. Once he hadfeared that his pupil might be outmatched, but thisfear troubled him no longer. Darleton was forcing thework, but he was keeping himself well in hand andeffectually covered all the while.

Finally the Midwestern man made a flashing cut-overand scored.

“Touch!” cried Merry again.

“I knew it!” half sobbed Rattleton.

A bit later the timekeeper announced the expirationof two minutes, whereupon Merry and Darletonchanged positions.

During the first half of the bout, according to acknowledgedtouches, Darleton had taken the lead.

The Midwestern man began the second half bypressing Frank. He was satisfied that he could win,although experience had warned him that he could notwin as easily as he had fancied before the engagementbegan.

For at least thirty seconds he kept Merry busy, andin that time he secured another touch.

Rattleton was almost in tears. He felt that he mustleave the room. He could not bear to remain and seeFrank defeated.

Darleton believed he had sounded Merry thoroughlyand knew his style. He was on guard for everymethod displayed by the visitor up to this point.

But now, of a sudden, Frank attacked in a newline. He seemed to attempt a “beat.” When Darletonparried the first light thrust following the “beat,”Frank quickly changed to another point of attack andmade a “re-beat” as his opponent met him. He followedwith a second stroke that was quicker andharder than the first and reached home effectively.

Darleton showed a slight trace of confusion, but hewas compelled to acknowledge the touch.

They now engaged in tierce; but in a twinklingMerry executed a double. He feinted a disengage intoquinte. Darleton executed a counter, upon whichMerry lifted the point of his weapon and circled roundhis opponent’s counter with a counter disengage, whichbrought him back into quinte, the line from which itwas intended that he should be shut. Only by marvelouslyswift work did Darleton prevent himself frombeing scored upon.

Right on top of this Merry again executed the “re-beat”and scored.

The face of the Midwestern man flamed scarletand then grew pale. His eyes burned with a light ofanger that he could repress only with difficulty. Twicehe had been outgeneraled, and he knew it.

In a twinkling the cloud returned to the face ofFrançois L’Estrange. His lips parted, but he did notspeak.

“I knew he would do it!” muttered Bart Hodge, insatisfaction. “Keep your eyes on Merry! He’s gettingthere now!”

Darleton realized that he was losing his advantage.He sought to recover by feinting in high lines andattacking instantly in low lines. In this effort he placedhimself at a disadvantage, for Merry seemed to readhis mind and met him effectively.

Again Frank scored, but, in getting away, he appearedto lose his balance.

Darleton followed up.

Down went Merry, falling on his left hand, andDarleton uttered an exclamation of triumph as he attemptedto count.

With a twist of his wrist, Frank parried the stroke.His left arm flung him up with a spring.

Dismayed and annoyed by his failure to improvesuch an opening, Darleton closed in and the fencerscame corps-a-corps.

Immediately L’Estrange separated them.

Merriwell won a great burst of applause by theclever manner in which he had extricated himself froma position that seemed almost defenseless.

L’Estrange said nothing to his pupil, but their eyesmet, and something in that glance stirred all the resentmentin Darleton’s soul. It was a reproof. Hesaw that the fencing master was disappointed in him.

A concentrated fury took possession of Darleton.He went after Frank as if thirsting for his gore. Thesavageness of his attack would have overcome one lessskillful and self-poised.

It did not overcome Frank. On the other hand,Merry turned his opponent’s fierceness to a disadvantage.He was not flustered or worried. He metevery attack, and in rapid succession he began countingon the Midwestern man.

Darleton closed his lips and refused to acknowledgea touch.

Seeing this, L’Estrange finally began declaring eachtouch as two for the visitor.

The superiority of Merriwell was now apparent toevery spectator who was not prejudiced, and roundafter round of applause greeted his beautiful work.

Darleton thrust furiously. Down went Frank, buthe dropped lightly after having retreated. His rightfoot had made a long forward step, and barely twofingers of his left hand touched the floor. At the samemoment he thrust and reached his opponent. In atwinkling he was erect and ready, if Darleton soughtto secure a riposte.

From apprehension and fear Rattleton turned to delightand exultation.

“Frank is winning!” he exclaimed joyously. “He’sthe best man!”

“Shut up!” hissed Hodge. “Don’t let everybodyknow you had any doubt about it!”

“Of course he’s the best man,” grunted Browning.

The real truth was that in mere knowledge of fencingMerry was not greatly Darleton’s superior, butin strategy, originality and mastery of himself he wasfar and away the superior. As well as a finely trainedbody, he had a finely trained mind. It was this mastermind that was conquering.

Merry had not only probed Darleton’s weaknessesin the art of fencing, he had at the same time discoveredhis weaknesses in the art of self-mastery. Andno man who cannot master himself can hope to masterothers of equal mental and physical equipment.

Merriwell had perfected his plan of campaign, asa great general prepares and perfects a plan of battle.

This he had done after sounding the strength andlimitations of his antagonist. This plan in one or twodetails did not work out as prepared; but, like a successfulgeneral, he was resourceful, and when one styleof assault was repulsed he changed swiftly, almost instantly,to another style that surprised and confoundedthe enemy and brought about the desired result.

In this manner he soon turned Darleton’s attack intodefense, while he became the real assailant. He resortedto all the arts of which he felt himself the master.The failure of one method of assault did not leadhim to permanently abandon that method, althoughhe quickly turned to some other. At an unexpectedmoment he returned to the first attempted effort, makingthe change when least expected, and, in most cases,was successful the second time.

His success confounded and infuriated Darleton,who had entered into the contest in perfect belief thatthe outcome would be applause and glory for himself.The confidence of the Midwestern man fled from himand left him trembling with rage and chagrin.

At first on realizing that Merriwell was getting thebest of the match toward the close, Darleton had fanciedhe might put up such defense that the visitorwould be held in check to some extent, thinking if hedid this that L’Estrange, out of self-pride and disinclinationto confess his pupil outmatched, would give himthe decision.

But when the spectators began to shout and cheerfor Merriwell, Darleton realized that his case washopeless. In the face of all this the fencing mastercould not give him the decision.

From this time to the finish, Merriwell seemed ableto count on his antagonist at will. Frank gave thefellow no chance to recover, but pressed him persistentlyto the finish. Before the engagement was overDarleton quite lost his form and sought to score bystabbing and jabbing much like a beginner.

The timekeeper announced the finish.

Frank lowered his foil.

With savage fury, Darleton swung and slapped himacross the mask, using such force that Merry was staggered.

From the witnesses a shout arose, followed by a volleyof hisses and cries of, “Shame! shame! Dirtywork!”

François L’Estrange sprang forward and snatchedthe bent foil from his pupil’s hand. Then he faced theaudience and made a gesture that silenced their cries.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I make not ze excuse forMeestare Darleton. He met ze defeat by MeestareMerriwell, an’ ze loss of his tempare made him forgetto be ze gentleman. Meestare Merriwell is ze very finefencer. He win ze match.”

Saying which, he wheeled and grasped Frank’s hand,which he shook heartily, while the room resoundedwith a thunder of applause.

“Merriwell, you astounded this club to-night,” saidHugh Morton, as Frank was finishing dressing, aftera shower and rub down. “No one here expected youto defeat Fred Darleton. Any member of the clubwould have wagered two to one on Darleton. Heacted like a cur when he struck you with his foil.Every one, except his own particular clique, is downon him for that. We regret very much that it happened,and the president of the club is waiting to offerapologies.”

“I’m not looking for apologies,” smiled Merry.“The club was not responsible for Darleton’s act.”

“But we feel greatly humiliated by it. He will beseverely censured. He may be expelled.”

“Oh, that’s too much! I must protest against suchan extreme measure.”

“He deserves to be expelled,” put in Hodge.

“You are right,” agreed Morton. “Between us, Ibelieve it would be a good thing for the club.”

“How so?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

In the reception room of the club there was a greatgathering waiting to get another look at Frank. Thepresident of the club met him as he appeared and hastenedto express regrets over the action of Darletonat the finish of the bout. Frank was sincere in makingexcuses for his late antagonist.

“But Darleton must apologize,” declared the president.“We cannot have any visitor insulted in such amanner without seeing that an apology is made.”

“I haven’t asked for an apology on my account.”

“We demand it on our own account. He has beentold that he must apologize publicly, as the insult wasoffered publicly.”

“Well, he’ll find me ready to pardon him freely andjust as willing to forget the occurrence.”

“You are generous, Mr. Merriwell.”

During the next thirty minutes Merry was keptbusy shaking hands with those who were eager to expresstheir good will.

That night in Omaha he made a host of admirersand friends who would never forget him, and whowould ever stand ready to uphold him on any occasion.

Many of those present seemed lingering for something.A few departed, but the majority waited on.

Finally Fred Darleton, accompanied by Grant Hardyand followed by a number of boon companions, enteredthe room.

Darleton was pale and nervous. He glanced aboutthe place, and an expression of resentment passed overhis face as he noted the number who had lingered.For a moment he seemed to hesitate; then he advancedtoward Frank, who sat near the centre of the room,with his comrades and the club members about him.

Merry rose as he saw his late opponent.

“Mr. Merriwell,” said Darleton, in a low tone, hiswords being almost inaudible at a distance of ten feet,“I have to offer you an apology for my hasty act ofanger in striking you across the mask with my foil.”

“That’s all right,” declared Frank. “Forget it,Darleton.”

Merry offered his hand.

Darleton pretended he did not see this, and turnedaway at once.

Frank smiled and dropped his hand; but Bart Hodgegave vent to a suppressed exclamation of anger.

The action of the defeated fencer in declining toshake hands with his conqueror was noted by all inthe room, and most of them felt annoyed and disgustedby this added slight after the forced apology.

Darleton left the room, without glancing to theright or left, and his companions followed closely.

“I knew he was a cur!” said Hodge, in a low, harshtone.

The president and other members were annoyed andchagrined, but Frank found a method of passing thematter over by quickly awakening a discussion concerningthe bouts of the finals.

A few minutes later François L’Estrange appeared.He advanced swiftly and grasped Frank’s hand.

“My dear sare,” he cried, “you give me ze verygreat astonishment to-night. You are ze—ze—whatyou call it?—ze Jim Dandy!Oui! You nevare learnso much about ze foil in ze American college. Eet isimpossible!”

“Well,” smiled Merry, “I don’t think I told you Iobtained all my knowledge and skill at college.”

“You mention ze school first. You begin young.Zat ees good! Zat is splendid! Zat ees ze way tomake ze feenish fencer, ze same as ze feenish musicianor ze feenish beelyarde player. But ze school, ze college,both together zey never gif you all you know.You have ze command, ze skill, ze technique! Eefyou choose, sare, you make ze master fencer.”

“Thank you, professor,” said Merry. “I fear youare flattering me.”

“O-oo, no, no! I spik ze truth! You have traveled?”

“Yes.”

“You have visited France?”

“Yes.”

“I knew eet! In France you take ze fencing lessonfrom some famous master of ze art. You have zeFrench method. I do not say you have eet yet to completeness.I belief I could advance you to ze very greatextent. But before you had finished ze engagement Iknew you had received instruction from ze Frenchmaster.”

“But not in France.”

“No? Zen where?”

“In New York.”

“O-oo!” L’Estrange threw up his hands. “Zen Iknow!Oui! Oui! Zere ees but one man—PierreLafont. You have from me ze congratulation, sare. Iknow Pierre Lafont in France. He fight three duel,and in not one did he get even ze scratch. Each timehe seriously disable his antagonist. But his son, Louis—zeysay he ees ze wondaire.”

For a time the professor rattled on in this enthusiasticmanner, and his talk was very interesting. Althoughit was known to every one that he felt deepchagrin over the defeat of his finest pupil, he wasnow the soul of generosity in his behavior toward thevictor. His manner was greatly in contrast to that ofthe churlish Darleton.

Before departing L’Estrange made an appointmentto meet Merry in the club the following afternoon forthe purpose of fencing with him.

“I wish to make ze test of your full ability, MeestareMerriwell,” smiled the affable Frenchman. “I theenkI discovaire one or two little weaknesses in your stylezat may be corrected quickly. Eet will give mepleasure to make ze improvement in you—if you wisheet.”

“I’m always anxious to learn, professor,” answeredMerry.

“Wondaireful! wondaireful!” cried L’Estrange.“You are so ready to—to—what you call eet?—tocatch on!”

The time was mid afternoon following the eveningwhen the finals were “pulled off” at the great Omahaathletic club. Frank had met the fencing master, accordingto agreement, and for some time they had beenengaged with the foils, Hugh Morton being the onlywitness. They were resting now.

“Look you, sare,” said the enthusiastic Frenchman,“in six month I could make you ze greatest fencer inze country—in one year ze champion of ze world!Yes, sare—of ze world!”

“I fear you are putting it a little too strong, professor,”laughed Frank.

“O-oo, no, no! I did think Meestare Darleton veryclever, but you are a perfect wondaire. You catchze idea like ze flash of lightning. You try ze executiononce, twice, three time—perhaps—and you haveeet. Zen eet is only to make eet perfect and to combineeet with othaire work and othaire ideas. Threetime this day you touch me by ze strategy. You workze surprise. Twice I touch you in one way; but afterthat I touch you not in that way at all. I tried to doit, but you had learned ze lesson. I did not have totell you how to protect yourself.”

“He seemed to hold you pretty well, professor,” putin Morton.

“Oui! oui!” cried L’Estrange, without hesitation.“He put me on ze mettle. Meestare Merriwell, let memake you ze greatest fencer in ze world. I can doeet.”

Merry smilingly shook his head.

“I am afraid I haven’t the time,” he said.

“One year is all eet will take, at ze most—only onelittle year.”

“Too long.”

“Nine month.”

“Still too long.”

“Zen I try to do eet in six month!” desperately saidthe fencing master. “In six month I have you so youcan toy with me—so you can beat me at my owngame. I know how to teach you to do that. Youdoubt eet?”

“Well, I don’t know about——”

“Eet can be done. You know ze man who teach zeactor to act on ze stage? He make of him ze greatactor, still perhaps ze teacher he cannot act at all. Heknow how eet should be done. I am better teacherthan zat, for I can fence; but I know ze way to teachyou more zan I can accomplish. You have zephysique, ze brain, ze nerve, ze heart, ze youth—everything.In six month I do it.”

“But I could not think of giving six months of mytime to such as acquirement.”

“You make reputation and fortune if you followeet up.”

“And that is the very thing I could not do, professor.”

“Why not? You take ze interest in ze amateursport. You follow eet.”

“Not all the time, professor. I have other business.”

“You have money? You are reech?”

“I am comfortably fixed; but I have business interestsof such a nature that it would be folly forme to give six months over to the acquiring of skillin fencing.”

“What your business?”

“Mining.”

“O-oo; you have ze mine?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“One in Arizona and one in Mexico. I must soonlook after those mines. I have been away from thema long time. All reports have been favorable, but agreat company is soon to begin building a railroadin Mexico that will open up the country in which mymine is located. The mine is rich enough to enable meto work it and pack ore a great distance. When therailroad is completed I shall have one of the best payingmines on this continent. You will see from thisexplanation that I am not in a position to spend monthsin acquiring perfection in the art of fencing, and thatit would be of little advantage to me in case I didacquire such a degree of skill.”

L’Estrange looked disappointed.

“I thought you were ze reech gentleman of leisure,”he explained.

“I am not a gentleman of leisure, although I occasionallytake time to enjoy myself. When I work, Iwork hard; when I play, I play just as hard. I havebeen playing lately, but the end is near. I thank you,professor, for your interest in me and your offer; butI cannot accept.”

“Eet is a shame so great a fencer is lost to ze world,”sighed the Frenchman. “Steel, sare, if you evairehave cause to defend your life in a duel, I theenk youwill be successful.”

Nearly an hour later Morton and Merriwell enteredthe card room of the club—not the general card room,but the one where games were played for stakes.

Two games were in progress. Several of the playershad met Frank the night before, and they greetedhim pleasantly.

Among the few spectators was Fred Darleton.

“I observe Darleton is not playing,” said Frank, ina low tone, to his companion.

“He never plays in the daytime,” answered Morton.

“Never in the daytime?”

“No.”

“But he does play at night?”

“Almost every night.”

“What game?”

“Poker. He is an expert. I’ll tell you somethingabout it later. He’s looking this way.”

Darleton sauntered over.

“I presume you are quite elated about your victoryover me, Merriwell?” he said unpleasantly.

“Oh, not at all,” answered Merry, annoyed. “Itwas not anything to feel elated about.”

“You are right,” said Darleton. “If we were tomeet again to-night the result would be quite different.I confess that you gave me a surprise; but I was inmy very poorest form last night. I am confident itwould be a simple matter for me to defeat you if wefenced again.”

“Want of conceit does not seem to be one of yourfailings.”

The fellow flushed.

“I presume you are one of those perfect chaps withno failings,” he retorted. “At least, you are, in yourown estimation. You are very chesty since you securedthe decision over me.”

“My dear man,” smiled Merry pityingly, “that wasa victory so trivial that I have almost forgotten italready.”

This cut Darleton still more deeply.

“Oh, you put on a fine air, but you’ll get that takenout of you if you remain in Omaha long. I shall notforget you!”

“You are welcome to remember as long as you like.”

“And you’ll receive something that will cause youto remember me, sir!”

“Look here,” said Frank earnestly, “I do not fancyyour veiled threats! If you are a man, you’ll speakout what you mean.”

“I fancy I am quite as much a man as you are.You’re a bag of wind, and I will let down your inflation.”

“Hold on, Darleton!” warmly exclaimed Morton.“This won’t do! Mr. Merriwell is the guest of theclub, and——”

“You brought him here, Morton—that will be remembered,also!”

“If you threaten me——”

“I am not threatening.”

“You hadn’t better! Perhaps you mean that youintend to lay for me and beat me up. Well, sir, I goarmed, and I’ll shoot if any one tries to jump me. Ifyou want a whole skin——”

“What’s this talk about beating and shooting?” interruptedone of the members. “It’s fine talk to hearin these rooms! Drop it! If we have any one in theclub who can’t take an honorable defeat in a squarecontest of any sort, it’s time that person took himselfout of our ranks. I reckon that is straight enough.”

“Quite straight enough, Mr. Robbins,” bowed Darleton;“but it doesn’t touch me. I can stand defeat; butI am seldom satisfied with one trial. The first trialmay be for sport, but with me the second is forblood.”

Having said this, he wheeled and stalked out of theroom.

“We’ll never have peace in this club while he continuesto be a member,” asserted Hugh Morton earnestly.

“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed one of the cardplayers. “Don’t forget that Mr. Darleton is my friend,sir!”

“I’ve not said anything behind his back that I amnot ready to repeat to his face,” flung back Morton.

“Well, you’d better be careful. He can fight.”

“I think this is quite enough of this fighting talk!”said the man called Robbins sternly.

“That’s right!”

“Quit it!”

“Choke off!”

“It’s getting tiresome!”

These exclamations came from various persons, andDarleton’s friend closed up at once.

Morton looked both provoked and disgusted.

“This is what the Darleton crowd is bringing usto,” he said, addressing Frank, in a low tone. “Theyhave formed a clique and introduced the first jarringelement into the club. In the end they’ll all get firedout on their necks.”

Frank and Morton sat down in a corner by one ofthe round card tables.

“I don’t mind Darleton’s talk,” protested Hugh, “forI reckon him as a big case of bluff. You called himlast night, and he’s sore over it. Usually he makes hisbluffs go at poker. He’ll find he can’t always make abluff go in real life.”

“You say he is a clever poker player.”

“Clever or crooked.”

“Is there a question in regard to his honesty?”

“In some minds it’s more than a question.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s straight.”

“Well, in that case, it doesn’t seem to me that itshould be a very hard case to get rid of him.”

“You mean——”

“Crooks are not generally permitted in clubs forgentlemen.”

“But no one has been able to catch him.”

“Oh; then it is not positively known that he iscrooked?”

“Well, I am confident that there is something peculiarabout his playing, and I’m not the only one whois confident. He wins right along.”

“Never loses?”

“Never more than a few dollars, while he frequentlywins several hundred at a sitting.”

“It seems to me that catching a dishonest pokerplayer should not be such a difficult thing out in thiscountry.”

“We’ve had some of our cleverest card men watchinghim, and all have given it up. They say he maybe crooked, but they can’t detect how he works thetrick.”

“You stated, I believe, that he never plays in thedaytime.”

“Never.”

“Have you noted any other peculiar thing about hisplaying?”

“No, nothing unless—unless——”

“Unless what?”

“Unless it is his style of wearing smoked glasses.”

“He wears smoked glasses when he plays?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well, he claims the lights here hurt his eyes.”

“That seems a very good reason why he shouldchoose to play by day.”

“Yes; but he always has an excuse when asked intoa game in the daytime.”

Merriwell’s face wore an expression of deepthought.

“It seems to have the elements of a Sherlock Holmescase,” he finally remarked. “I’d like to be presentwhen Darleton is playing. I think it is possible Imight detect his trick, in case there is any trick aboutit.”

“Are you a card expert?”

“I make no pretensions of being anything of thesort,” answered Merry promptly. “Still I know somethingabout the game of poker, and I did succeed inexposing card crooks, both at Fardale and at Yale.”

Morton shook his head.

“I think I’m ordinarily shrewd in regard to cards,”he said; “but I haven’t been able to find out his secret.I don’t believe you would have any success, Mr. Merriwell.”

Merry persisted.

“There is no harm in letting me try, is there?”

“The only harm would be to arouse Darleton’s suspicionif he caught you rubbering at him. I know hehas thought himself watched at various times.”

“Leave it to me,” urged Frank. “I’ll not arouse hissuspicions.”

“But it won’t do a bit of good.”

“If he is cheating, I’ll detect him,” asserted Merry,finding that it was necessary to make a positive declarationof that sort, in order to move Morton.

Hugh looked at him incredulously.

“You’re a dandy fencer, old man,” he laughed; “butyou mustn’t get a fancy that you’re just as clever ateverything. Still, as long as you are so insistent, I’llgive you a trial. Meet me in the billiard room at eighto’clock this evening. Play seldom begins here beforeeight-thirty or nine.”

“I’ll be there,” promised Frank, satisfied.

It was nine o’clock that evening when Morton andMerriwell strolled into the card room. They seemedto be wandering around in search of some amusementto pass away the time.

“Come on here, Morton,” called a player. “Bringyour friend into this game. It will make just enough.”

Hugh shook his head.

“No cards for me to-night,” he said. “My luck istoo poor. Dropped more than enough to satisfy melast week.”

“The place to find your money is where you lost it,”said another player.

“I’m willing to let it rest where it is a while. Ihave a severe touch of cold feet.”

“How about your friend?”

“He may do as he likes.”

“I know so little about cards—so very little,” protestedFrank. “What are you playing?”

“Poker.”

He shook his head.

“I have played euchre,” he said.

“Quite a difference in the games,” laughed a man.“I suppose you have played old maid, also?”

“Yes,” answered Merry innocently, “I have. Doyou play that?”

“He’ll spoil your game, fellows,” laughed Mortonquickly.

“How do you know I would?” exclaimed Merry resentfully.

“Reckon Hugh is right, Mr. Merriwell,” laughed theone who had invited Frank. “You had better keep outof the game.”

Fred Darleton was playing at one of the tables. Heregarded Frank with a sneer on his face.

“An innocent stiff,” he commented, in a low tone.“They say he never takes a drink, never swears, neverdoes anything naughty.”

“He’s rather naughty at fencing,” reminded a manjokingly; but Darleton saw nothing to laugh at in theremark.

Morton was heard informing Merry that he mustnot ask questions about the game while play was inprogress, as by so doing he might seem to give awaysome player’s hand.

“Oh, I can keep still,” assured Frank smilingly.“I’ve seen them play poker before.”

“No one would ever suspect it,” sneered Darletonunder his breath.

This fellow was wearing dark-colored glasses, afterhis usual custom.

Merry found an opportunity to inspect the lights.While they were sufficiently bright for all purposes,they were shaded in such a manner that Darleton’sexcuse for wearing smoked glasses seemed a paltryone.

“His real reason is not because the lights hurt hiseyes,” decided Frank.

What was the fellow’s real reason? Merriwell hopedto discover before the evening was over. He seemedto take interest in the play first at one table and thenat another, but finally settled on the one at whichDarleton was seated.

As usual, Darleton was winning. He had a lot ofchips stacked up before him.

“Why did you drop your hand after opening thatlast jack pot, Darleton?” inquired one of the players.

“Because I was satisfied that you had me beaten,”was the answer.

“You had two pairs to open on, and you drew onlyone card.”

“What of that?”

“I took three cards.”

“I remember.”

“Well, you wouldn’t bet your two pairs, and I rakedin the pot. How did it happen?”

“I decided that you bettered your hand. My pairswere small.”

“I did better my hand,” confessed the man; “but Iswear you have a queer method of playing poker! Idon’t understand it.”

“My method suits me,” laughed Darleton, fingeringhis chips.

“It is a successful one, all right; but I never laydown two pairs after opening a jack pot, especially ifthe only player who stays in with me draws threecards.”

“You lose oftener than I do.”

“No question about that.”

“Then my judgment must be better than yours. Letit go at that.”

Frank had listened to all this, and he, likewise, waspuzzled to understand why Darleton had decided notto risk a bet after the draw. It happened that Merryhad stood where he could look into the other man’shand. The man held up a pair of kings on the dealand drew another king when cards were given out.His three kings were better than Darleton’s two pairs;but Darleton knew he had the man beaten before thedraw. How did he come to believe the man had himbeaten after the draw?

Frank found an opportunity to look round for mirrors.There were none in the room.

Darleton was not working with an accomplice whocould look into the other man’s hand. Merry was theonly person able to see the man’s cards as he pickedthem up.

“I don’t believe he’ll suspect me of being Darleton’saccomplice,” thought Frank.

This was only one of the things which increased themystery of Darleton’s playing. The fellow seemedto know exactly when to bet a hand for all it wasworth, and once he persisted in raising a player whowas bluffing recklessly. Finally the bluffer becameangry and called.

“I have a pair of seven spots, Darleton? What haveyou got? I don’t believe you have much of anything.”

“Why, I have a pair of ten spots, and they win,”was the smiling retort.

“Bluffers, both of you!” cried another player. “ButI swear this is the first time I’ve ever known Darletonto bluff at poker. And he got away with it on ashow-down!”

The entire party regarded Darleton with wonderment,but the winner simply smiled a bit behind hisdark goggles.

Morton glanced swiftly at Frank, as if to say: “Yousee how it goes, but you can’t make anything of it.”

Merriwell was perplexed, but this perplexity servedas a spur to urge him forward in his desire to solvethe mystery. For mystery about Darleton’s successthere certainly seemed to be.

With an inquiring and searching mind, Merry wasone who disliked to be baffled by anything in the formof mystery that might be legitimately investigated. Amystery amid common things and common eventsaroused him to insistent investigation, for he knewthere should be no mystery, and that which was bafflingshould, in case it was natural, eventually developto be simple indeed.

He now felt himself fully aroused, for he did notbelieve it possible that by any occult power or discernmentDarleton was capable of reading the mindsof his companions at the card table and thus learningwhen to drop two pairs and when to bet one veryordinary pair to a finish.

“The cards must be marked,” decided Frank.

At this juncture the player who had called Darletonasked for a fresh pack.

Merry saw the cards brought in by a colored boy.They were still sealed. He saw the seal broken, thejoker removed from the pack, the cards shuffled, cut,and dealt.

“Now we’ll note if Darleton continues to win,”thought Merry.

He knew the fresh pack could not be marked. Theywere sealed, just as purchased from the dealer, whenthrown on the table.

Morton spoke to Frank.

“Are you getting tired?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” was the immediate reply. “I am enjoyingwatching this game. I have nothing else to doto-night.”

Hugh pushed along a chair, and urged Merry to sitdown. Frank accepted the chair. Without appearingto do so, he continued to watch Darleton.

Morton leaned on the back of Frank’s chair.

“Have they ever looked for marked cards after playingwith Darleton?” asked Frank, in such a low tonethat no one save Hugh could hear and understand him.

“Frequently.”

“Never found them marked?”

“Never. They are not marked. I fancied youmight think they were. We’ve had experts, regularcard sharps, examine packs used in games when hehas won heavily.”

Still Merry was not satisfied on this point.

“If they are not marked,” he thought, “Darletonmust have an accomplice who gives him tips. The latterseems utterly impossible, and, therefore, the cardsmust be marked.”

Occasionally Darleton glanced at Merriwell, butevery time it seemed that Frank was giving him noattention at all.

Yet every move on the part of the successful playerwas watched by the young man who had resolved tosolve the mystery.

For some time after the appearance of the freshpack of cards Darleton did little betting. Still heseemed to examine each hand dealt him, and his mannerof examining the hands was very critical, as ifweighing their value. The cards interested himgreatly, although he did not bet.

“Your luck has turned,” cried one of the players.“You haven’t done a thing since the fresh pack wasbrought.”

“Oh, I’ll get after you again directly,” smiled Darleton.“I’m waiting for the psychological moment,that’s all.”

Frank noted that the fellow frequently put his handinto the side pocket of his coat. Although he did this,he did not seem to take anything out of that pocket.Still, after a while, the watcher began to fancy thesecareless, but often repeated movements had somethingto do with the mystery.

At last, Darleton seemed to get a hand to his liking.It was on his own deal, and two other players heldgood hands, one a straight and the other a flush.

When Darleton was finally called he exhibited a fullhand and raked in the money.

“You see!” muttered Morton, in Merry’s ear.

“No, I don’t see,” admitted Frank; “but I mean to.”

Morton was growing tired. He yawned, straightenedup and sauntered about.

Frank rose, stretched himself a little, looked on atanother table a few moments, and finally broughthimself to a position behind Darleton’s chair withoutattracting Darleton’s attention.

From this point he once more began to watch theplaying in which he was so keenly interested.

Morton observed this change, but said nothing, althoughto him it seemed like wasted time on Frank’spart.

From his new position Merriwell was able to seeinto Darleton’s hands, and the style of play followedby the fellow surprised him even more. At the veryoutset he saw Darleton drop two pairs, kings up, withoutattempting to bet them and without even showingthem to any one. In the end it developed that anotherplayer held winning cards, having three fivespots; but this player had drawn three cards, and beforethe betting began there seemed nothing to indicatethat he could beat kings up.

On the very next hand something still more remarkablehappened. The first man after the age stayed inand all the others remained. Observing Darleton’scards, Merry saw he held the deuce, six, seven, andking of diamonds and the seven of spades. He splithis pair, casting aside the seven of spades, and drewto the four diamonds.

The card that came in was the ace of diamonds, givinghim an ace-high flush.

Two of the other players took two cards each; butMerry decided that one of them was holding up a“kicker”—that is, an odd card with his pair. This estimationof his hand Frank formed from the fact thatthe man had not raised the original bettor before thedraw, although sitting in a fine position to do so. Hadthe man held threes he would have raised. It waslikely he had a small pair and an ace, and also that heknew the style of play of the original bettor and believedthis person was likewise holding a “kicker,”probably for the purpose of leading the other playersinto fancying he had threes.

This being the case, Darleton’s ace-high was a fancyhand and would be almost certain to rake down thepot.

Even supposing it possible that both players whocalled for two cards held three of a kind, it was not,in the natural run of the game, at all likely they hadimproved their hands.

Still when the original bettor tossed four blue chipsinto the pot and one of the others called, Darletondropped his handsome flush, declining to come in and,remarking:

“I didn’t catch.”

He lied, for he had “caught” and filled a flush.

What was his object in lying?

A moment later the original bettor lay down threejacks and a pair of nine spots.

The hand was superior to Darleton’s flush.

Beyond question Darleton knew he was beaten, andtherefore he chose to pretend he had not filled his hand.

But how did he know?

“The cards must be marked!” was the thought thatagain flashed through Frank Merriwell’s mind.

But if they were marked and it was impossible todetect the fact, there was no way of exposing thecrooked player. If they were marked, however, Merrybelieved there must be some way of detecting it.

Frank kept very still. Slipping his hand into aninner pocket, he brought forth something he had purchasedthat very afternoon, after talking with Mortonconcerning Darleton’s success at poker and his methods.Quietly he adjusted his purchase to the bridge ofhis nose.

He had bought a pair of smoked glass goggles!

The cards were being shuffled. The goggles changedthe aspect of the room, causing everything to look dimand dusky.

The man who was dealing tossed the cards roundto the different players. As this was being done, Frankdetected something hitherto unseen upon the cards.

On the backs of many of them were strange luminousdesigns, crosses, spots, circles, and straight lines.These marks could be distinctly seen with the aid ofthe smoked glasses.

Lifting his hand, Merry raised the glasses.

The glowing marks vanished! A feeling of satisfactionshot through the discoverer.

“I have him!” he mentally exclaimed. “I have detectedhis clever little trick!”

It happened that Darleton received a pair of jacksand a pair of sixes on the deal.

One of the players “stayed” and Darleton “cameup.”

On the draw Darleton caught another six spot, givinghim a full hand.

He seemed to be looking at his cards intently, butFrank observed that he had watched every card as itwas dealt.

In the betting that followed Darleton pressed itevery time. At the call he displayed the winning hand.

But just as he reached to pull in the chips his wristwas clutched by a grip of iron.

Frank Merriwell had grasped and checked him.

“Gentlemen,” cried Merry, “you are playing with acrook! You are being cheated!”

Instantly there was a great stir in the room. Mensprang up from their chairs.

Darleton uttered an exclamation of fury.

“What do you mean, you duffer?” he snarled. “Letgo!”

Instead of obeying, Merry pinned him fast in hischair, so he could not move.

“Yes, what do you mean?” shouted one of Darleton’sfriends, leaping from another table and endeavoringto reach Frank. “Let go, or I’ll——”

Hugh Morton grappled with the fellow.

“I wouldn’t do anything if I were you,” he said.“Take it easy, Higgins. We’ll find out what he meansin a minute.”

“Find out!” roared Higgins. “You bet! He’ll getall that’s coming to him for this!”

“Explain yourself, Mr. Merriwell,” urged one of theplayers. “This is a very grave charge. If you cannotsubstantiate it——”

“I can, sir.”

“Do so at once.”

“These cards are marked.”

“It’s a lie!” raged Darleton.

“You must prove that the cards are marked, Mr.Merriwell,” said another player. “They were but latelyunsealed, and it seems impossible.”

“They have been marked since they were opened.”

“How?”

“With the aid of luminous marking fluid of somesort, carried in this man’s pocket. I have watchedhim marking them.”

“Liar!” came from the fellow accused; but hechoked over the word, and he was white to the lips, forhe had discovered that Merry was wearing smokedgoggles, like his own.

“Let me get at him!” panted Darleton’s friend; butMorton continued, with the assistance of another man,to hold the fellow in check.

“Under ordinary conditions,” said Frank coolly,“the marking cannot be detected. Mr. Darleton has pretendedit was necessary for him to wear dark-coloredgoggles in order to protect his eyes from the lights.Why didn’t he play in the daytime? Because he wouldthen have no excuse for using the goggles, which hedoes not wear as a rule. With the aid of the goggleshe is able to see and understand the markingon the backs of the cards. This makes it possible forhim to tell what every man round the table holds. Nowonder he knows when to bet and when to drop hiscards!”

“It’s false!” muttered the accused weakly.

“If any one doubts that I speak the truth,” saidMerry, “let him feel in Mr. Darleton’s coat pocket onthe right-hand side.”

A man did so at once, bringing forth a little, tinbox, minus the lid, which contained a yellowish, paste-likesubstance.

“That is the luminous paint,” said Frank.

“Further doubts will be settled by taking my goggles,with which I detected the fraud, and examiningthe backs of the cards.”

He handed the goggles over, releasing his hold onDarleton, who seemed for the moment incapable ofaction.

The excited players tried the goggles and examinedthe cards, one after another. All saw the marks distinctlywith the aid of the smoke-colored glasses. Theydiscovered that the four aces were marked, each cardwith a single dot, the kings bore two dots, the queensthree dots and the jacks four dots. The ten spot wasindicated by a cross, the nine spot showed two crosses,the eight a straight line, the seven two parallel lines,the six a circle, and there the marking stopped. EvidentlyDarleton had not found time to finish his workon the remainder of the pack.

And now Darleton found himself regarded with intenseindignation and disgust by all save the fellowwho had attempted to come to his aid. Indeed, theindignation of the men was such that they threatenedpersonal violence to the exposed rascal.

It seemed that the fellow would not escape from theroom without being handled roughly. Before the outburstof indignation, his bravado and nerve wilted, andhe became very humble and apprehensive.

No wonder he was alarmed for his own safety.Several of those present had lost heavily to him, andthey demanded satisfaction of some sort.

“He has skinned me out of hundreds!” snarled oneman. “I’ll take it out of his hide! I’ll break everybone in his dishonest body!”

Two men placed themselves before the infuriatedone and tried to reason with him.

“What are you going to do?” he shouted. “Are yougoing to let him off without doing anything?”

“We’ll make him fork over what he has won to-night.”

“Little satisfaction that will be!”

“We’ll find how much money he has on his personand make him give that up.”

“That doesn’t satisfy me!”

“Then we’ll expel him in disgrace from the club.”

“That sounds better, but it isn’t enough. Just stepout of the room, all of you, and leave him to me.While you’re outside, you had better call an ambulancefor him.”

“I warn you not to offer me personal violence,” saidDarleton, his lips quivering and his voice unsteady.

“You warn us, you cur!” snarled one, shaking hisfist under the rascal’s nose. “Why, do you know whatyou deserve and what you would get in some places?You deserve to be lynched! There was a time in thistown when you would have been shot.”

Frank stood back and let matters take their course.He had done his part, and he felt that he had donewell in exposing the scoundrel. It was not for him tosay how the man should be dealt with by the club.

Darleton drew forth a pocketbook and flung it onthe table.

“There’s my money,” he said. “Go ahead and takeit.”

“You bet we will!” was the instant response.

The money was taken and divided before his eyes.

Then the men of cooler judgment prevailed overtheir more excitable companions, whom they persuadedto let Darleton depart in disgrace.

The fellow was only too glad to get off in thatmanner, and he hastily slunk to the door.

There he paused and looked around. His eyes metthose of Frank Merriwell, and the look he gave waspregnant with malignant hatred of the most murderousnature.

The Midwestern lost little time in calling a meetingfor the purpose of considering Darleton’s case. Inshort order the fellow was declared expelled in disgracefrom the organization. Following this, it wasagreed that Frank Merriwell should be tendered a voteof thanks for his service to the club.

The outcome of the affair gave all of Merry’s friendsa feeling of satisfaction, for they believed that thescoundrel had received his just deserts.

Bart Hodge expressed a feeling of intense regretbecause he had not been present to witness Darleton’shumiliation.

“I sized him up at the start,” declared Bart. “Iknew he was a crook, and I knew no crook could defeatMerry.”

That afternoon Frank came face to face with Darletonin front of the post office. The fellow stoppedshort, the glare of a panther that has been woundedleaping into his eyes.

“You—you—you meddling dog!” he panted huskily.

Frank would have passed on without speaking, butthe rascal stepped before him.

“Kindly stand aside,” said Merry. “I don’t wish tosoil my hands on you.”

“Oh, you’re very fine and lofty! You think youhave done a grand thing in putting this disgrace onme, I suppose.”

“I’m not at all proud of it; but I did my duty.”

“Your duty! Bah!”

“It is the duty of any man to expose a rascal whenhe can do so.”

“Bah! You did not do that from a sense of duty,but to win applause and lead people to think you verycunning and clever. You’re a notoriety seeker.”

“I don’t care to waste words with you.”

“You have ruined my good name!”

“You ruined it yourself by your crookedness. Don’ttry to put the blame on me.”

“You did it!” panted Darleton; “but you shall sufferfor it!”

“If you make too many threats, I’ll call a policemanand turn you over to him.”

“No doubt of it! That’s the way you’ll try to hidebehind a bluecoat! You’re a coward, Frank Merriwell!”

“Your opinion of me does not disturb me in theleast, sir.”

“I’ll disturb you before I am through with you!You have ruined me; but I’ll square it!”

“I don’t care to be seen talking with you.”

“One moment more. I’ll have my say! You triumphedand gloated over me when I was humbled atthe club.”

“I never gloat over the fallen.”

“Oh, you are very fine and lofty in sentiment! Youtry to make people believe you are a goody-goody.You play a part, and play it well enough to deceivemost persons; but I’ll wager there are spots in yourcareer that will not bear investigation. If some ofyour admirers knew all about you they would turnfrom you in disgust. I’ve seen chaps like you before,and they’re always disgusting, for they are alwayshypocrites. You pretend that you do not play cards!How was it that you were clever enough to detect mymethods? You claim you do not drink, but I’ll betmy life you do drink on the sly.

“You seem to have no vices, but no chap travelsabout as you do and keeps free from little vices. Smallvices make men more manly. The fellow who has novices is either cold-blooded or more than human. If Ihad time I’d follow you up and expose you. ThenI’d strike you as you have struck me. But I haven’tthe time. Still you needn’t think you’re going to getoff. I’ll strike just the same, and I’ll strike you goodand sufficient! When I land you’ll know it, and I’llland in a hurry.

“That’s all. I don’t care to say anything more. Ihave some friends who will stick to me. Don’t fancyfor a moment that I am friendless. I’ll see you again.If you get frightened and hike out of Omaha, I’ll follow.I’ll follow until I get my opportunity!”

Having expressed himself in this manner, he steppedaside and walked swiftly away.

“He’s the sort of chap to strike at an enemy’s back,”thought Merry.

That evening Frank took dinner with Morton at thelatter’s home. He met Hugh’s mother and sister, andfound them refined and pleasant people. After dinnerhe remained for two hours or more, chatting withthem and enjoying himself.

Kate Morton was a cultured girl, having attendedcollege in the East. She talked of books, music, andart, yet she was not stilted and conventional in herconversation, and she proved that she had thoughtsand ideas of her own.

When he finally arose to leave, Merry felt that hehad passed a most agreeable and profitable evening.He had met a girl who thought of something besidesdress, society, and frivolity, yet who must appear atadvantage in the very best society, and who undoubtedlyenjoyed the pastimes which most girls enjoy.

Hugh was inclined to accompany Frank, but Merrydissuaded him, saying he would catch a car at the firstcorner and ride within a block of the hotel.

Merriwell whistled as he sauntered along the street.His first warning of danger was when he heard a rustleclose behind his back. Before he could turn somethingsmote him down.

“Here we are,” said a low voice.

The hack had stopped. Several persons sprangdown from the top. The door was flung open andothers issued from within.

“Drag him out.”

At this command a helpless figure was pulled forth.

The night was dark and the place the outskirts ofthe city of Omaha. Near at hand rose the black hulkof a silent and apparently deserted building.

“All right, driver.”

The door of the hack slammed, the driver whippedup his horses, and the men were left with the helplessone in their midst.

“Make him walk,” said the first speaker. “He’s conscious,for he tried to get his hands free inside.”

They moved, forcing along their captive. Close up to the wallto the wall of the building they halted.

“Have you the key?” asked one.

“Yes; here it is.”

“Open the door. Hurry up. The watchman maysee us, and it will be all off.”

“That’s right,” put in another. “You know somebodytried to burn this place a week ago.”

Soon the man with the key opened a door and thecaptive was pushed into the building. Every manfollowed, and the door was closed.

Ten minutes later all were assembled in a bare roomof the old building. One of them had brought a numberof torches, which were now lighted. The lightshowed that there were ten of them in all, and withthe exception of the captive, whose hands were tiedbehind his back and whose jaws were distended by agag, they wore masks which effectually concealed theirfeatures.

The captive was Frank Merriwell.

One of the men stepped before Frank.

“Well, how do you like it?” he asked tauntingly.“What do you think is going to happen to you?”

It was impossible for Merry to reply.

“Remove that gag,” directed the taunting chap.“Let him talk. Let him yell, if he wants to. No onecan hear him now.”

The mask was removed from between Frank’s teeth.

“Thank you,” said Merry, after a moment. “That’sa great relief to my jaws.”

“Oh, it hurt you, did it?” sneered the taunting fellow.“Well, you may get hurt worse than that beforethe night is over.”

“I suppose you contemplate murdering me, Darleton,”said Frank, his voice steady.

Immediately the other snatched off his mask, exposingthe face of Fred Darleton.

“I’m willing you should know me,” he said. “Youdo not know any of the others.”

“I am quite confident that your chum, Grant Hardy,is one of them.”

“You can’t pick him out. You couldn’t swearto it.”

“If you put me out of the way, like the brave menyou are, I’ll not be able to swear to anything.”

“Oh, we’re not going to murder you, you fool!”

“You surprise me!”

“But I have had you brought here in order that Imay square my account with you.”

“In what manner? Are you going to mutilate me?”

“I may carve you up some before I am throughwith you. You think you are a great fencer, but I amsatisfied that you are a coward. If you were forcedto fight for your life you would show the whitefeather.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know it.”

“Give me half an opportunity.”

“I will, and you shall fight me!” cried Darletonviciously. “You did some very fancy work on exhibition.Now you can show what you’re capable ofdoing when your handsome body is at stake.”

“What do you mean?”

Darleton turned to his companion.

“Where are the rapiers?” he asked.

One of the masked men held out something wrappedin a black cloth.

“Here they are.”

“All right. Set him free. He can’t get away. Releasehis hands.”

A moment later Frank’s hands were freed.

“Strip down for business, Merriwell,” commandedDarleton, flinging aside his coat and vest and removinghis collar. “You are going to fight me with rapiers.”

“A genuine duel?” asked Merry.

“That’s what it will be.”

Frank did not hesitate. He flung aside his coat andvest, removed his collar and necktie, and rolled backthe shirt sleeve of his right arm.

The readiness with which he accepted the situationand prepared for business, surprised some of themasked men.

Before long Darleton and Frank were ready.

In the meantime, the cloth had been removed fromthe rapiers, revealing two long, glittering weapons.

“Give him the choice,” cried Darleton, with a flourish.

The man with the weapons stepped forward, holdingthem by the blades and having them crossed. Frankaccepted the first that came to his hand. His enemytook the other.

“On guard!” cried Darleton savagely; “on guard,and defend your life!”

Steel met steel with a deadly click.

There was no fooling about that encounter. Fromthe very start it was deadly and thrilling in its everyaspect. The duelists went at it keyed to the highesttension.

Merry saw a deadly purpose in Fred Darleton’seyes, and he knew the fellow longed to run himthrough.

On the other hand, only as a last resort to save himselfdid Frank wish to seriously wound his enemy.

Aroused by his fancied wrongs, Darleton handledthe rapier with consummate skill. He watched for anopening, and he was ready to take advantage of theslightest mistake on the part of his opponent.

The torches flared and smoked, casting a weird glowover the scene. The fighters advanced and retreated.The rapiers glinted and flashed.

“Do your best, Merriwell!” hissed Darleton.

Frank was kept busy meeting the swiftly shiftingattacks of the fellow, who was seeking to confusehim.

“I know your style,” declared the vengeful chap.“You can’t work the tricks you played on me at theMidwestern. Try any of them—try them all!”

Frank made no retort. He was watching for achance to try quite a different trick.

Suddenly the opening came. He closed in. Therapiers slipped past until hilt met hilt. With a snappingtwist Frank tore the weapon from the fingers ofhis foe and sent it spinning aside.

Darleton was at Merry’s mercy. Frank had beenforced into this engagement in a way that made itsomething entirely different from an ordinary affairof honor. He was surrounded by enemies. No friendswere present. He could have ended Fred Darleton’slife with a single stroke.

Instead of that, he stepped quickly aside, picked upthe rapier and offered it to his foe, hilt first.

Chagrined by what had happened, Darleton snatchedit and made a quick thrust at Merry’s throat.

By a backward spring, Merry escaped being killed.

Instantly a wonderful change came over Frank. Heclosed in and became the assailant. Twice he thrustfor Darleton. He was parried, but he guarded instantlyand prevented the fellow from securing ariposte.

Merry’s third attempt was more successful.

He caught Darleton in the shoulder and inflicted asuperficial but somewhat painful wound.

Exclamations came from the masked witnesses.

Infuriated by his poor success and the wound, Darletonthrew caution to the winds and sailed into Merrylike a tornado.

“It’s your life or mine!” he panted, as he made avicious thrust at Frank’s heart.

The thrust was turned.

Then a cry of horror broke from the spectators, forFrank seemed to have run his antagonist clean throughthe body.

Darleton fell. One of the masked men, who seemedto be a surgeon, knelt at once to examine the wound.

“I’m sorry,” said Frank grimly; “but I call on youall to bear witness that he forced me to it. As he said,it was his life or mine.”

The following day Frank visited Darleton in thehospital whither the unfortunate fellow had been taken.The wounded man’s injury had been pronounced veryserious, but not necessarily fatal. The course of thesteel had been changed by a rib, and only Darleton’sright side had been pierced.

The moment they were left alone, Darleton said:

“You did the trick, Merriwell. I didn’t believe youcould, but you were justified in defending yourself.I made every man there take a solemn oath that hewould keep silent no matter what happened.”

“I have been expecting and waiting for arrest,” saidFrank. “I supposed you would have me arrested.”

“You’re wrong. You’ll never be arrested for thisaffair unless you go to the police and peach on yourself.They say I’ll get well, all right. I want to. Doyou know what I mean to do?”

“No.”

“I’m going to practice until I can defeat you withthe rapiers, if it takes me years. When I am confidentthat I can do the trick, I’m going to find you, forceyou to fight again and kill you. It would be no satisfactionto me to see you arrested for last night’s work.Unless you’re a fool, you’ll not be arrested. If youwere arrested and told the truth, you could not be punishedfor defending yourself.”

“That’s the way I feel about it,” said Frank; “butI regret that you still thirst for my blood. I came hereto find out if there is anything I can do for you.”

“I wouldn’t take a favor from you for worlds. Iknow I’m in the wrong, but that makes me hate younone the less. Go now. But expect to face me againsome day and fight for your life.”

And thus they parted, still deadly enemies, much toFrank’s regret, for, in spite of Darleton’s dishonesty,there was a certain something in the make-up of theman that had won for him a feeling of sympathy inMerry’s heart. More than that, the courage displayedby Darleton in the duel caused Frank to think of himin a light of mingled admiration and regret. Althougha scoundrel, not all the elements of his naturewere unworthy.

The town of Cartersville is situated in the southernpart of the State of Iowa. This was the first stopFrank and his party made after leaving Omaha. Theirfirst view of the town was not particularly inviting, asthe railway station, after the disagreeable habit ofnearly all railway stations, was situated in the mostunsightly and forbidding portion of the place. In theimmediate vicinity were unpainted, ramshackle buildings,saloons, cheap stores and hovel-like houses. Infront of the saloons and stores lounged a few slovenly,ambition-lacking loafers, while slatternly women anddirty children were seen in the doorways or leaningfrom the open windows of the wretched houses.

On the station platform had gathered the usualcrowd, including those who came to the train fromnecessity and those drawn thither by curiosity. Therewas also a surprisingly large gathering of boys of variousages, from six to eighteen.

Frank walked briskly along to the baggage car andnoted that the baggage belonging to his party wasput off there. Then he glanced around, as if in searchof some one.

“I wonder where Mr. Gaddis is?” he said. “He wasto meet us at the station.”

A big, hulking six-footer, with ham-like hands anda thick neck, stepped forward from the van of a mixedcrowd of about twenty tough-looking young fellowswho had flocked down the platform behind Merry andhis party.

“Are you Frank Merriwell?” asked the huge chap,who was about twenty years old, as he held the buttof a half-smoked cheroot in the corner of his capaciousmouth.

“Yes, sir,” answered Merry promptly. “Do yourepresent Joseph Gaddis?”

“I should say not!” was the retort. “Not by ablame sight.”

“I thought not,” said Frank.

“Oh, ye did? What made ye think not, hey?”

“You are not just the sort of man I expected tomeet. Do you know Mr. Gaddis?”

“Do I? Some!”

“Isn’t he here?”

“I reckon not.”

“Where is he?”

“Ask me!”

Although the manner of the big fellow was openlyinsolent, Merry did not seem to notice it.

The motley crowd accompanying this man weregrinning or scowling at Merriwell and his friends,while some of them made half-audible comments of anunflattering sort. They were tall, short, stout, andthin, but one and all they carried the atmosphere oftough characters.

“It’s rather odd, Bart,” said Frank, speaking toHodge, who was surveying the crowd with dark disapproval,“that Gaddis should fail to keep his appointmentto meet us here.”

“No it ain’t odd,” contradicted the big chap. “Heknowed better than to be here. You made some sortof arrangement with him to play a game of baseballin this town, didn’t ye?”

“Yes.”

“Well, fergit it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fergit it. You’ll be wastin’ a whole lot of time ifyou stop here, an’ you’ll put yourselves to a heapof inconvenience. You won’t play no baseball withGaddis’ team, so you’d better hop right back onter thetrain and continue your ride.”

Merry now surveyed the speaker from his head tohis feet.

“I happen to have a contract with Mr. Gaddis,” hesaid. “How is it that you have so much authority?Who are you?”

“I’m Mat Madison, and I happen to know what I’mtalkin’ about. Joe Gaddis has changed his mind aboutplayin’ baseball with you. He ain’t goin’ to play baseballno more this season.”

“Did he send you here to tell me this?” demandedFrank, his eyes beginning to gleam with an ominouslight.

“No, he didn’t send me; I come myself.”

“Then you haven’t any real authority.”

“Is that so! You bet I have! I’m giving it to youon the level when I say you won’t play no baseballgame in Cartersville, and the wisest thing you can dois to step right back onter this train and git out. Inshort, I’m here to see that youdo git back onter thetrain, and I brought my backers. If you don’t gitwe’ll have to make ye git.”

By this time Frank’s friends were gathered at hisback, ready for anything that might happen. Theyscented trouble, although they could not understandthe cause of it.

“I have no idea of leaving Cartersville until I seeMr. Gaddis,” said Merry, with cool determination.“If he fails to keep his agreement with me, I proposeto collect one hundred and fifty dollars forfeit money.”

“Oh, haw! haw! You do, do ye? Well, when youcollect a hundred and fifty from Joe Gaddis you’ll bebald-headed. There ain’t no time for foolin’. Thetrain will pull out pretty soon, so you want to hopright back onto it and go along. If you don’t, I’llmake you hop. Git that?”

“If you bother me I’ll feel it my duty to makeyou regret your action. Get that?”

“Why, you thunderin’ fool, you don’t mean to fight,do ye? I’ll knock the head off your shoulders!”

“I don’t think you will.”

“Then take this!”

As he snarled forth the words, Madison struck viciouslyat Frank’s face with his right fist.

Merry ducked like a flash, at the same time throwingup his left hand and catching the fellow’s wrist.With this hold, he gave a strong, sharp pull in the samedirection that Madison had started, at the same timejerking the fellow’s arm downward. While doing this,Merry stooped and thrust his right arm between theruffian’s legs, grasping Madison’s right leg back ofthe knee. In this manner he brought the bruiser acrosshis back and shoulders in such a way that the fellowhad no time to recover and was losing his balancewhen Frank suddenly straightened up with a heavingsurge.

To the amazement of Madison’s friends, the fellowwas sent flying through the air clear of the platform,striking the ground on his head and shoulders.

Merry calmly turned to look after the baggage, notgiving his late assailant as much as a glance after thelatter struck the ground.

Madison was somewhat stunned. He sat up, holdinghis hands to his head and looking bewildered. Anumber of his friends sprang from the platform andgathered around him.

The young toughs were astounded by the manner inwhich Merry had met Madison’s assault. If beforethat they had contemplated an attack on Frank andhis party, the sudden disposal of their leader causedthem to falter and change their plan.

Hans Dunnerwurst chuckled as he looked afterMadison.

“Maype you vill holdt that for a vile,” he observed.

“There is something wrong about this business herein Cartersville, fellows,” said Frank; “but we’ll findout what it is. If Gaddis squeals on his contract withme, I’m going to see if he cannot be compelled to paythe forfeit.”

“That’s business,” nodded Hodge. “I’ll wager hesent these thugs to frighten us away, so he wouldn’tbe compelled to pay the money. If we didn’t stop, hecould get out of it.”

“Whereupon we’ll linger,” murmured Jack Ready.

“Somebody’s gug-gug-going to fuf-fuf-find out wemean bub-bub-business!” stuttered Gamp.

“I opine one chap has found it out already,” observedBuck Badger dryly.

“It must have been a shock to him,” said Dade Morgan,a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes.

“Glad he tackled Frank,” yawned Browning, with awearied air. “I don’t feel like exerting myself afterthat infernally uncomfortable car ride.”

“The gentleman experienced a taste of jutsuju—Imean jujutsu,” laughed Harry Rattleton.

“Sorry Merry had to soil his hands on the bigloafer,” said Dick Starbright, taking off his hat andtossing back his mane of golden hair.

“It was a clever piece of business,” admitted JimStretcher; “but two years ago, at a fair in Tipton,Missouri, I saw a little piece of business that——”

“Don’t tell it—don’t dare to tell it!” exclaimedBadger. “I’m from Kansas, and I’m sick of hearingthese powerful extravagant tales about Missouri. Ifyou mention Missouri in my hearing for the next threedays you’ll be in danger of sudden destruction. That’swhatever!”

“You’re jealous, and I don’t blame you,” said Jim.“If I lived in Kansas I’d never acknowledge it. It wasthe last place created, and made out of mighty poormaterial. Everybody in Kansas worth knowing hasmoved out.”

“Which is a genuine Irish bull,” said Morgan.

“All aboard,” called the conductor.

A few moments later the train pulled out.

In the meantime, Mat Madison had recovered andregained his feet. The result of his attack on Merriwellhad astonished him no less than it did his followers.Even after recovering from the shock he couldnot understand just what had happened to him, althoughhe realized that, in some manner, he had beensent spinning through the air. It had dazed him.After regaining his feet he asked one of the youngtoughs what had happened.

“Why,” was the answer, “he just grabbed you andthrowed you, that’s all.”

“Oh, he throwed me, did he?” growled Madison, avicious look on his face. “Well, I ruther think I’llthrow him next time. He’ll git all that’s coming now!”

“That’s right, Mad!” encouraged his followers.“You didn’t hit him because he dodged. Go for himagain. Grab him this time before he can grab you.”

“Just watch me,” advised the thug, as he sprang tothe platform.

Without warning, Madison came quickly up behindMerry, throwing his arms round Frank, in this mannerpinning the arms of the latter to his sides.

“Now I’ve got ye, burn your hide!” snarled theruffian. “You worked a slick trick on me t’other time,but you can’t do it aga——”

He did not finish; Frank gave him no further timefor speech.

Down Merry dropped to one knee, causing the man’sarms to slip up about his neck. Before Madison couldget a strangle hold, even as he dropped to his knee,Frank caught the ruffian’s right hand and twisted itoutward, bringing the palm upward. With his otherhand Frank secured a hold on Madison’s wrist, andthen he jerked downward, bending far forward.

Mat Madison’s feet left the ground, his heels flewthrough the air and he went turning over Merry’shead, landing flat on his back in front of the undisturbedyoung man.

The town toughs, who had fancied their leader hadthe stranger foul, were even more astonished than byMadison’s first failure.

Merriwell rose to his feet, stood with his hands onhis hips and regarded his fallen assailant with a pityingsmile.

Frank’s friends—the most of them—seemed amusedover the affair, and either smiled broadly or laughedoutright. Hodge and Morgan were the only ones whobetrayed no mirth.

“Jee-roo-sa-lum!” cried one of the tough youngsters.“Did you see that, fellers?”

“How did he do it?” gasped another.

“Why, he throws Mad just as e-e-easy!”

“He’s a slippery chap!”

“Slippery! He’s quicker’n lightnin’!”

“Strong as a bull!”

“Full of slick tricks!”

The astonishment of Madison’s friends was somewhatludicrous. They had expected the bully to handlethe clean, quiet young man with perfect ease, especiallywhen he seemed to obtain such a great advantageby seizing Merry from the rear.

Madison’s arm had been given a severe wrench, butthe fellow rose quickly, not yet subdued or satisfied.

“I ain’t done with ye,” he snarled; “I ain’t doneyet!”

“That’s unfortunate—for you,” declared Frank,wholly undisturbed.

“I’ll kill ye yet!”

“You frighten me.”

But the tone of voice in which Merriwell spoke thewords told he was not frightened in the least.

Madison was breathing heavily, his huge breastheaving, as he rose and confronted Frank. With hishands hanging at his sides, the young man who hadtwice taken a fall out of the bully seemed utterly offhis guard and unable to defend himself quickly.

The thug stepped in, suddenly shooting out his leftfist toward Merry’s solar plexus, hoping to get in aknockout blow.

Merriwell sidestepped in a manner that caused thebruiser to miss entirely. With his right hand Frankcaught the fellow’s left wrist, giving the middle ofhis arm a sharp rap with the side of his left hand, thuscausing it to bend. Instantly twisting the man’s armoutward and bending it backward, Frank placed hisleft hand against Madison’s elbow and pushed towardthe thug’s right side. In the meantime, Merry hadplaced his right foot squarely behind Madison’s left.Madison found himself utterly unable to resist, and,almost before he realized that he was helpless, he washurled over backward with great violence.

“Maype dot blatform vill lay sdill on you a vile,”observed Dunnerwurst, as Madison fell with a terriblethud.

“Three times and out,” murmured Jack Ready.

“It ain’t no use!” exclaimed one of Madison’s backers.“Mat can’t do this chap on ther level. He’s upagainst a better man.”

Madison thought so, too. He was beginning to realizethat he had encountered his master, although thethought filled him with rage he could not express.For some time he had been the bully of Cartersville,universally feared by the younger set of hoodlums, andin that period he had not encountered any one whocould give him anything like an argument in a fight.He had expected to handle Merriwell with ease, andthe ease with which he was defeated made the wholeaffair seem like an unreal and unpleasant dream.Furthermore, he knew that never after this would hebe regarded with the same degree of respect and aweby the young ruffians of the town. Having seen himhandled in such a simple manner by a calm, smilingstranger, they would never again look on him as invincible.

The encounter had been witnessed by others besidesthose immediately interested. Madison was wellknown and feared in Cartersville, and the loafersabout the station, as well as those who had businessthere, saw him defeated for the first time in his careerof terrorism. Although some of them rejoiced overit, yet nearly all were still too much awed by his recordto express themselves.

The treatment he had received at the hands of Merriwellhad wrenched and bruised the ruffian, whosearms and shoulders felt as if they had been twistednearly out of their joints. The fellow got up slowlyafter the third fall.

Some fancied he would attempt to get at Merriwellagain, but he had been checked and cowed most effectively.He stood beyond Frank’s reach and glared, hisface showing his fury, while his huge hands twitchedconvulsively.

The language that flowed from the lips of the ruffianwas of a character to make any hearer shudder in casehe possessed any degree of decency.

“That will do!” interrupted Merry sharply, thepleasant expression leaving his face. “Not anotherword of it! Close up instantly!”

“What if I don’t?” demanded Madison.

“Then what you have received from me is a meretaste beside what you’ll get,” promised Frank.

Madison turned to his followers.

“What’s the matter with you?” he snarled. “Whatmade you stand round and see him do stunts with me?Why didn’t you light on him, you muckers?”

“We were waiting and pining for them to makesome such movement, gentle sir,” observed Jack Ready.

“Yah!” cried Dunnerwurst. “Id vould haf peenvery bleasing for us to seen id did.”

“You told us you’d do ther whole thing when wecame down to the station, Mad,” reminded one ofthe gang.

“We was waitin’ for ye to do it,” said anothergrimly.

“Of vaiting you haf become tiredness,” observedHans. “You don’d blame me vor dot.”

Madison started to pour forth vile language again,but Merry took a single step in his direction and hestopped, lifting his hands to defend himself.

“I don’t care to touch you again,” said Frank; “butif I hear two more words of that character from yourlips I’ll take another fall out of you.”

“You’re mighty brave now!” muttered the tough;“but I ain’t done with ye. No man ever flung MatMadison round like a bag of rags and didn’t regret it.You’d been better off if you’d took my advice andleft on that train. Now you can’t leave before to-morrer,and I’m going to square up with you beforeyou git away.”

“I don’t fancy your threats, any more than your vilelanguage. I’ll take neither from you. We came tothis town to play baseball, and we propose to do so—orknow the reason why.”

“You won’t play no baseball here, and don’t youthink ye will. That’s all settled. There won’t be nomore baseball in this town as long as Joe Gaddis triesto run things.”

“What’s the matter with Gaddis?”

“You’ll find out—mebbe. There ain’t no baseballteam here now.”

“No ball team?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It don’t make no difference whether you believe itor not. You go ahead and investigate. Mebbe you’llhave a good time stopping in Cartersville, but I don’tthink it.”

“Oh, they’ll have fun!” sneered one of the crowd.

“Carey Cameron will see about that.”

“Shut up, Bilker!” snapped Madison. “You ain’tto call no names.”

“Who is Carey Cameron?” asked Merry promptly.

But no one would answer the question.

Madison turned away, after giving Merriwell anotherglaring look of hatred, and the young ruffiansflocked after him.

“Well,” said Merry, “that incident is closed for thepresent. Now we’ll find a hotel and secure accommodations.”

It was not a difficult thing to find a hotel. Inquiryenabled them to reach the Hall House, which was thenearest public house after leaving the station. It wasnot a particularly inviting house on the outside, beingsadly in need of paint. It was a frame building, standingon a corner, and a number of loafers were sittingabout in front, smoking, chewing tobacco, and gossiping.They stared curiously at the boys.

Frank led the way into the office.

Two men, one in his shirt sleeves and the other lookinglike a countryman, were talking politics. Theystopped and turned to look the strangers over.

“Where is the proprietor?” inquired Frank, as hestepped briskly up to the desk.

The man in his shirt sleeves drawled:

“What yer want o’ him?”

“We want to put up here.”

“Can’t do it.”

“Can’t?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I reckon you’re ball players, ain’t ye?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This house don’t accommerdate no ball players.”

“But we are gentlemen, and we——”

“I tell you this house don’t accommerdate no ballplayers. That ought to be plain ernough for ye. Goon about your business.”

“This is a public house, isn’t it?”

“Ye-ah.”

“Well, I demand to see the proprietor.”

“You’re lookin’ at him. Help yourself.”

“Are you the proprietor?”

“You bet!”

“And you refuse to give us accommodations in yourhotel?”

“You bet!”

“All right. Your only reason for doing so is becausewe are baseball players, is it?”

“I didn’t say so,” answered the man shrewdly.

“But you inferred it.”

“Did I?”

“It sounded that way.”

“Well, there may be a dozen other reasons, youngfeller. I’ve been in the hotel business ten years, an’you can’t trap me. We ain’t prepared to accommerdateye. You didn’t notify us you was comin’, an’ sowe made no special preparations. Our help is short,there’s a case of typhus fever in the house, my wifeis down with the lumbago, and I’m some broke upmyself with the chills. So you see there ain’t no needto discuss the matter further. We can’t take ye in.Good day. The Mansion House is up the street threesquares.”

“That inn did not appeal to my æsthetic sense of refinement,anyhow,” observed Ready, as they filed outonto the street with their hand bags and grips. “Itlooked somewhat soiled and out of condition. TheMansion House seems far more alluring.”

“I don’t think much of being turned down in thatmanner,” said Merry. “It is irritating.”

The Mansion House proved to be a brick buildingnear the centre of the business section of the place.

“I’m glad we were turned down back there,” saidMorgan. “This looks better to me.”

“Yah, I pelief id does haf a petterment look,” agreedDunnerwurst. “I think we vill peen accommodationedmit superiority here.”

The office was empty. They waited a few momentsand no one appeared. Then Frank found a bell onthe desk and rang it. After another period of waitingand a second ringing of the bell, a sleepy-eyed fat boycame in, dragging his feet and looking both tired anddisturbed.

“Here, boy!” exclaimed Merry; “what’s the matterwith this place? We want to stop here.”

“You’ll ha-ve t-o s-ee Mr. Jones,” declared theboy, drawling forth his words with a great effort.

“Who is Mr. Jones?”

“He’s th-e pro-pri-e-tor.”

“Well, where is he?”

“I do-n’t kno-ow.”

“Stick a pup-pup-pin into him and wa-wa-wake himup, Ready!” cried Joe Gamp.

“Do-n’t yo-ou lar-a-rfe a-ut me-e-e!” said the fatboy, still in that weary drawl. “I do-n’t li-ke to ha-avea pi-un stu-ck in-to me-e-e.”

Rattleton dropped on a chair and began to laugh.

“He cakes the take—no, takes the cake!” criedHarry. “He don’t li-i-ike to ha-ave a pi-un stu-ck in-tohe-e-e-um. Ha! ha! ha!”

“Do-n’t yo-ou lar-r-rfe a-ut me-e-e!” said the fatboy resentfully.

“This is a fine hotel!” exploded Hodge.

Dunnerwurst waddled over to the fat boy.

“Look ad myseluf,” he commanded. “We vish topecome the jests uf the house.”

“Guests, Hans,” corrected Frank, laughing.

“Yah, so id vos I said id. Ve vant to pecome derjests uf der house. Der money we vill paid vor dot,und we haf id readiness. Now on yourseluf got amofement und pring righdt avay quick der brobrietor.Id is our urchent objection to registrate righdt off beforesoon und to our rooms got assignments. Yah!”

“Why-y do-n’t yo-ou ta-a-alk E-e-eng-lish?” inquiredthe fat boy.

“Vot?” squawled Hans excitedly. “Vot dit youhear me say? Vy don’t Enklish talk me? Vot dit youcaldt id? Dit you pelief I vos Irish talking alrettynow? Chust you got a viggle on und pring der chentlemanby der name of Chones vot this hodel runs.”

He gave the fat boy a push, and the sleepy-eyed chapdisappeared through the door by which he had entered,muttering:

“So-ome fo-o-olks are al-wus in a naw-ful hur-ry.”

Five minutes later an undersized man with a reddishmustache came pudging into the room. He was smokinga huge, black cigar, which he held slanted upwardin a comical manner. His hands were in his pockets.

“What do you fellers want?” he asked, in a voicelike the yapping of a small dog.

“Are you Mr. Jones?” asked Merry.

“That’s my name,” yapped the little man.

“Well, my name is Frank Merriwell, and these aremembers of my baseball team. We would like to knowyour rates.”

“Won’t do ye any good to know.”

“Why not?”

“My house is full, an’ I can’t accommodate ye.”

“Oh, come!” exclaimed Frank; “we’ll pay in advance.”

“That don’t make no difference. Can’t take ye.”

“We’ll put up with accommodations of any sort.”

“Ain’t got any sort for ye. I tell ye the house isfull an’ runnin’ over. That settles it.”

“Where can we find accommodations in this town?”

“Can’t say.”

Frank was holding himself well in hand, althoughburning with indignation.

“We would like to know the meaning of this,” hesaid. “Do the hotels in this town ever accommodatetransient guests?”

“Certain they do.”

“There are only two hotels here.”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, we have applied to both, and neither will takeus in. Where are we to go?”

“That ain’t none o’ my business, is it?” yapped thelandlord. “If my place is full you can’t force me totake ye in. Git out! I can’t bother with ye.”

Merriwell felt like making trouble, but knew itwould do no good and might do a great deal of harm.He longed to talk straight to the insolent little manwho snapped like a bad-natured dog; but that, too, hebelieved would be a mistake, and so he turned to hiscompanions, saying:

“Come on, boys.”

“Wait!” cried Bart Hodge, his dark eyes blazing—“waituntil I tell this imitation of a real man a fewthings!”

Before Bart could express himself, however, Frankhad him by the arm.

“Keep still, Hodge,” he commanded, in a low toneof authority. “It will be a mistake. Come awayquietly.”

Although he felt like rebelling, Bart submitted inmute protest, giving Jones one contemptuous look, andthey all left the Mansion House.

“Vasn’t id a sadness to haf der coldt und emptyvorld turned oudt indo us!” sobbed Hans Dunnerwurst,as they paused in front of the hotel.

Jack Ready sang:

“Don’d dood id! Don’d dood id!” implored Dunnerwurst.“Id gifes me such a melancholery. I vishI vouldt be more thoughtlesss uf your feelings!”

Browning growled and grumbled.

“I’m mighty tired of this business!” he declared.“We’re having a fine time playing baseball in thistown! I’m sick of this baseball business, anyhow. It’stoo much trouble. There’s always something doing.I’m going to swear off and never play the game anymore.”

Dick Starbright laughed and slapped Bruce on theshoulder.

“You’re a great bluffer, old chap,” he said. “You’vebeen swearing off ever since I knew you, but I’ll betyou’ll stick to the game until you weigh three hundredpounds.”

“When I reach the three-hundred-pound mark I’mgoing to commit suicide.”

“Then you haven’t long to live.”

Frank stepped out and spoke to a man who waspassing, inquiring about boarding houses. The manwas rather surly, but he told Merry of a house kept byMrs. Walker, and soon the party was on the waythither.

Mrs. Walker’s house proved to be a long, rambling,frame building, about which hovered an atmosphereof poverty. They were met at the door by a sharp-nosed,belligerent-appearing woman, who placed herhands on her hips and demanded to know who theywere and what they wanted.

Removing his hat and bowing low with grace andpoliteness, Merry explained that they were looking fora place to stop overnight, at least, and he hastened toadd that they were willing to pay in advance, emphasizingthis statement by producing a roll of bills.

The eyes of the woman glittered as she saw themoney.

“Are you baseball players?” she inquired.

Merry confessed that they were, whereupon sheshook her head with an air of regret.

“Then I can’t have anything to do with ye,” she declared.

“What difference does that make, if we are quiet andgentlemanly and pay our bills in advance?” inquiredMerriwell.

“It makes a heap of difference. I can’t take ye in.”

“I wish you would be kind enough to give a satisfactoryreason for refusing us, madam.”

“I ain’t giving any reasons, and I ain’t talking toomuch. You can’t stop here.”

“Not if we pay double rates for transients and payin advance, Mrs. Walker?”

“Not if you pay ten times regler rates and pay inadvance,” was the grim answer. “I judge that’s plainenough for you.”

“It’s plain enough, but still we cannot understandyour reasons. I wish you would——”

“It ain’t any use making further talk. You’ve gotmy answer, and that settles it.”

Saying which, she retreated into the house andslammed the door in their faces.

“I’m so lonesome, oh, I’m so lonesome!” sang JackReady. “Children, we are cast adrift in the cold andcruel world. We are stranded in the wilds of Iowa,far from home and kindred. Permit me to shed afew briny tears.”

“This thing is getting me blazing mad!” grated BartHodge. “What do you think about it, Merry?”

“There seems to exist a peculiar prejudice againstbaseball teams in this town,” said Frank.

“This makes me think of a little experience of minein Missouri two years ago,” began Stretcher.

But Buck Badger suddenly placed a clenched fistright under Jim’s nose, which caused the boy fromMissouri to dodge backward, exclaiming:

“I beg your pardon! I’ll tell you about that someother time.”

“What can we do?” exclaimed Morgan. “We seemto be up against it.”

“Perhaps we can get into a private house somewhereif we pay enough,” suggested Rattleton. “I’m willingto doff the coe—I mean cough the dough.”

“We’ll have to try it,” said Frank.

They did try it, with the result that they werepromptly refused at three houses, although Merry resortedto all the diplomacy at his command.

They turned back into the main part of the town.

“What will you do now, Frank?” asked Morgan.

“I’m going to try to get track of Mr. Joseph Gaddis,”answered Merriwell grimly. “When I do——”

The manner in which he paused and failed to completethe sentence was very expressive.

“I don’t blame you!” cried Hodge. “Mr. Gaddismust explain why we have been treated in this outrageousmanner. He agreed to meet us at the station andhave accommodations for us at the best hotel in town.He has broken his contract, and I’d like to break hisface!”

“That wouldn’t help matters much, Bart.”

“But it would relieve my feelings in a wonderfulmanner.”

“There is something behind this affair that we donot understand,” said Merry. “In order to understandit we’ll have to learn the facts.”

“You’re sure Gaddis was in earnest when he madethat contract with you in Omaha?” questioned Rattleton.

“If ever I saw a man who seemed to be in earnest,Mr. Gaddis was such a man. He witnessed our greatseventeen-inning game with the Nebraska Indians andlost no time after that in seeking to arrange a gamewith us to be played here. Stated that his team hadbeaten the Indians twice out of three times last season,and Green, the manager of the Indians, acknowledgedthat it was so. The inducements offered were satisfactory.We could reach this town without going outof our way on the trip East, and I finally made a contractwith him. Here we are.”

“And where, oh! where is Gaddis?” sighed Ready.

Reaching the main street of the town, they entereda drug store and inquired for Mr. Gaddis. The druggistlooked them over in a peculiar manner. He knewGaddis very well, he said. Gaddis was out of town.Left suddenly that very morning for Des Moines.

At this moment a handsome open carriage, in whichsat a woman heavily veiled, drew up before the door.The lady waited until the druggist’s clerk stepped outto see what she wanted. A moment later the clerk re-enteredthe store and asked if Mr. Merriwell wasthere.

“That is my name,” said Frank.

“The lady in the carriage wishes to speak to you,”said the clerk.

“What’s this? what’s this?” muttered Jack Ready.“How could she miss me? My ravishing beautyshould have appealed to her. I am fast coming to theconclusion that beauty like mine is a decided disadvantage.It awes the fair sex.”

Wondering who the unknown woman could be andwhat she wanted, Merry left the store.

“Are you Mr. Merriwell?” inquired the woman, asFrank stepped up to the carriage and lifted his hat.

“I am—miss.”

He had quickly decided that she was young, anddiplomacy led him in his uncertainty to address her asmiss instead of madam.

Her veil was so heavy that it was absolutely baffling,permitting him to obtain no view of her features thatwould give him a conception of her looks. Her voicewas musical and low and filled with strange, sweetsadness.

There was about her an air of mystery that struckFrank at once.

“I believe you are looking for some place to stopwhile in town?” she observed questioningly.

“That is quite true, and thus far I have looked invain.”

“It is a shame that a stranger here should be treatedthus. The hotels have declined to take you in?”

“Yes, miss; likewise the only boarding house andseveral private houses where we have made application.”

“If you will depend on me I’ll find accommodationsfor you and your friends.”

Merry’s surprise increased. His face cleared and hegave her one of those rare, manly smiles that madehim so wonderfully attractive.

“You are very kind, but I fear——”

“Do not fear anything. I live here, and this outrageupon strangers has awakened my indignation. If youwill enter my carriage and ask your friends to followus I’ll see that you are taken care of.”

“I hope you will not be putting yourself to any inconveniencein this——”

“Not at all; it gives me pleasure and satisfaction.Do not hesitate. Speak to your friends at once.”

Thus urged, Merry called his followers from thestore and made known the offer he had received fromthe unknown woman. Hodge surveyed her suspiciouslyand then found an opportunity to whisper inFrank’s ear without being observed:

“Look out for some kind of a trick, Merry.”

“Nonsense!” laughed Frank. “Come on.”

He entered the carriage and took a seat beside thelady, who made room for him. Thus they were drivenaway along the street, the others following on the sidewalk.

“You appeared just in time to save us, miss,” saidMerry. “We were beginning to get desperate.”

She urged him to tell her just what had happened,which he did, passing over the attack upon him by theruffian Madison.

“It’s all very mysterious to me,” admitted Frank.“I wonder if you can throw any light on the situation.”

“All I know is that there is trouble in town overbaseball affairs. During a number of seasons, and upto last season, baseball here was conducted by thecheapest element in the town, and the place acquired avery bad reputation. Outside teams, I have heard,were robbed and mobbed here. It became so bad thatno manager who knew the exact condition of affairswould bring his team here. Last season a number ofpeople who enjoy clean baseball resolved to put astop to the hoodlumism. They secured the ball groundthrough some stratagem, and the tough charactersfound themselves out in the cold. A baseball associationof respectable people was formed and Mr. Gaddiswas chosen manager. The ruffians made him a lot oftrouble, but he ran a team through the season. Thisyear he was warned that he would not be permitted toconduct a team here. He paid no attention to thewarning, but went ahead and made up his team. Immediatelythere was trouble, and it became evidentthat an attempt would be made to drive Gaddis out ofbaseball. The same ruffianly element that had predominatedbefore his appearance started to make itwarm for him. In doing this the whole place has beenterrorized into backing up the ruffians. No one seemsto dare to do anything different. Another man bythe name of——”

She seemed to hesitate over the name, but quicklyresumed:

“A man by the name of Cameron has organized abaseball team here. He has announced that he willtake possession of the ball ground to-morrow, and thatGaddis will not be permitted to hold it longer. Themembers of Gaddis’ team have been intimidated anddriven out of town, Gaddis himself has been threatenedwith personal violence. Without doubt, the hotelkeepers and people of the place were warned in advanceto have nothing to do with any ball team that camehere to play with Gaddis’ team. Your team waschosen in particular, as it happened to be the first to arrivehere after—after Cameron came out boldly andannounced his intention. That is about all there is toit. At least, it is all I know about it.”

“Well,” cried Merry, in surprise, “it certainly isastonishing that a whole town can be intimidated insuch a manner by a set of ruffians. Is there no lawhere?”

“If so, there is little danger that it will be enforcedagainst the scoundrel Cameron!” she exclaimed, withsurprising bitterness, all the music and sweetness gonefrom her voice. “He is a wretch who finds methods ofevading the law, even when he commits the mostheinous crimes! But vengeance will fall on him in theend! He cannot always escape!”

The depth of feeling betrayed by the mysteriouswoman told Frank that she was the implacable enemyof Cameron and that she had reasons for hating theman most intensely.

As they were passing the Mansion House two mencame out and paused on the steps.

One of them was the bruiser, Mat Madison.

The other was a slender, red-lipped, dark man ofthirty-five or more, dressed stylishly and smoking acigarette.

“There is Carey Cameron!” hissed the veiledwoman.

For all of her evident hatred of Cameron, the mysteriouswoman made no outward demonstration thatcould lead either of the men on the steps of the hotelto suppose she had as much as noticed them. If herface expressed the passion of hatred that was betokenedby her voice, the veil effectually concealed the fact, andapparently she sat looking straight ahead without eventurning her eyes in the direction of the hotel.

The two men who had chanced to come out upon thesteps at that moment quickly discovered Merriwell inthe carriage and saw the others of Frank’s team followingon the sidewalk.

“What in blazes does that mean, Madison?” exclaimedCameron.

“You know as well as I do, boss,” answered thebruiser.

“Who is that chap in the carriage with the woman?”

“That’s the feller I was just telling you about—theone who downed me at the station.”

“Frank Merriwell himself, eh?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Well, I swear he doesn’t look very much like afighter. You should handle a smooth-faced chap likethat with ease. I’m disgusted with you. Where is hegoing with that woman?”

“I judge she’s taking him to her house, and it lookslike the rest of the bunch is bound for the same place.They couldn’t git no accommodations at hotels or otherplaces, so she’s goin’ to take them in.”

Carey Cameron flung aside his cigarette.

“Hasn’t she been warned?” he asked.

“No, for nobody reckoned she would be takingstrangers in, as she’s been so haughty and high-headedsince comin’ here that she’s scarce spoke to anybody,and she don’t have any dealings with the people in thetown.”

Instantly Cameron descended the steps and hastenedto the street, where he planted himself in front of thehorse, commanding the driver to stop.

“Madam,” he said, “it’s likely you don’t understandwhat you are doing. I am led to suppose that you contemplatetaking your companion and his crowd intoyour house and giving them shelter. If such is thecase you had better change your mind instantly, or youwill find yourself in serious trouble.”

The woman did not answer, but, rising slightly fromher seat, she hissed at the driver:

“Whip up! Drive over that man!”

The driver’s whip was in his hand, but he hesitatedabout obeying the order. Turning his head, he answered,in a low tone:

“I dare not, Miss Blake. He——”

Instantly she sprang erect, snatched the whip and,reaching over the driver’s seat, hit the horse such a cutthat the fiery animal instantly leaped forward.

By an agile spring, Cameron succeeded in escaping,although he barely avoided the wheels of the carriage.His hand went to his hip as he glared after the woman,but he did not draw a weapon.

Frank’s friends had seen this, but were not giventime to come up and take any part in the affair. Hodgewas inclined to pitch into Cameron, but the others advisedagainst it, and all hurried along after the carriage.

There was a glare of fury in the eyes of Carey Cameronas he stood in the street looking after the mysteriouswoman who had dared defy him.

Madison hurried up.

“Why didn’t you stop her, boss?” he asked.

Cameron turned on him, blazing with wrath.

“You idiot, didn’t you see what she did? She triedto run over me!”

“I should say she did, boss.”

“Confound her! I’ll make her regret it! Shedoesn’t know me! She doesn’t know my influence inthis town. I’ll drive her out of Cartersville!”

“Are you goin’ to let her take Merriwell’s crowdin?”

“I could stop it, but what’s the good? We’ve doneenough, I fancy. Gaddis is out of baseball, and thefine crowd that was backing him have taken to cover.I don’t believe they’ll dare butt against us after this.I wanted to show them just what we could do when wewished, and I believe they understand. Half our newplayers are here now, and the rest will arrive in themorning. The new Cartersville baseball team will takethe field the following day. Old Martin, who ownsthe field, is so well cowed that he has told me to goahead and use it, although Gaddis holds a receipt forthe season’s rent, which he has paid. I have no particularquarrel with the Merriwell crowd.”

“Well, I have!” snarled Madison; “and I’m going toget a crack at Merriwell before they pull out of Cartersville!”

“Go ahead,” nodded Cameron, as he took a goldcigarette case, decorated with diamonds, from hispocket, and selected a fresh cigarette. “You have mypermission; but, according to your own story you’llhave to catch him off his guard and lay him out stiffbefore he has a chance to recover.”

“Leave it to me!” growled the bruiser.

The gloved hands of the woman quivered as she restoredthe whip to the driver. She did not look back,although an expression of disappointment came fromher hidden lips.

“Lucky for him he moved lively,” said Frank, as shesank down at his side.

“Some evil charm protects him!” breathed the mysteriouswoman. “I did not wish to kill him—then. Ihoped to drive over him and maim him!”

“It is plain that you have no liking for the man.”

“Like him? I loathe and detest the sight of hiswicked face, his treacherous eyes and his cruel mouth!When I behold him something in my heart strugglesand burns until it is only by the utmost restraintthat I keep myself from flying at him.”

“He has done you a great wrong?”

“Yes, me and one dearest to me in all the world.”

“He knows you, and that is why you keep yourselfveiled?”

“He has never seen my face.”

By the time the driver had quieted and restrainedthe frightened horse, and Merry looked back. He sawat a distance his companions making all haste in thatdirection, and he knew Cameron had not interferedwith them, which gave him a feeling of relief.

“The boys are coming,” he said. “I thought thatman might try to stop them.”

The woman directed the driver to pull the horsedown to a walk, which he succeeded in doing.

“I do not wish to seem inquisitive,” said Merry;“but it is no more than natural that I should be greatlyinterested in Carey Cameron after what has happened.”

“Quite natural,” admitted the woman. “He is agambler.”

“I thought it by his appearance.”

“He has traveled much, making his living by gambling.His former home was here, and he returnedhere a few months ago. As a boy he was a baseballenthusiast, and that explains his wonderful interest inthe game. When he came back here he sided with thevicious element, and I believe he has been appointedmanager of the team they mean to put in the placeof the one organized by Gaddis. I do not know muchabout it, but I have learned that they believe this teamwill be able to defeat anything in these parts. He hassecured a number of players blacklisted in the bigleagues. Cameron will run the team to make moneyfor himself.”

“How can he make money out of baseball in a townlike this?”

“He will gamble on the games.”

“But if he has a team that is far superior to anyteam it meets he’ll find no one to bet on the otherteams.”

“When that happens he will bet on the other teamshimself.”

“You mean——”

“That I know his treacherous nature. He will betrayhis friends. He’ll not wager money openly on anopposing team. It is likely he will openly bet smallsums on his own team. His supposed-to-be friendswill do the betting. Some agent of Cameron will betCameron’s money, and you may be sure that his teamwill lose that game.”

“In short, he will double-cross his friends, and thatis the worst form of treachery.”

“That man is capable of anything, Mr. Merriwell!To carry out his ends he would commit murder!”

“He’ll reach the end of his rope some day.”

“I trust that day is not far in the future!”

By this time they had reached the outskirts of thetown. The road led up a low hill, near the crest ofwhich, set back amid some trees, could be seen a rathergloomy-looking house. This house the mysteriouswoman indicated with a slight gesture, explaining thatthey were bound thither.

“It is your home?” questioned Merry.

“For the time being it serves me as home,” she replied.“I have occupied it two months.”

“You do not belong in this town?”

“No; before coming here two months ago I hadnever seen the place. I shall be happy when I leaveit to return no more.”

“You do not like Cartersville?”

“I detest the place! It is run by hoodlums and ruffians.There are some respectable people here, but thevicious element predominates, and respectable peopleare afraid to stand up for their rights.”

“A fine place in which to play baseball!” laughedMerry.

“No worse place in Iowa.”

“Perhaps it is just as well that we are not goingto play here.”

“You are better off.”

The boys were not far behind when they reached thegate and turned into the grounds surrounding thegloomy house amid the trees. The house was shuttered,and many of the shutters were closed.

At the front step Merry sprang from the carriageand assisted his strange companion to alight.

As the others of his party came up Frank said:

“Fellows, although this lady has been kind enoughto offer us the shelter of her house, I fear we are intrudingin a certain way. I am sure we are puttingher to great inconvenience, and I wish to——”

“Mr. Merriwell,” interrupted the veiled woman, “Ihave tried to make it plain that you are not placing meat any inconvenience. I will add that my circumstancesare such that the sum you may pay me for theaccommodation of yourself and friends will be veryacceptable. Oh! I’m going to take pay! You maygive whatever sum you choose; I am satisfied that itwill be satisfactory. I think this should put you moreat your ease.”

“To a certain extent it does,” admitted Merry.

“Then come in.”

The woman turned toward the door, which openedat once. As Merry followed her he saw the door hadbeen opened by a singularly grave-looking Chinaman.

“John,” said the mysterious woman, “these are myguests.”

“Velly well, miss,” nodded the Celestial.

“They will remain as long as they choose and areto have the best the house affords while here.”

“Velly well, miss.”

“Take them upstairs and let them select their ownrooms.”

“Velly well, miss.”

Then, turning to Frank, the woman said:

“Dinner will be served in an hour. I think you willbe ready by that time.”

“Yah,” muttered Hans. “I vos readiness alrettysoon.”

“If you wish to send to the station for anything inthe way of baggage I will call a man to attend to that.”

“There is nothing at the station that we shall needto-night,” said Frank. “We had better leave our stuffthere. We have everything necessary for presentwants in our hand bags.”

“Show them up, John.”

“Velly well, miss.”

They followed the Chinaman of the solemn andrespectful manner and the limited vocabulary.

“Well, this is not half bad,” grunted Browning, ashe stretched himself on one of the double beds whichhad delighted his eyes. “It’s a lot better than campingoutdoors overnight.”

“Thou speakest truly, weary knight,” said Ready.“The prospect of a supperless bed on the greenswardwas not at all cheerful to me, and the lady with thesomber drop curtain over her radiant features cameto our rescue at the proper time.”

“This is the experience of a lifetime,” put in Morgan.“I’m wondering over it yet. Can you shed anylight on the subject, Frank?”

Merry told them what he had learned while in thecarriage with the mysterious woman.

“Well,” smiled Starbright, as he finished, “we canthank our stars that she has no use for Mr. Carey Cameron.Evidently she has offered us this hospitality becausewe seem to be the special objects of Mr. Cameron’sspite.”

“She did come plenty near hiking over Cameronwhen he tried to hold her up,” said Badger. “It surewas a close call for that gent. Way he acted afterthat, I thought he was going to pull a gun and try topot you both.”

“And then I th-th-thought he was going to cuc-cuc-comeat us,” observed Gamp.

“It was lucky for him that he decided to let usalone,” declared Hodge.

“Yah!” cried Hans. “You bet my life he vos luckiness!”

“This whole affair is most peculiar from start tofinish,” said Dade Morgan. “It has many mysteriousfeatures, and not the least mysterious is this strangeyoung woman who keeps her face hidden by a heavyveil and who lives here in this gloomy house. Who isshe? and what is she?”

“I scarcely think you will find any one in Cartersvillewho can answer those questions,” said Frank.“It is not for us to be too inquisitive while acceptingher hospitality.”

“In one sense, we are not exactly accepting hospitality,”asserted Stretcher. “What we receive we’regoing to pay for.”

“It is hospitality none the less.”

“I dud-dud-don’t believe she tut-tut-took us in becauseshe needs the mum-mum-money,” declaredGamp.

“That was a bluff,” nodded Hodge.

“She made that assertion,” said Frank, “in orderthat we might accept her kindness with greater freedom.It was very good of her to attempt to make usfeel more at home and less like intruders by giving usa chance to pay for what we shall obtain.”

“Vainly I speculate upon her looks,” murmuredReady. “I wonder be she dark or be she light?”

“Young or old?” came from Badger.

“Plain or pretty?” put in Rattleton.

“Sus-she’s a bub-blonde,” declared Gamp positively.

“Nix; she vos a prunette,” said Hans, just as positively.

“She’s about thirty-five years old,” guessed Starbright.

“Not a day over twenty,” asserted Morgan.

“I’ll guarantee she’s as homely as a hitching post,”grunted Browning.

“I would like to make a wager that she is exceptionallygood-looking,” said Stretcher.

“All this speculation about her leads to nothing,”interrupted Frank. “Besides that, as long as we arebeneath this roof too much curiosity concerning heris a matter of poor taste. It’s up to us to accept whatshe has provided, pay for it liberally, and be verygrateful for her kindness. That she is a person ofcourage she has demonstrated by defying the ruffianlyelement of the town, which has the entire place subjugatedand trembling beneath a reign of terror. I admireher nerve, and I am ready to render her assistanceor give her protection if occasion arises.”

“You are mit me in dot!” exclaimed Dunnerwurst.“I vill stood by her vid my last drop uf gore. Howapoudt you, Choe? Speech up und declaration yourseluf.”

“I gug-gug-guess she can depend on the whole of usto bub-bub-back her,” said Gamp.

“We’re still in the land of the hostiles,” remindedJack Ready. “His nibs, Mattie Madison, must still besmarting a trifle over what happened to him when heendeavored to lay violent hands on our leader, and it isprobable that he will seek retaliation.”

“Besides that,” smiled Badger, “Carey Cameronmust be some sore because he failed to hold Merry upand the lady whipped the horse in an attempt to runhim down. I have a notion we’ll hear further fromhim. That’s whatever.”

Darkness came on slowly. The rooms were suppliedwith oil lamps, which the boys lighted. They preparedfor dinner, and at the expiration of an hour after theyentered the house a set of chimes in the lower hallsummoned them.

They filed down and were conducted to the diningroom by the same solemn Chinaman who had admittedthem to the house.

The dining room was almost severe in its plainness,but a long table was tastefully spread and decorated,being lighted by lamps and candles. They began tofind seats around it before they discovered there wereonly eleven chairs.

“It’s all right,” said Merry, in a low tone. “It’splain we’re not to enjoy the society of our hostess duringthis meal.”

When they were seated two women in black, withwhite aprons, appeared and served soup.

At first the boys were somewhat oppressed by thesituation, but Merry soon started things up with a jestand they began to enjoy themselves.

“Although we met a warm reception in this town,”said Frank, “it was not much worse than the receptiongiven Ready the first time he visited Niagara Falls.When Jack stepped off the trolley he found several carriageswaiting for passengers. He capered over to oneof them and asked the man to drive him to the falls.The man said he would be pleased to drive him there,but he didn’t have a harness that would fit him.”

“That man was a trifle nearsighted,” declared Jack,good-naturedly taking the laugh this had aroused. “Hefailed to note my marvelous beauty, and he thought hecould get gay with me. He lost as much as fifty smallcoins of the realm by that joke.”

“You should remember, Jack,” said Rattleton, “thatbeauty is only din skeep—er, that is skin deep.”

“But I’m very thick-skinned,” retorted Readypromptly. “Tra-la-la!”

“Vale, in Puffalo,” said Dunnerwurst, “I vos consulted.”

“Insulted, Hans,” corrected Morgan.

“Shoot yourseluf apoudt der bronunciation,” gurgledHans. “Dese vos der vay in vich id habbened.A street car vos riding on me ven a chent who vosintoxicated came apoard. A numper uf laties peen ondot car, und I thought id vos a shame. I rose me upund caldt to der corn doctor. Says I to dot corndoctor: ‘Do you bermit intoxicationed men to rideder cars ondo?’ ‘Yah,’ saidt der corn doctor. ‘Siddown und shut up und nopody vill know you vosdrunk.’ Dot made a seddlement by me, und don’d youvorget him.”

“Did you notice that terrible thing about the epidemicin Chicago?” asked Frank seriously.

“The epidemic? What epidemic?” asked Rattletoninstantly.

“Why, the whole city is sick. I saw it in the newspaperthis morning. The first words I read in thepaper were: ‘Chicago, Ill.’”

Somebody groaned. It was Browning, who haddropped his fork and seemed about to collapse.

“That makes me ill myself!” he gasped huskily. “Inever thought it of you, Merry! You are rapidly descendingto the level of such buffoons as Ready andhis kind.”

“I admit it was a bad one,” smiled Frank, “and Ipromise not to do it again.”

In this manner they caused the meal to pass off merrily,and an excellent meal it proved to be. All werehungry, but when the dessert was over even Dunnerwurstconfessed that he was more than satisfied.

As they were leaving the dining room Frank wasabout to ask for the hostess, when she appeared. Merryagain protested that they feared they were causing hergreat inconvenience.

“Not at all,” she declared. “I shall not be home to-night,and I decided to caution you before leaving thehouse. At the top of the stairs and at the rear thereis a room with a black door. Although you have perfectliberty in the rest of the house, I wish it understoodthat you are to keep away from that room withthe black door.”

“You may depend on it that we’ll not go near theroom,” pledged Merry instantly.

“And should you hear strange sounds in the nightthere will be no cause for alarm. Pay no attention toanything you may hear. That is all. I shall returnbefore you leave in the morning.”

She then bade them good night in a pleasant manner,and, being dressed for the street and still heavilyveiled, left at once.

“More mystery!” grunted Browning, as they wereonce more gathered in the big room upstairs.

“A room with a bub-bub-bub-black door!” explodedGamp.

“Und stranch noises may hear us in der nighdt!”cried Dunnerwurst. “Poys, you vos indo a hauntedhouse!”

“La! la!” said Jack Ready easily. “I am ne’er disturbedby departed spirits. They alarm me not.”

“Why did she go out to-night?” questioned Hodge.

“It is my idea,” laughed Frank, “that we will occupyabout all the beds in the house. Quite likely she wentout to find a place to sleep. I feel guilty over it, butshe insisted that we were putting her to no inconvenience.”

“And prevaricated like a lady,” said Ready.

“There isn’t a bub-bub-bit of danger that I’ll gopoking round on the top floor looking for a room witha bub-bub-black door,” declared Gamp.

“I’m afraid I’ll not sleep very well to-night,” acknowledgedRattleton.

“I vos anodder,” confessed Hans. “Vrankie, vosghosts afraidt uf you?”

“Not that I know of,” answered Merry.

“Vale, in der room vich you haf selectioned derevos a couch, as vell as a ped.”

“Yes.”

“Couldt you bermit dot couch to sleep on me?”

“You want to sleep on the couch in that room?”

“Yah.”

“All right; I’m willing.”

“But don’t you dare to snore,” warned Hodge.“I’m going to sleep with Frank, and I can’t sleep whenI hear any one snoring.”

“I vill nod dood id,” promised the Dutchman. “Ivill nod snore so loudt as a visper.”

“All right,” nodded Bart; “the couch for you.”

“If we escape from this town with our lives I’ll bethankful,” said Harry.

“Lo, and behold! you are exceedingly timid,”mocked Ready.

They soon fell to joking and laughing, after theirusual manner, and, in spite of the mystery whichseemed to hover near, the evening passed pleasantly.

Some time in the night Frank was awakened bysomething that caused him to lift his head from thepillow and listen.

At first he could not make out what it was, but aftera while he decided that it was some person singingsomewhere in the house. Finally the singing becamesomewhat more distinct, and he decided that it was thevoice of a woman. The song, as best he could determine,was a lullaby, such as a mother might croonabove the crib of her sleeping babe. It was strangelypathetic and gave Frank a peculiar sensation of sadness.To him it seemed as if the person who sang thatsong had met with a terrible affliction and was thussoftly pouring forth the grief of a broken heart.

Merry thought of the warning of the mysteriousveiled woman and how she had cautioned them to payno attention to anything they might hear. Still hecould not resist the impulse to slip softly from the bed,steal to the door, open it and listen.

The singing seemed to come from the upper part ofthe house. A moment after he opened the door itstopped, and, although he remained there for fully tenminutes, he heard it no more.

Hodge was sleeping soundly, and Dunnerwurstbreathing heavily, on the verge of snoring, when Merrycrept back into bed.

It was some time after that before Merriwell againclosed his eyes in sleep. He longed to investigate themystery, but the promise made to the veiled womanrestrained him. He was inclined to fancy he had notslept at all when he was once more awakened.

Something soft and cold, almost clammy, was touchinghis cheek gently with a patting motion.

In a twinkling he was wide awake, but he did notstir.

He felt a presence near him and knew some one orsomething was bending over the bed!

A chill ran over him.

The touch on his cheek was like the cold hand ofa dead person!

Then he heard a voice—that of a woman—whichsoftly murmured:

“Sleep, my baby—sleep! Mother is near!”

Fear passed from Frank in a twinkling, and hestirred, making a grab at the hand that had touchedhim.

Quick as he was, he was not quick enough, althoughhe barely missed as the hand was snatched away.

Springing up, he saw a shadowy figure in whitegliding toward the door.

At that moment Dunnerwurst awoke and beheldthe figure as it flitted past the couch.

Uttering a squawk of terror, the Dutchman rolledoff the couch with a crash.

Hodge leaped from the bed and grappled with Frankas Merry came round the foot in pursuit of the mysteriousvisitor. Before he could realize his mistake Hanshad clutched them both round the legs, chattering:

“Safe me from der ghost! Safe me! safe me!”

Frank broke away, but the visitor was gone. Merryrushed out of the room, but he was too late.

This racket had aroused the others, and they cameflocking from their rooms, demanding the cause of thetrouble.

“Hans had a bad case of nightmare, I think,” saidMerry.

They found the Dutchman with his head under thecouch, whither he had attempted to crawl. Bart strucka light and Merry pulled Dunnerwurst out.

“Vos der ghost gone alretty yet?” asked Hans, histeeth chattering.

“There was no ghost,” assured Frank.

“Don’d you toldt me so!” palpitated the frightenedfellow. “Der ghost seen me mit my own eyes! Yah!”

“Nonsense,” said Merriwell. “I tell you there wasno ghost.”

“Vot vos id dot seen me all in vite?” demandedHans.

“That was either Bart or myself. If you’re goingto kick up such a disturbance you’ll have to sleep somewhereelse.”

It proved no simple matter to convince the Dutchmanthat he had not seen a ghost. The boys ridiculedhim until he relapsed into sulky silence, andfinally all went back to bed.

“What was it, Merry?” asked Bart, when they wereonce more in bed. “Wasn’t there some person in thisroom?”

“Sh!” cautioned Frank. “Don’t let Hans hear you.Some one was here.”

“I thought so. What happened?”

Merriwell told of hearing the singing and again fallingasleep, to be finally aroused by the touch of an ice-coldhand and to hear the voice of a woman whoseemed to fancy she was speaking to a sleeping babe.

“I take no stock in spooks,” said Hodge; “but I’llbe rather pleased when we get out of this ranch.”

“On the contrary,” averred Merry, “if it were not abreach of hospitality I’d like to remain here for thepurpose of solving the mystery.”

Ten minutes later he was sound asleep, and he sleptsoundly until morning.

The boys were finishing their breakfast when John,the Chinaman, appeared and stated that there was agentleman at the door who wished to speak with Frank.

Frank left the table and went to the door, Hodgefollowing him, in case there should be trouble.

Carey Cameron was waiting on the step.

“That heathen is decidedly inhospitable,” laughedCameron pleasantly, removing a cigarette from hislips and holding it between a discolored thumb andforefinger. “He left me standing out here, like ahuckster. But I understand that visitors—with theexception of yourselves—are not welcome in thishouse.”

Merriwell waited for the man to announce why hehad called.

“I presume you’re surprised to see me here at thisearly hour,” said the man. “Oh, I’m alone! There’sno trickery about it. You need not be alarmed.”

“You quite mistake my feelings,” assured Merry.

“I have a proposition to make to you.”

“Have you?”

“I fancy you think it nervy of me, but I’m willingto explain and apologize. You may have learned ofthe baseball mix-up in Cartersville.”

“I have heard something about it.”

“Well, perhaps you know that I am manager of thenew Cartersville baseball team. Gaddis and his bunchof stiffs have been put out of business. He has takento the woods. Two of his best men have signed withme. The others are in retirement.”

Merriwell wondered what the man was driving at.

“My team will be complete to-day and every man onhand ready for business. I had arranged to open theseason to-morrow with Bloomfield. Received a messagelate last evening that Bloomfield would not appear.The duffers! They are afraid to come.”

“If what I have heard about past methods of conductingbaseball here is true,” said Merry, “I don’twonder that Bloomfield canceled.”

“Oh, somebody has been giving you a lot of hot air.You can’t believe all you hear. It is possible the rootershave been rather rough on visiting teams in thepast, but I’m going to cut that out.”

“Are you?”

“Sure thing.”

“It’s a good idea,” said Hodge sarcastically.

“There’ll be no need of winning games in future byintimidating visitors,” said Cameron. “When youlearn the line-up of my team you’ll agree that I havethe players. Among them I have Johnson, the greatcolored player, formerly of the Chicago Giants. Thenthere is Moran, from Springfield; Hickey, of Indianapolis;Tonando, with the Kansas City team last season;and Weaver, the great Indian fielder. The othersare just as good. I have a team that can defeat anythingon the turf in the middle West, and when weget into trim we’ll be able to make some of the bigleaguers hustle. I’m going to give Cartersville andsouthern Iowa such baseball as was never before seenin these parts.”

“How does this interest me?” inquired Frank.

“I’m coming to that. I presume you’re rather hotover your treatment in this town.”

“You presume correctly.”

“Well, I don’t blame you; but you see Gaddis wasgiven fair notice to quit, and he persisted in holdingon. He had no business to make a contract with you.At that time he had been told to get out and warnedthat he would not be able to play after a certain date.He had an idea that the law would support him, and heattempted to fight me and the majority of baseball peoplein town. We had to make it good and hot forhim. We began by driving visiting teams out of theplace without giving them a chance to play. Wethought Gaddis would throw up the sponge when hefound he couldn’t get teams here. At last we werecompelled to get after Gaddis himself, and yesterdayhe tumbled and skipped.”

“All this explaining does not justify you in theleast.”

“Perhaps not; but there you are. I’m ready toapologize, if that suits you better.”

“Even an apology can’t square it,” asserted Hodge.

“I’m very sorry,” declared Cameron. “I’ve toldthe boys that you are to be treated with the utmostcourtesy during the rest of your stay in town.”

“Which will be very brief,” said Frank. “We shallleave on the ten A.M. train to-day.”

“I hope not. I am here to offer you inducements toplay with my team to-morrow. It will be the openinggame, and I know we’ll turn out a mob of people.”

“When it comes to nerve,” said Bart, “that is justabout the full limit!”

“If you’ll play,” Cameron went on, “I’ll give you afixed sum, or I’ll pay you two-thirds the net gate receipts,win or lose. Besides that I’ll put you up atthe Mansion House, and the best Cartersville affordsshall be yours. Can you ask for anything fairer?”

“It sounds very fine,” laughed Merry; “but whatwe have seen and heard has taught us the folly of dealingwith you and the class of people you represent.”

“Then you refuse?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You’re afraid! That’s what’s the matter! Youhave made a great reputation, and you’re afraid ofbeing defeated.”

“That is the very least of my fears, sir. We openedin Los Angeles with the Chicago Cubs, defeating themtwo out of three games. I hardly think we wouldfear you after that.”

“Oh, I don’t know! If you had lost all three gamesto the Chicagos it would have been no disgrace. Afteryour triumphant career this season, you might feelsore if you dropped a game to a new team here inCartersville.”

“As far as possible,” said Merry, “I seek to dealwith gentlemen.”

Cameron flushed the least bit, and a wicked lookcame to his eyes.

“I don’t fancy the insinuation!” he exclaimed. “Ihave apologized and endeavored to set things straight.If you are looking for further trouble——”

He checked himself, changing his manner in a moment.

“That’s nonsense!” he laughed. “I’m sorry you areafraid. I have heard of you, Mr. Merriwell. Youhave a reputation for nerve, but it seems that you havevery little real nerve. You are challenged to playmy team. You dare not play! You know I can defeatyou. You’re a squealer!”

“All that sort of talk never drove me into anythingI had decided not to do, and never could,” said Frank.

Then, to his surprise, the mysterious woman, stillwearing the heavy veil, stepped quickly from the houseand placed a hand on his arm.

“Accept the challenge, Mr. Merriwell,” exclaimedthe lips hidden behind the veil. “Play him for mysake—and defeat him! You can do it!”

“Do you realize, miss, the manner in which we shallbe handicapped? We are in a strange town, and aplace where there is little chance that we’ll be givena fair show. Even the umpire would be against us.”

“To satisfy you on that point,” cried Cameron, “I’llpermit you to select your own umpire. How is that?If you have a man with you who can umpire the game,I’ll accept him. You can’t squeal—if you have thenerve.”

“Play him!” again urged the mysterious woman.“For my sake!”

“With the understanding that I am to furnish theumpire——” began Merry.

“It’s a go!” cried Cameron, in satisfaction. “Withthe team I shall put onto the field, it will be an easymatter to defeat you. There’ll be no need of anythingbut straight and legitimate baseball to do that.”

“Very well,” said Merry. “We’ll play you, Mr.Cameron.”

As Cameron departed the strange woman spoke excitedlyto Frank.

“You will win!” she declared. “I feel it! I knowit! He is confident there is no need to resort tocrooked methods to defeat you. He’ll try to get betson the game. I hope he loses heavily. I’ll back you!I have money. You shall take it and cover his bets.”

“I beg your pardon, miss,” protested Frank, “but Ihave certain scruples about betting. I may have madewagers in the past, but I am sure I shall never againdo so, either with my own money or that of another.”

“Let her bet on us, if she wants to,” urged Hodgewarmly. “I, too, feel it in my bones that we’ll take afall out of Cameron’s great aggregation. I know everyfellow on the team will play as if for his very life.”

Merry shook his head.

“I can make no exceptions to the rule I have laiddown for myself,” he said. “Even if Cameron is confidentof success, and begins a square game, he mayresort to treachery if he becomes alarmed before thefinish. He’ll not intend to lose the opening game withhis team. That would disgust the tough element thatis backing him. He would lose prestige at once.”

Frank was immovable on his point.

The boys were greatly surprised when Merry informedthem of the challenge and acceptance.

“Py Shimminy!” cried Dunnerwurst. “Ve vill gifthem der greatest run their money for that you efersaw. Id vill peen a satisfaction to dood them up.Yah!”

Frank explained that they were to supply the umpire,which caused no small amount of satisfaction.

“We are to move to the Mansion House, fellows,”he said. “We’ll impose on Miss Blake no longer.”

“You have not imposed on me in the least,” assuredthe hostess. “If you defeat Cameron, I shall be morethan repaid.”

“But we are going to pay you good, cold cash forwhat we have received. That was the agreement.”

She began to demur, but Frank insisted that shehad made that a part of the agreement when she tookthem in, and at last she consented to accept payment.

Having settled by compelling her to take twentydollars, although she was unwilling to the very lastto accept more than ten, the boys picked up and startedoff gayly for the hotel.

“I toldt you vot,” said Hans, as they descended thehill, “I vos glat to got dot house oudt uf. No matterationvot you say, I vos postiveness I seen a ghostlast nighdt indo. Id scooted me by like a streak ofvind, und id gif me der shiverings all ofer your back.Dot blace been haunted.”

Although they laughed at him, the Dutchman continuedto insist that he had seen a ghost.

As they marched into town they were observed withcuriosity by the people of the place. A mob of youngstersquickly gathered and followed them along thestreet.

At the Mansion House they found Mat Madison andseveral of his companions of the previous day standingon the steps. Apparently they had been waiting forFrank and his team to appear.

Madison leered at Merry.

“Say,” he cried, “you won’t prance with your headso high in the air after our team gits through withyou to-morrow. We’ll take some of the starch outeryou.”

“Great blizzards!” exclaimed Badger. “Does thatplay on Cameron’s team?”

“You bet,” answered the bruiser. “Cameron signedme for my hittin’. There ain’t no pitcher in the businessthat I can’t hit.”

“That should make you tremble, Frank,” laughedMorgan.

None of the young thugs offered to molest Merryor his party as they entered the hotel.

Cameron was waiting for them in the office.

“Here you are, I see!” he cried. “I was afraid youmight back out, after all, and try to skip out of town.”

“Your fears were quite groundless,” said Merriwell.

“Well, everything is fixed for you here. I told youI’d arrange it. You’re to have the very best the houseaffords, and I’ll settle the bills. I can afford to, consideringthe trimming we’re going to hand out to youto-morrow.”

“You seem inclined to count your chickens beforethey are hatched,” said Frank.

“Do you have an idea that you’ll win?”

“Of course.”

“Want to make a little wager?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I never bet.”

“A poor excuse is better than none. Of course, thatmeans you dare not bet.”

“It means just what I said—I never bet.”

“Oh, well, if any of your bunch feels like sportinga little I’ll be open for business up to the time theumpire calls ‘Play!’ It adds interest to any event tomake a little wager on it. I’m not in baseball for myhealth. We’re going to pay you the biggest part ofthe gate money, and so I’ll have to catch some moneysomehow. Considering your record, there ought tobe some sports with nerve enough to take a chance onyou.”

Cameron’s manner was offensive, although it wasnot likely he meant it to be.

The accommodations at the Mansion House werenone too good, and the place seemed poor enough afterthe plain comforts of the private house they had justleft. Nevertheless, they were inclined to make the bestof everything, kicking being in disfavor among them.

At the earliest opportunity Merry took occasion toseek information concerning the mysterious womanwho lived on the hill; but he soon discovered that noone in the place knew much about her, save that shehad appeared some ten weeks before and leased thehouse for the summer. The place was furnished, itsowner having gone abroad after the death of his wife.When Miss Blake moved in, no one seemed to know.Shortly after taking the house she reappeared in Cartersville,and the people of the town discovered thatshe as occupying the house, together with a numberof servants, both male and female.

“No one could be found who had ever seen herwithout her heavy veil. She had discouraged all effortsat familiarity or friendliness on the part of thevillagers. It appeared to be a matter of wonder thatMerriwell and his friends had been admitted to thehouse, as they were the only ones outside the membersof her household to cross the threshold since she tookpossession. One old woman gossip of the town hadmade repeated attempts to get in on one pretext oranother, but had been rebuffed each time. The townspeoplewere not only piqued and mystified by thewoman, they were not a little offended, and the rougherelement had threatened to tear the veil from her facein order to see what she looked like.”

All this was interesting but unsatisfactory. Merryfelt that he would sincerely regret to leave Cartersvillewithout solving the mystery of the veiled woman.

The expected members of the new local team arrivedbefore noon that day. In the afternoon Cameron hadthem out for practice.

They were, indeed, for the most part, well-knownplayers, seven of them, at least, being professionalswith records. Several were league men who had beenblacklisted for one offense or another. Taken all together,they were a tough set and just the aggregationto win a game by bulldozing when other methodsfailed. They made a team that was certain to beheartily approved by the local toughs.

These players, the most of them, also stopped at theMansion House. They looked Frank’s team over, withno effort to conceal their merriment and disdain. Tothem Merry’s players were a lot of stripplings.

“We’ll eat ’em up,” said Big Hickey, the Indianapolisman. “Why, dey won’t last t’ree innin’s.”

“Sho’ not,” chuckled Wash Johnson, the coloredplayer from the Chicago Giants. “Dey is a lot o’ collegefellers. Nebber seen none o’ dem college fellersdat could play de game wid professionals. No, sar.”

“They ain’t got-a da nerve,” observed Tony Tonando,the Italian from Kansas City. “Sometimes theyplay one-a, two or three-a inning first-a rate; but theyno keep-a it up.”

“Easy frightened, easy frightened,” grunted WallyWeaver, the Indian. “When they play too well, thenjump in and scare them. That’s easy.”

“Look here, you chaps,” said Tunk Moran, who hadmade a great reputation on the Springfield, Illinois,team, but had been fired for drinking, “I happen toknow something about Frank Merriwell, and you’reoff your trolley if you think you’re going to win fromhim by scaring him. If you beat that chap you’ll haveto play baseball, and don’t you forget it.”

The others laughed at this and ridiculed Moran.

“All right,” he growled. “Just you wait until afterthe game and see if you don’t agree with me.”

The appearance of Cameron’s team in suits whenthey left the hotel to march to the ball ground was thesignal for a great demonstration on the part of theyoungsters of Cartersville, who were waiting to escortthem. The cheering brought a number of the Merriesto windows to look out, and they saw their opponents-to-beset off down the street, followed by the admiringcrowd.

“Behold the gladiators whom we are to meet in thearena!” cried Jack Ready.

“They’re a hot bunch of old-stagers,” gruntedBrowning.

“It will keep us busy to cool them off,” said Frank.“Don’t get the idea that they are has beens. Half ofthem could play on fast league teams if they were notcrooked and rebellious. They will go after us savage,with the idea of taking the sand out of us at the verystart.”

“On the other hand,” said Rattleton, “if we get astart on them early in the game all the hoodlums willbe against us and we’ll be in danger of the mob.”

“I have thought about that,” declared Frank. “Ihave a plan. Come, fellows, and we’ll talk it over.”

They gathered in one room, and Merry explained hisplan, speaking as follows:

“Rattleton is right in fancying it will not do to geta big lead on those fellows at an early stage in thegame. Of course, we might not be able to do so, evenif we tried; but should the opportunity offer, we muststill refrain from it and take chances on our ability topull out toward the end. Cameron has no idea of permittingus to take the game under any circumstances.If we started off like winners the hoodlums would beset on us. I’ve had more than one experience withhoodlums. They can make it hot for any team bycrowding down to the base lines, insulting the players,stoning them and doing a hundred things to rattlethem. I am confident that, as long as the crowd has abelief that the local team is sure to win it will behavein a fairly decent manner. Cameron will make an effortto hold the toughs in check. Therefore, we mustresort to the stratagem of keeping close to the enemyall through the game, with the hope of winning at thevery finish by an unexpected spurt that will take themby surprise. Of course, we may lose in this manner;but I am confident it is also our only chance of winning.”

“I think you are right, Merry,” agreed Hodge. “Ifyou could fix it with Cameron so that we may haveour last turn at bat, there is a possible show for us.”

“I’ll do what I can,” assured Merriwell, “althoughit is possible he will refuse such a request if I make it.If we can’t get our last turn at bat we’ll have to do thebest we can. But I wish you all to keep in mind thescheme I have proposed, and play from the start withthe idea of holding them down and keeping close tothem, so that we may have a chance at the finish.”

To this they agreed readily enough.

During the remainder of the day they saw nothingof the strange woman who had befriended them.

The following morning, directly after breakfast, astranger appeared at the Mansion House.

He was a quiet, smooth-faced young man, and heregistered as “Warren Doom, Chicago.”

Doom betrayed interest at once when he learnedthere was to be a baseball game in town that afternoon,and when he was told that the locals were tomeet Frank Merriwell’s team, his interest became genuineenthusiasm. He was purchasing a cigar at thecounter when he received this bit of information.

“Going to play Merriwell’s team?” he cried. “Well,I struck this place at the proper moment! I’ve seenMerriwell pitch once, and he’s a wonder. I’ve alwayslonged to see him again. Your team hasn’t a chanceagainst him.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed the man behind the counterdisdainfully. “I reckon you don’t know whatyou’re talking about. We’ve got a team right here inthis town that can skin anything outside the two bigleagues. Our players are professionals and crackajacks.This Merriwell bunch looks like a lot of boys.They’re amateurs, and Cartersville will bury them upthis afternoon.”

“Oh, come, come!” smiled Doom. “It’s plain youare the one who doesn’t know what he’s talking about.I don’t care how many professionals you have, Merriwellwill defeat you. I’ll bet on it.”

“How much will you bet?” was the hot inquiry.

“Anything from ten dollars to ten thousand.”

“That’s a bluff.”

“Is it? I’ll back it up.”

“Of course it is a bluff,” said another voice, as CareyCameron, puffing at a cigarette, came sauntering up.“The cocksure gentleman never saw ten thousand dollars.”

Doom turned with his freshly lighted cigar in hismouth and his hands in his pockets, surveying Cameroncritically.

“Who are you?” he inquired. “Why are you sosudden to chip into this?”

“I’m the manager of the Cartersville baseball team,and my name is Cameron. I happened to hear youmaking a lot of bluff betting talk, which I am positiveyou can’t back up.”

“How positive are you?”

“Positive enough to stake ten thousand dollarsagainst a similar sum that Cartersville will win to-day.Put up—or shut up!”

“I don’t happen to have ten thousand dollars in cashon my person.”

“Of course not!” cried Cameron sneeringly. “Bluffersnever are able to make good.”

“I believe you have a good bank in town?”

“Yes; the First National.”

“Well, I have with me a certified check for ten thousanddollars, and I believe the cashier at your bankwill recognize it as good. If you are not running abluff I’ll step out to the bank with you and deposit mycheck in the hands of one of the bank officials, with theunderstanding that I am backing Frank Merriwell andyou are to put up a similar sum to back your ownteam. Now you put up—or shut up!”

Cameron was somewhat surprised, but he recoveredquickly, still confident that Doom was still bluffing.

“Come on!” he almost shouted. “Come out to thebank! I can raise ten thousand dollars if your oldcheck is good. I’ll do it, too! It will be like finding asmall fortune.”

The man from Chicago was ready to go.

“But wait a moment,” said the manager of the localteam. “I want to tell you something. I hate to befooled, and it makes me very disagreeable. In case Iaccompany you to the bank and find this is what I believeit to be—a bluff—you’ll be very sorry. I warnyou that you’ll leave Cartersville in such a conditionthat you’ll require medical attention for some time tocome.”

“Come on, man,” said Doom, with curling lips.“You are wasting your breath. You’ll find I am inearnest, although I fancy you are the one who willsqueal.”

Together they left the hotel and started for the bank.

The man who had sold Doom a cigar and overheardthis conversation ran out after them and told what hadhappened to a number of loiterers who were in frontof the hotel. Immediately these loiterers hustled awayafter Cameron and Doom, greatly excited over whatthey had heard.

“Ten thousand dollars!” exclaimed one. “Cameronwill make a fortune off this first game!”

“I don’t believe it!” declared another. “Nobody isfool enough to bet Cameron ten thousand dollars.”

“The man is joking,” was the opinion expressed bya third.

“Then it will be a mighty poor joke for him whenCarey Cameron is done with him,” said the first.

Outside the bank they lingered and waited. Cameronand Doom were inside a full quarter hour, butfinally they appeared. Immediately the crowd besiegedthe manager of the local team to know if such a bethad really been made.

“Sure thing,” nodded Cameron, with a smile of confidence.“This gentleman had a certified check thatwas good, and I covered it. There is a wager of tenthousand dollars on the result of the game to-day.”

The report spread like wildfire. In less than anhour, it seemed, every man, woman, and child over sixyears of age in Cartersville knew of the amazing wagerthat had been made. The report was wired to surroundingtowns and carried into the country in variousways.

By midday people from out of town began to appearin Cartersville. At first they straggled in, but as thetime passed they came faster and thicker. They camefrom the country in conveyances of all sorts, while the12.48 P.M. train brought at least a hundred. Thestreets took on a surprising appearance of life. Mengathered in groups and discussed the wonderful betthat had been made. Some were skeptical and pronouncedit an advertising dodge on the part of Cameron.Others there were who knew the stakeholder,or knew those who did know him, and they protestedthat the wager was on the level.

At any rate, never had so much excitement over agame of baseball been aroused in such a brief time inthe whole State of Iowa.

A later train brought a still larger number of visitors,and the influx from the country continued up tothe hour for the game to begin.

No sooner were the gates opened at the ball groundthan the great crowd waiting outside made a push toget in and secure seats. It required the united effortsof a number of local officers, who had been summonedby Cameron for that purpose, to hold the eager peopleback.

In the meantime Merriwell and his friends hadlearned of the wager. At first all were inclined tolaugh over it, thinking, like many others, that it wasan advertising scheme. After a while, however, theybegan to have reasons to believe there was somethingof truth in the report.

“By Jove!” cried Morgan. “We’ll be playing for afortune this afternoon, boys!”

“If such a bet has actually been made,” said Rattleton,“we won’t have any show to win.”

“Wh-wh-why not?” demanded Gamp.

“Don’t you fancy for a moment that Carey Cameronis the sort to lose that amount of money. He’llfix it somehow so he can win.”

“Dost hear the croaker?” inquired Jack Ready.“Rattles, you have a very weak heart.”

“See if I’m not right!” exclaimed Harry. “Cameronis no fool.”

“I am certain that he depends mainly on the skill ofhis players,” said Frank. “He cannot believe it possiblethat a lot of amateurs stand a show of downingthose professionals. There will be nothing crooked aslong as it appears to him that his players have the bestchance to take the game. We must fool them, fellows.”

“We’ll do our best, Frank,” was the assurance theygave him.

Never had there been such a wonderful outpouringto witness a baseball game in all that region. WhenFrank and his players entered the inclosure they foundthe stand packed, the bleachers black with people, and agreat gathering held back by ropes stretched on bothsides of the field. Besides that, the officers employedby Cameron were kept busy chasing spectators out ofthe outfield.

Not only did it seem that all Cartersville was there,but more than a like number of people had come infrom outside the town.

The Merries were received with a hearty cheer.They hurried to their bench, lost no time in layingout their bats, pulling off their sweaters, adjustinggloves and preparing for practice. At a word fromFrank they trotted briskly onto the field, and practicebegan.

Merry warmed up with Stretcher as catcher, whileHodge and Starbright batted to the men practicing onthe diamond and in the field.

Frank was slow and deliberate in warming up. Hedid not use speed, but limbered his arm gradually.Toward the last he threw two or three fairly swiftones and let it go at that.

The players, however, went at it in earnest fromthe very start, and both infield and outfield work wasof a snappy and sensational order.

At a quarter to three the local players, with Cameronleading them, appeared. Instantly there was agreat uproar from the toughs of the town who hadbeen supporting Cameron. They rose up and yelledlike a lot of Indians. Not only that, but they insistedthat every one else should yell and threatened thosewho did not.

“Them’s our boys!” they cried. “Cheer, you duffers—cheer!”

If any one declined to cheer he suddenly found himselfbeaten over the head by two or three of the toughs,who insisted that he must “open up,” and this camenear causing a general riot.

Not for at least five minutes after the arrival of theCartersville team did the commotion cease. Even thenthere were symptoms of anger and resentment in anumber of places amid the crowd, and it seemed as ifa spark might fire the powder and bring about an explosion.

Frank called his players from the field, and the hometeam went out for practice.

Merry found an opportunity to speak with Cameron,but the local manager insisted on his privilege ofchoosing innings, declining to toss a coin for choice.

“All right,” smiled Frank. “Take your choice.”

Imagine his surprise when Cameron said:

“We’ll go to bat first.”

“Suit yourself,” nodded Frank, with pretended disappointment.

Cameron had played into his hands without knowingit.

The practice of the locals was soon over.

Then big Dick Starbright was accepted as the umpire.The time for the game to begin had arrived.Merriwell gave the signal, and his players ran outonto the field, scattering to their different positions.

Frank entered the pitcher’s box.

“Play ball!” cried Starbright.

At this point, to the astonishment of Frank, the mysteriousveiled woman darted onto the diamond andgrasped his arm with her gloved hand.

“Win this game, Frank Merriwell!” she urged huskily.“My fortune—yes, my life—depends upon it!”

“I assure you, Miss Blake, that I shall do my bestto win,” said Merriwell wonderingly; “but I can’tunderstand what you mean by the statement that yourfortune and your life depend upon it.”

“I am backing you.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“Why, I thought——”

“You know about the bet of ten thousand dollars onthe result of this game?”

“Of course. A gentleman from Chicago, by thename of Doom, made that wager with Cameron.”

“Doom is my agent,” declared the woman.

“Impossible!”

“It is true. He wagered my money. It is all I havein the world. I also happen to know that ten thousanddollars is practically all Carey Cameron possesses.If I win he will be ruined. I must win.”

Frank was both perplexed and annoyed.

“I ask your pardon in advance for speaking plainly,”he said, “but I must tell you that I think you veryfoolish to take such a risk. You know all the chancesare against us. If we win we must do so by strategy.I cannot understand why you should make such aventure.”

“I hate Carey Cameron!” she hissed. “I wish toruin him—to strip him of his last dollar! He marriedmy sister and treated her in the most brutal and inhumanmanner until he forced her to give him all of herfortune, which he squandered in dissipation and gambling.After that he used her in the most inhumanmanner, making her a prisoner in her own house. Herbaby he starved and abused until the poor thing died.In the end my sister’s mind gave way, and he placedher in a madhouse.

“Why shouldn’t I hate him? Now you understandmy reasons! I have sworn to ruin him, and for thatpurpose I am living here in Cartersville. He does notknow me. He never saw my face, but I bear a strongresemblance to my sister as she looked when he marriedher, and I fear he might detect the resemblanceshould he behold me unveiled. For that reason I keepmy face hidden constantly.

“You know my secret, Frank Merriwell. You arethe first to whom I have revealed it since coming here.I hope to strike a blow at him to-day. If I fail—if youlose the game—my money will be gone, and I shallhave no means of keeping up the struggle. What willthere be for me then? I might as well be dead!”

At last Frank understood her secret, but that did notrelieve him of his vexation on account of her folly, ashe considered it. He saw that she was extremely impulsive.She had accepted this crude method of seekingrevenge on Cameron, without sufficiently consideringthe danger that the result might be disastrous toherself; but now, as the struggle was about to begin,a full realization of the peril made her tremble andquake.

There was no rectifying her folly. The only way tosave her was to win the game.

“Play ball! play ball!” howled the rough element ofthe crowed. “Put her off the field!”

“Merriwell has a mash!” shouted a man.

“Do your goo-gooing after the game,” advised another.

“Miss Blake,” said Frank earnestly, “you may relyon me to do my best; but I warn you in advance thatthe chances are strongly in favor of Cameron.”

“I have confidence in you,” she declared. “That iswhy I made that wager. I have had confidence in youfrom the moment when I first set eyes on you. Somethingtells me you are the sort of a man who triumphs.You will win—you must!”

“It would be a great misfortune for me to lose,”confessed Frank; “but you will be forced to bear uncertaintyuntil the very end of the game, as we darenot take the lead too soon.”

Once more declaring her confidence in him, andseeming not to mind the cries of the crowd, she retiredfrom the diamond and the game began.

Following was the line-up of each team:

A yell of delight went up from the crowd as Gradymet the first ball pitched and drove out a scorchingsingle.

“We’re off! we’re off!” whooped Gibson, as he capereddown to the coaching line back of first. “Keepit going, Moran!”

Moran responded by bunting and attempting to“beat it out.”

On the bunt Grady reached second, but Frank gotthe ball and threw Moran out at first.

“All right, chillun!” grinned Johnson, the coloredplayer, as he ran out to hit. “Why, we’s gwine tomake a hundred right heah.”

Frank gave him a swift inshoot.

“G’way dar, ma-a-an!” shouted Johnson. “Yo’llsho’ hurt yo’ wing if yo’ tries to keep dat speed up.”

“One ball,” announced Starbright.

“Dat’s right, Mistah Umpiah,” commented the negro.“Make him git ’em ober de pan. If he do, I’sgwine to slam it right ober de fence.”

The next one was too far out.

“Two balls.”

“Come on, ma-a-an,” urged Johnson. “Yo’ll nebberfool dis chicken dat way.”

Merry tried a high ball, using lots of speed.

The batter hit it fairly and laced it on a line farinto the field.

“Yah! yah! yah!” he whooped, as he scooted forfirst. “Dat pitcher was made fo’ me.”

Sitting on the bench, Carey Cameron saw Gradycome home on the hit, while Johnson reached thirdbase.

“This is going to be too easy,” said Cameron, to oneof the substitutes. “It won’t do to run the score uptoo high and not give those poor dubs a show, for itwill disgust the crowd and hurt baseball here for therest of the season. I’ll have to hold the boys downthe moment they get the game well in hand.”

The crowd began to ridicule Frank.

“Is that the great pitcher we’ve heard about?”

“He’s a fake!”

“That’s not the genuine Frank Merriwell!”

“Take him out!”

“Knock him out of the box!”

“Put him in the stable!”

Mat Madison was the next batter. The big bruisermade an insulting remark to Frank as he took his positionat the plate.

“You’ll be a puddin’ for me,” he declared.

Instantly Merry resolved to strike Madison out. Hegave Hodge a signal which Bart understood.

Frank began with the double shoot. Madison fanciedthe first ball pitched was just what he wantedand slashed at it with all his strength.

He missed.

“Strike one!” cried Starbright.

“Accident,” said Madison. “I’ll hit the next one Igo after.”

Merry reversed the curve, and Madison missedagain, much to his wonderment and disgust.

“Give me another just like that,” he urged.

“Here it is,” said Merry, and he actually pitchedanother of the same sort as the last.

“You’re out!” declared Starbright, as the bruisermissed the third time.

Madison was astounded and infuriated.

“Wait till my turn comes again!” he snarled, as heflung the bat down.

“Get-a ready to score, you black-a rascal,” cried Tonandoto Johnson, as he danced out to the plate.

“I’s waitin’, ma-a-an,” retorted Johnson, dancingoff third and back again. “Just yo’ git any kind of ahit an’ see me cleave de air.”

Tonando let one pass and then met the next, gettinga safe single on a fast grounder that Rattleton failedto touch.

“Just as e-e-easy, chillun!” laughed Johnson, as hecame home. “Why, dis is a cinch!”

The crowd now redoubled its ridicule of Merriwell.

Gibson prepared to hit, being overconfident. To hissurprise, he missed twice. Then he put up an easyinfield fly and was out, which retired the side.

Cartersville had made two runs in the first inning,and every man on the team felt that they might haveobtained many more with ease.

Without letting them secure too many runs, Merryhad placed them in a frame of mind that would enablehim to deceive them for a while, at least, before theyawoke to their mistake.

The first three batters for the visitors fanned the air,seeming utterly bewildered by the curves and speedof Weaver, the Indian pitcher.

“Oh, you’re pretty stickers!” derided a small boy.“You won’t git a hit to-day!”

In the second inning neither team scored, althoughit seemed more by bungling good fortune than anythingelse that the Merries held their opponents down.

The fact was that Cameron had warned his playersnot to get too long a lead. He was perfectly at hisease, fully believing his team quite outclassed the visitorsand could win the game by heavy batting in a singleinning, if necessary.

In this manner the game slipped along with neitherside making further runs until the sixth inning.

In the last of the sixth the visitors sprang a surpriseon Cameron’s men. Morgan led off with a hit,Badger sacrificed him to second. Hodge sacrificed himto third, and Frank brought him home with a slashingtwo-bagger.

That made the spectators sit up and take notice.

It also aroused Carey Cameron, causing him to realizethe possible danger that the amateurs might makea spurt when such a thing was least expected. He wasrelieved when Weaver struck Gamp out.

“We must have some more runs, boys,” said Cameron,as his players gathered about him. “Jump rightin now and make them. Not too many, but enoughto have the game safely in hand.”

They responded by getting a single score, and itseemed that pure accident prevented the piling up ofseveral more.

In the last of the seventh the Merries did not makea run, Weaver seeming to have them at his mercy.

Again in the eighth, although Cartersville got twomen onto the sacks, no scores were made on either side.

The ninth inning opened with the score three to onein favor of the locals.

“That’s really lead enough,” said Cameron; “but oneor two more runs will not spoil the game. I want youto make two scores, boys. You have a fine opening,for Moran starts it.”

“I’ll agree to get a hit,” said Moran, “if they’ll justhelp me circle the bags.”

He was positive he could get a hit then, but some ofhis conceit evaporated when he fanned twice and wasfooled both times.

There had not been much complaint against Starbright’swork as umpire, for Cartersville was holdingthe lead and fancied that lead could be increased anytime. Just now Moran was unable to kick, as he wasswinging at the balls.

Apparently Merriwell put the next ball just wherethe batter wanted it.

But again Moran missed, greatly to his dismay.

“Oh, you’re a mark!” sneered Madison. “Wait tillI git at him! I ain’t got no hits to-day, but I’ve beenwaitin’ for this chance.”

Johnson was in position to strike.

“Look out fo’ me, ma-a-an,” he grinned. “Dis timeI puts it ober de fence. Allus does it once in a game.”

He tried hard—too hard, in fact. Like Moran, hefell an easy victim to Merriwell’s arts.

Frank was now pitching in his best form, havingthrown off all attempt at deception.

Madison swore he would get a hit. He realizedthat his reputation as a heavy batter had suffered thatday.

The crowd yelled and hooted at Frank, seeking torattle him, but his face was perfectly grave and heseemed deaf to the uproar. In the stand he saw aveiled woman, who sat silent and rigid, her glovedhands clasped. He knew she was watching him, herheart heavy with despair, for it seemed that the localshad won.

At the beginning of the game Merry had resolvednot to let Madison get a hit. Now, as the fellow cameup for the last time, Frank pitched with bewilderingspeed, his curves being sharp and baffling.

Although every ball pitched was a strike, Starbrighthad confidence in Merry and declared two, at whichthe batter did not offer, to be “balls.”

Then Merry wound up with his surprising slowball, which seemed to hang in the air, and Madisonstruck too soon.

“You’re out!” cried Starbright.

“Well, it’s all right, fellows,” laughed Cameron.“You have to hold them down, that’s all. It’s easy forWeaver. The game is ours.”

Frank spoke to his players in low tones as theygathered around him at the bench.

“We must go after it now,” he said. “There mustbe no tie. We must win it in this inning—or lose it.You’re the first batter, Bart.”

Hodge was grim and determined as he walked tothe plate. He let the first ball pass, but hit the secondand lined it out.

Hickey made a jump to one side, struck out his gloveand caught the ball. It was a handsome catch ofwhat had looked like a safe two-bagger.

Bart’s head dropped a moment as he turned backtoward the bench, but it came up at once, and he spoketo Frank, making himself heard above the uproar, forthe crowd was yelling like madmen:

“You can do it just the same, Frank. That was acase of horseshoes.”

Merry did not try for a long hit. One run woulddo no good. He attempted to place a safe single, anddrove a liner into an opening in right field.

Gamp followed, but the hopes of the visitors sankwhen Joe fanned out in the most dismal manner.

The only chance now seemed for Browning to makea long, safe hit, and the big fellow tried for it. Insteadof hitting as he expected, he sent a slow one rollingtoward Moran.

Never in all his life did Bruce cover ground as hedid then. Those who fancied him to be a huge, heavy,lazy fellow now saw him fairly fly over the ground,and he reached first a good stride ahead of the ball.

“Safe!” declared Starbright.

Sitting on the bench, Hodge groaned as he saw Rattleton,pale and unsteady, step out to strike.

“It’s all off!” Bart muttered. “Harry can’t hit thatpitching!”

Weaver flashed over a speedy one.

Harry did not move.

“One strike!” declared Starbright, his honesty compellinghim to declare it.

Weaver sent in another one.

Rattleton swung.

Crack!

Bart Hodge leaped into the air with a yell of astonishmentand joy.

It was the hit of Rattleton’s whole career in baseball.Clean over the most distant portion of centre-fieldfence sailed the ball, disappearing from view.

A second yell escaped Bart’s lips, and he began“throwing cartwheels,” while Merriwell, Browning,and Rattleton capered round the bases and came home.

The spectators seemed dazed.

No one, however, was more dazed than Carey Cameron.He did not move from the bench.

Their experience with the sporting element of Cartersvillehad been so unpleasant that Frank and hisfriends had no desire to remain longer in the town.Greatly to their surprise they were not molested inany way by the friends of Carey Cameron, who seemedto have received a knockout blow, and the Merries leftthe town by the first train for the East.

Their objective point was Ashport, where a gentlemanby the name of Robert Ashley had offered amagnificent trophy to be contested for by all legitimateamateurs who wished to enter a cross-countryrunning contest. It was not that Frank, or any of histeam, intended to enter the contest that had influencedMerry to take in Ashport on his journey to the East,but he had heard much about the man who was promotingthe event, and what he had heard had beenfavorable.

Ashley was an Englishman, and shortly after graduatingfrom Oxford he had found himself, at the deathof his father, left with but a small portion of the fortunehe had been led to believe he should inherit.Quickly realizing that the income of this reduced fortunewould not support him in the style he desired, heput aside family and caste prejudice against “trade”and formed an unfortunate business alliance with ashrewd rascal, who quickly succeeded by crookedmethods in robbing him of what he had left, and thenthrew him over to face the world.

By the sale of personal effects, Ashley raised somethinglike three hundred pounds, and with this in hispocket he bade farewell to England and turned his facetoward America.

There is no need to recount his career in this country,but let it suffice to say that, after many hardshipsand severe struggles, he “struck it rich” in Colorado.For him “the mining game” was a successful one, andwithin five years after fortune turned, he retired fromthe struggle, many times a millionaire. His successin the face of disappointment and hard luck he attributedto his persistence, endurance, and staying power;and many a time he averred that these qualities—tosome extent hereditary—had been cultivated, developed,and brought to perfection by such school-dayand college sports as cross-country running and hareand hounds.

Ashley had conceived a great admiration and lovefor the country in which he had retrieved his fallenfortunes. After a visit to his former home in the oldcountry, he returned to the United States and finallysettled near Ashport, on the Ohio River. Whether ornot he was attracted by the name of the town it is impossibleto say; but there he found precisely the sortof country he admired and his fortune permitted himto purchase a large estate.

He soon became actively concerned in many charitableworks and he took a great interest in all sorts ofhealthy outdoor sports, participating in such as wereadapted to his years and encouraging those in which hecould not longer indulge. He founded the AshportAmateur Athletic Association, which, although locatedin the country, was within easy range of many thrivingtowns and two large and prosperous cities; and, inthe two years of its existence, it had made such rapidadvancement in membership and achievement that itwas regarded as one of the leading organizations ofthe sort in the country.

Among the members of the club were several formercollege men of note in athletics, not the least of whomwas Carl Prince, who became known as the “GeorgetownWonder” when he had twice broken the Americancollege record in the quarter-mile run.

Other ex-college men who had accomplished thingson the track and the cinder path and later joined Ashportwere Clifford Clyde, of Yale, and Hugh Sheldon,Michigan’s remarkable hurdler and steeplechaser.

Mr. Ashley had a theory that distance running wasneglected in America, and he sought to arouse interestin it. For this purpose he had offered a prize tobe contested for at Ashport on a certain date, by anyand all legitimate amateurs of America who wished toenter the cross-country running contest.

The sporting columns of the newspapers had thoroughlyadvertised the coming event, and had commentedmuch on the beauty and costliness of thetrophy. Having seen these articles in the papers,Frank Merriwell planned to reach Ashport on the tripEast with his athletic team in time to witness the contest.

It happened, however, that Paul Proctor, the presidentof the Ashport A. A., a Harvard grad, knewMerry well and took pains to extend him an invitationto participate in the contest.

Although Frank had not given any thought to aparticipation in the events, he had gladly acceptedProctor’s invitation, and on the day of the tryoutshe watched them from the observatory of the clubhousewhich was located at the shoulder of an ovalmile track that had been constructed for all sorts offoot races. From this observatory could be obtaineda clear and complete view of the track and groundsof the Ashport Athletic Association.

Back of the clubhouse and to the east lay Ashport,a thriving, up-to-date village. The river swept in ahorseshoe-like curve to the south. To the north wasthe estate of Robert Ashley, comprising hundreds ofacres of green fields, broad meadows, hills, valleys, andwild woodland. On one of the hillsides, surrounded bysplendid old trees, stood Ash Hall. In order to builda home to suit himself, Mr. Ashley had razed a housethat formerly stood on the same spot.

“Who is the pacemaker?” asked Merry, as hewatched the runners through a pair of field glasses.

“That is Carl Prince, of Batavia,” answered PaulProctor.

“Not Prince, the Georgetown Wonder?”

“The same fellow. He’s just as fast to-day as hewas at college, when he became known as the GeorgetownWonder.”

“He was a great quarter-miler,” nodded Frank, havinglowered the glasses for a moment; “but I don’trecall that he ever made a reputation as a long-distanceman.”

“Not at college,” admitted Proctor. “He didn’t goin for long-distance work then. He has since becominga member of the Ashport A. A.”

“I am inclined to fancy he has not changed hismethods to any great extent, and you know long-distancework is much different from sprinting anddashes. True it is running, but runners are dividedinto three classes—the sprinters, the middle-distancemen, and the long-distance or cross-country men.Those adapted for the second class named, or whohave won records or events in that class, find it moreeasy to become cross-country men than do those ofthe first class.”

“What makes you think Prince has not changed hismethods?”

“His stride, his carriage, and his tenseness. Sprintersare under strain from start to finish in a race,and their muscles are taut. They are liable to tie upin long runs. They forget to relax, and their musclesbecome overstrained. When a man ties up in a longrun he’s liable not to finish at all. He finds himselfrun out at a time and point when he should be at hisvery best.”

“Hollingsworth has considerable confidence inPrince.”

“Who is Hollingsworth?”

“Our trainer. He’s an Englishman, and he knowshis business. He was formerly the champion of theMiddlesex Cross Country Club, in England. We werelucky to get hold of him here.”

“Long-distance and cross-country running seems tobe a fad with your club, Proctor.”

“Naturally,” smiled the president of the club. “Mr.Robert Ashley, who founded the club, gave us ourfield and track and built this handsome clubhouse forus, is a crank on that sort of sport. In his day,he was the greatest cross-country and hare-and-houndsman in Oxford.”

“He is an Englishman?”

“Yes. That is, he was. He’s a naturalized Americannow. Made a fortune in mining and settled here.That splendid house you can see on the hill yonder iswhere he lives. It is modeled after the old Englishcountry mansion, and he calls it Ash Hall. Mr. Ashleyclaims that cross-country running is the finestsport in the world to develop staying power and endurancein a young man, and he says staying poweris what the modern young man needs to make himsuccessful in business. He thinks there are too manysprinters in business, who make a hot dash for awhile, but are unable to keep up the pace until successful.”

Frank smiled and nodded.

“It is my opinion that Mr. Ashley is a man of wisdomand generosity,” he said. “The runners arecoming down the straight course to the stand. We canget a better view of them now.”

He again lifted the glasses to his eyes, an examplefollowed by several other persons.

As the runners came nearer, Frank lowered theglasses and watched them with the naked eye.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I’m afraid Prince will tie upin a long run. He is inclined to carry his chin a bittoo high.”

“We are placing a great deal of reliance in him,”said Proctor, as if a bit vexed by Merry’s criticism.“Hollingsworth has chosen him as a leader to workout the bunch.”

“Who is that second fellow—the one with the mopof light hair?”

“That’s Tom Bramwell.”

“His form is better than that of Prince; but hehasn’t the range, and I’m afraid he’s a bit too heavy.”

“Oh, Bramwell never did anything brilliant in hislife. Nobody counts on him.”

“He’s just the man who’s liable to surprise everybodyin a match of this sort. There is a pretty runnerto the left of him—the slender little chap.”

“That’s Clifford Clyde, a Yale man.”

“Grad?”

“No; he was suspended in his sophomore year andnever tried to get back.”

“He runs easy, but lifts his feet just a little toohigh. The man behind him is the best runner in thelot, if he didn’t have one bad fault.”

“That’s Hugh Sheldon, the University of Michiganhurdler. What’s the fault?”

“The way he carries his arms. He swings themacross his body, and thus fails to get the proper lift ofa direct forward swing. There is lost motion in thatswing.”

“There seems to be something the matter with themall,” muttered Proctor, with a disappointed air.

“It is seldom you see a runner without faults,”smiled Frank. “And some mighty good men have badhabits in running. Many wonderfully good Englishlong-distance runners have the fault of swinging theirarms across their bodies, yet, for all of this, they generallydefeat Americans in cross-country running andin other things which demand endurance.”

“That’s what Mr. Ashley says, except he has madeno mention of the bad arm action of the English. IfAmericans run in better form, why don’t they defeatthe English?”

“Because they have not the stamina—the stay.They have not been properly trained.”

“Oh, do you believe in a rigid form of training forall men?”

“Not at all. I have arrived at a point in life whenI firmly believe the old saw: ‘What’s one man’s meatis another man’s poison.’ You can’t put a bunch ofmen in training and force them all to conform to setand rigid rules with the best result. Above everythingelse, a runner must have some love for his workand a great ambition to excel. Then he should studyhimself and find out just the sort of work that agreeswith him in training. He should not shirk. He shouldtake all he can stand without injury. He should consultwith his trainer, and the trainer must have discernmentand sense enough not to underwork or overworkthat man. It requires a trainer of mighty keen discernmentto determine just what is best for a bunchof five or six men with different natures, differenthabits, and varying ability. It’s likely you have donewell in engaging an English trainer, as the Englishexcel in this style of running. How often has he sentthe men cross country?”

“Only twice thus far. He says he can get the bestout of them by working them on the track where hecan watch them. He’s a good runner himself, but ingoing cross country he cannot watch all the men, youknow.”

Merriwell looked mildly surprised, opened his mouthto speak, then closed his lips and remained silent.

Hodge also betrayed surprise, but maintained thesilent demeanor that had made him non-conspicuoussince entering the observatory.

Proctor was too shrewd not to note Frank’s action.

“What were you thinking of saying, Merriwell?” heasked.

“Oh, not much,” answered Frank.

The runners had now turned the shoulder near theclubhouse, and all leaned over the rail to watch themas they passed the long, low bathhouse, which was alsothe residence of the track master.

After a moment, Proctor said:

“I wish you would tell me what you started to saya bit ago, Merriwell.”

“I don’t think I had better.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not the thing for me to come here and criticisethe methods of your trainer.”

“You may do so privately to me.”

Still Frank was disinclined, seeking to divert Proctorfrom this inquiry by calling his attention to thefact that Bramwell had a beautiful stride and no lostmotion.

“If he had more range,” said Merry, “he would bethe man of that lot to back.”

“It’s strange Hollingsworth doesn’t think so—or,at least, hasn’t said anything about it,” said Proctor.

“Perhaps Hollingsworth understands Bramwell’sdisposition and doesn’t wish the fellow to get too goodan opinion of himself. You know that spoils a runneroccasionally.”

Proctor slipped over close to Frank. The twomen were now at the western side of the observatory,still watching the runners and talking in low tones.Hodge leaned on the southern rail and seemed absorbedin thought.

“What were you going to say about Hollingsworth’smethods a short time ago, Merriwell?” persisted thepresident of the club.

“It is now three days before the great match?”

“Yes.”

“Already contestants are coming in. If you willtake the pains to look yonder and watch the woods onthe side of that hill away there, using the glass, youwill soon see three runners emerge and descend thehill. They are some of the men who are going tocompete, and they are getting practical cross-countrywork.”

Proctor seized the glass and leveled it as directed.After fifteen or twenty seconds, he muttered:

“You’re right! There comes one of them—yes,and there is another! Now I can see all three of them.How in the world did you discover them?”

“Oh, I often look around. I surveyed the country,with the aid of that glass, when we first cameup here. There are two more chaps hidden in thatvalley yonder, while still a third, a solitary fellow, isskirting the bend of the river down yonder. It’slikely I have not seen all the men who are out gettingpractical cross-country work to-day, for we knowthat at least a dozen are stopping in Ashport.”

“Well?”

“Well, here are your men hammering round a fine,smooth track. Why, they should have quit track runninglong ago. For the past two weeks they shouldhave run cross country at least five times a week, directedby the trainer. One day out of every six in thelast two weeks could have been given to work hereon the track, where Hollingsworth would be able towatch the men and note their peculiarities and progress.Has Mr. Ashley taken special note of Hollingsworth’smethods?”

“No; but he has confidence in Hollingsworth.”

“Well, I’m not infallible,” laughed Frank. “I’monly giving my ideas; but I have received those ideasfrom experience and from the suggestion of men of experience.I don’t wish to set myself up as authority,Proctor, for I——”

“You might,” interrupted Proctor quickly. “Youare recognized in this country as authority on mostamateur sports.”

“But I have never tried for a record in cross-countryrunning.”

“Why don’t you try in this contest? The championsof the United States will take part. Look atthese entries: Harvey Neil, New York Athletic Club;Philip Pope, Bay State A. A., Boston; Arthur Huntley,Bison A. A., Buffalo; Farwell Lyons, of the ChicagoClippers, and many others, among whom are severalcollege grads and ex-collegians of note. It wouldbe a great thing for us to have Frank Merriwell inthe contest. Come on, old man! The course has beenlaid off and will be announced to-morrow. You’re intime to go over it with the men before the race.”

“But, my dear fellow,” smiled Merry, “you seemto forget that I ought to put in two or three weeksof consistent training for such a contest if I meantto enter.”

Unheard and unobserved, a red-faced chap in asweater had mounted the steps to the observatory.He had a Scotch cap pushed back on his head, and hepaused with his hands on his hips, surveying Merriwell’sback with a look of disapproval, while he listenedto the words of Frank and Paul.

“But I have heard it claimed that you keep yourselfconstantly in training, and you are now finishing atour with your own athletic team. If you remainhere and do not enter, it will be fancied that you wereafraid. People will ask why you were present andfailed to compete for the splendid Ashley trophy.”

“There is another reason why I should not enter,”said Merry. “That trophy ought to be won by a memberof this club. If I did enter, I’d go after it inearnest as it is my rule never to do a thing unless Ido my level best.”

“But, according to your criticism, Carl Prince hasno chance of winning, our men are being coachedwrong, and all of them have faults. We have no realchance of winning, it seems.”

“You appear to forget what I have said about Bramwell.”

“Even he lacks the range, you have said.”

“But I think he has the courage and endurance. Itis endurance and heart that count in a contest of thissort, providing the runner has had something likecorrect training. You pressed me for my idea of yourtrainer’s methods, and what I said was spoken in confidence.I have no desire to injure Hollingsworth,who may be sincere and a very good fellow.”

The chap in the sweater smiled disdainfully, continuingto listen, an expression of mingled anger andcraft on his unpleasant face.

“Of course if you will not enter that settles it,” saidProctor; “but I don’t believe Bramwell can defeatPope, of Boston, or Huntley, of Buffalo.”

“How about Neil?”

“He is not the best man from his club.”

“Well, I’d like to see one of your men take thattrophy, Proctor. I don’t want it.”

The fellow in the sweater laughed rather harshlyand sarcastically, causing every one in the observatoryto turn quickly and look at him.

“Hollingsworth!” exclaimed Proctor.

“Mr. Merriwell is very generous,” observed thelaughing man cuttingly. “It’s an easy thing for ’imto be generous in such a manner, and no one willhever suspect ’im of timidness. He can travel on hisrecord. I think he is hextremely wise in keeping houtof this race.”

It was Hollingsworth, the English trainer, who betrayedhis origin whenever excited in the least by themisuse of the letter “h” in his speech. In ordinaryconversation he seldom did this.

Proctor knew at once that the trainer had overheardsome of their talk, which threw him into confusion.

Merriwell did not seem disturbed. He surveyedHollingsworth with quiet interest.

Proctor hastened to introduce them.

Hollingsworth did not remove his hands from hiships, but gave a little jerk of his bullet head in acknowledgmentof the introduction.

“I knew it was Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “No onehelse would think of being so hextremely generous.”

These words were meant to be very cutting.

“Besides,” continued the Englishman, as Frank didnot speak at once, “no one helse is so wonderfullywise.”

Bart Hodge was frowning blackly. He had takenan instant dislike to Hollingsworth. He afterwardconfessed a desire to punch the fellow on sight.

Proctor sought to mediate and pour oil on thewaters.

“Mr. Merriwell was speaking in strict confidence tome,” he declared. “He did not intend that any oneshould overhear.”

“And,” said Frank, “I had no thought that any onewould come up behind us with such pantherish stepsthat we could not know he was listening to conversationnot intended for his ears.”

The red face of Hollingsworth took on a deepertinge.

“I ’ave seen these gents who go round offering secretcriticisms!” he exclaimed warmly. “They thinkto do more ’arm that way than by speaking hout withcourage; but hoften it is the case that they hinjure noone, as they seldom know what they are talkinghabout.”

This was meant as another deep thrust at Merry.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you if you keep it up!”thought Hodge. “If Merry doesn’t deliver the goods,I will!”

Frank knew Bart would smart under such conditions,and he gave the quick-tempered fellow a glanceof warning.

Merriwell was the guest of the Ashport A. A., andhe wished no encounter with the trainer.

“I have not the least desire to say anything to injureyou, Mr. Hollingsworth,” he declared calmly.“On the contrary, I am inclined to give you Englishmenall the credit you deserve in long-distance andcross-country work, and that is a great deal, for youstand at the head.”

This seemed to quiet the trainer a little, although itdid not wholly satisfy him.

“But you have no call to come here and discuss mewith the president of the club,” he asserted. “I knowmy business, sir. If you don’t think so, look into therecords of Overby and Hare, of the Middlesex CrossCountry Club, England. I trained both of those men.”

“I know about them. Hare could not defeat Orton,the American, at the steeplechase in your own country.Orton won the championship of England. Alreadyhe held the championship of America, and later,at Paris, he became champion of the world.”

Hollingsworth flushed again.

“Horton was an accident!” he cried. “You neverproduced a man like ’im before, and you never willhagain!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” returned Frank,with slightly uplifted eyebrows. “We’re just gettinginto such work in earnest over here. You have beentraining men for it a long, long time. Generationafter generation of long-distance men have followedeach other at your colleges. We’re beginning to pressyou hard. Twenty or thirty years from now you’llfind yourselves following in our lead.”

“Never!” snapped the Englishman. “You Hamericansare conceited, that’s what’s the matter with you!Heven in this race I wouldn’t be surprised to see anEnglishman take the trophy.”

“But you have no English runner in this club whois formidable.”

“No.”

“Then it seems you do not expect one of your ownrunners to win.”

“I ’ope one of them will,” said Hollingsworth hastily.“I ’ave done my best, but a man can’t make championshout of poor material.”

“Occasionally he can,” denied Frank.

“Oh, I suppose you might, you ’ave a way of haccomplishingsuch wonders! Better get hup yourcourage and henter. I don’t think it would be so ’ardfor one or two of our members to defeat you.”

“You tempt me—really you do,” smiled Merriwell.

“You ’aven’t the nerve.”

“Haven’t I?”

“’Ardly. If you did, as sure as my name is ’Erbert’Ollingsworth, I’d wager you wouldn’t finish betterthan third.”

“Just to show you I can finish second, at least,”Frank laughed, “I may reconsider my determinationand enter for the run. In fact, I think I will.”

“I ’ope you don’t back hout,” sneered Hollingsworth;“but, considering who is hentered already, Ifear you will.”

Frank had settled his mind.

“Put your fears at rest,” he advised.

“Well, if you get shown up after being so critical,”said the Englishman, “I shall not shed tears. Mr.Proctor, I wish to see you after training is over. Willyou wait for me here, or come over to the baths?”

“I’ll see you downstairs, Hollingsworth.”

The Englishman nodded to Proctor and the twogentlemen at the west side of the observatory, who hadlistened to the talk, but had offered to take no part init, descended the steps, disappearing from view.

“I give you my word, Frank,” said Hodge hotly,“that I’d rather punch that fellow than any man I’veencountered in a whole year! I simply ached to hithim, but, of course, I wouldn’t pick up a quarrel withhim here.”

“I hope you refrain from picking a quarrel with himanywhere as long as we remain in Ashport.”

“But he was so confounded insolent!”

“Which is the manner of some Englishmen of acertain grade. They entertain a contempt for Americansand are unable to conceal it. The better class,like Mr. Ashley, for instance, have come to understandand respect us.”

“You seem to be a rather broad-minded youngman,” said one of the gentlemen. “I observed thatyou held yourself in perfect restraint throughout thattalk with Hollingsworth just now.”

“Too much restraint is as bad as none,” mutteredHodge.

“That depends on what you consider too much,”said Frank, who had caught the words.

“I tell you,” said Proctor, speaking to Merry andBart, “I’m inclined to believe Hollingsworth has notworked our men out properly. He’ll have to givethem some cross-country work now.”

“But it’s pretty late,” reminded Merriwell. “Theymust not be overworked. There is danger of overworkingthem at this stage. Don’t let him push themuntil they go stale on the eve of the contest.”

“If one of our men does not win,” said Paul, “Ihope you get that trophy, Merriwell.”

“Thank you. I have decided to try for it, but Istill think it should go to a member of this club. Whois the Englishman entered, and where is he from?Hollingsworth said he’d not be a bit surprised to seean Englishman walk off with the trophy.”

“He must have been thinking of Arthur Huntley, ofBuffalo.”

“Is he English?”

“I believe so. I think, though, he is now a naturalizedAmerican.”

“We’ll have to take a little interest in Huntley,Bart,” said Frank. “I wish to know why Hollingsworthfancies he may win the trophy.”

“Simply because the fellow is an Englishman,” saidHodge.

But Merry shook his head.

“Hollingsworth is not a fool, and he knows therewill be other good cross-country men in the race. Nodoubt he sympathizes with Huntley, but Huntley mustbe unusual in order to lead this man to believe hewill win.”

At this moment one of the gentlemen called attentionto a carriage that was approaching the clubhouse.Immediately Proctor announced that Mr. Ashley wasone of the two gentlemen in the carriage.

“He is bringing the trophy!” cried the president ofthe club, in great eagerness. “He stated he wouldshow it here this afternoon. Come down, gentlemen—comedown and see it!”

They descended from the observatory and wentdown to the parlor, where they found Mr. Ashley hadalready arrived, the carriage being outside the door.

The gentleman who accompanied Mr. Ashley carriedin his hand a leather bag, which seemed quiteheavy.

“That bag contains the trophy, I think,” said Frankto Bart, as Proctor hastened to speak to Ashley.

The founder of the club was a man of slender, wirybuild, an Englishman of the higher grade, who hadnot acquired that ponderous solemnity most Americansexpect to see in Britishers of middle age and of hisstanding. In many respects he was more like anAmerican than a typical Englishman. His hair andmustache contained a liberal sprinkling of gray. Hewas plainly dressed in brown.

Mr. Ashley had been expected, and there was a largegathering of members in the parlor. He greeted themin a pleasant manner, yet without elaborate politeness.

“Put the bag on the table in the centre of the room,Mr. Graham,” he said, and his companion did as directed.

Herbert Hollingsworth entered and hurried to Mr.Ashley.

“The men have just finished work for the day,” hesaid. “They are in the bathhouse. It will be thirtyor forty minutes before they can be here.”

“We will wait until they can come before showingthe trophy,” said Ashley. “How are our boys showingup?”

“Splendidly, sir. Prince and Clyde are in the pinkof condition.”

“That is good. How about Sheldon and Bramwell?”

“Oh, they will be pretty sure to make a good showing,especially Sheldon. Bramwell is persistent.”

Proctor gave Frank and Bart a nod, upon whichthey approached and were introduced to Mr. Ashley,who shook hands warmly with both of them.

“Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “I am particularly gladto meet you. Are you going to enter?”

“Well,” smiled Frank, giving Hollingsworth aglance, “I have been persuaded to do so, although Idid not contemplate it when I came here.”

“I persuaded him, sir,” the trainer hastened to declare.“To me it seemed an opportune time to demonstratethat Mr. Merriwell is not the only one in hisclass.”

Ashley was quick to catch something amiss in themanner of Hollingsworth.

“This contest has been advertised as open for allregistered amateurs in this country,” he said, at once.“Every one is welcome to compete, and may the bestman win.”

The parlor of the clubhouse was well filled whenRobert Ashley exposed the trophy, which had beenplaced on the table in the centre of the room and coveredwith a flag.

First Mr. Ashley made a short speech, in which heexplained his object in offering such an award. Insubstance it was for the purpose of arousing greaterinterest in cross-country races and thus to develop inAmerican athletes that stamina and endurance essentialin the modern man of business.

“American runners are better known for flashingbrilliancy than for dogged determination,” he said.“In the great race of life, endurance wins far moreoften than brilliancy, which is not infrequently alliedwith weakness. But the runner must have a strongheart, else he may become discouraged by the apparentsuccess of some competitor who flashes past him at thestart. If he persists doggedly, determinedly, gauginghimself properly and making the best of his powers,he may have the satisfaction of passing the brilliantstarter, leaving him winded and spent and flounderinghelplessly in some morass of business or thicket ofcommerce.”

There was a breathless hush when Ashley had finished.Then a signal was given and the flag lifted.

All leaned forward and stared.

Then followed a murmur of admiration and a burstof applause.

It was a statue, the lifelike and natural representationof a diminutive, lithe-limbed runner, being abouteight inches in height and molded from a fine qualityof gold. The base on which it stood was also of gold.

But the admiration of the beholders was aroused notmerely on account of the material from which thetrophy had been made and its evident great value; thefigure was splendidly and scientifically molded, beingso natural in its every pose, resting on the toes of theright foot, with the left leg thrown forward in a finestride, the knee bent, the naked left arm swung backwardon a line and the right arm forward, the handsclosed, the head setting perfectly on a slender yet fullneck, the face firm and determined, every line fromtoe to topknot denoting vigorous and easy action—sonatural was it that it must have created a sensationeven though formed of lead.

Those present crowded about the table. After alittle they began to comment wonderingly, not so muchon the costliness of the trophy, as on its value as awork of art. There was no one present who did notrealize that it must have cost a great sum of money,and was something that the fortunate winner coulddisplay throughout the remainder of his life with theutmost pride.

After they had discussed it for a time, Mr. Ashleyspoke:

“Gentlemen,” he said, “it may seem strange to youthat I have not up to the present time made known theexact nature of the trophy I intended to offer. I willexplain. It is my belief that the cleanest and mostcommendable sports are those in which the contestantsparticipate without covetousness or hope of rewardother than the glory that comes to the victor. In theglorious days of Greece the victor was rewarded witha wreath of laurel. I believed it was possible to bringtogether for this event the leading long-distance runnersof this country, without arousing their greed byadvertising the real worth of the trophy, and the resulthas justified my judgment. Only those who havealready entered or to-day announce their intention toenter and make proper application will be accepted.Already the leading amateurs of the United States,with one or two exceptions, are entered. There is nolonger a chance that greed will bring others into thecontest. May the victor prove worthy of the trophy,and may it inspire him to his best efforts through life.”This final speech was greeted with even more applausethan the first had aroused. The astonishinggenerosity of Mr. Ashley was commented upon quietlyby little groups, and it was universally agreed that thewinner of the contest might properly lay claim to thetitle of cross-country champion of America.

Two young men entered and advanced to view thetrophy. One of them attracted attention right away.Among those who hastened to speak to him was HerbertHollingsworth.

“Jove, Merry!” exclaimed Hodge softly; “did youcatch that chap’s name?”

“What chap?”

“The one who just came in with the fellow in theblue suit. Hollingsworth is talking to him now.”

“No, I didn’t catch his name.”

“Hollingsworth called him Huntley.”

Instantly Frank gave the fellow more attention. Hesaw a slender, graceful young man of twenty-four orfive, who had rather long legs, and who, in spite of hisgrace and suppleness, had about him a suggestion ofstrength and reserve power. His chin denoted pugnacity,his mouth determination and his nose command.His eyes were the only questionable featureshe possessed. Although they were not shifty and theylooked at one squarely, to Frank they somehow suggesteda nature not over-scrupulous—one who wouldsacrifice friendship or anything else for selfish gainand glory.

Proctor now discovered the newcomer and madesome haste to shake hands with him, after which, takinghis arm, he led him over to Frank.

“I think you will be pleased to meet Mr. Merriwell,Mr. Huntley,” said the president of the club. “Mr.Merriwell, this gentleman will be one of your dangerousrivals for the golden trophy. He is the championlong-distance man of the Bison A. A., Buffalo.”

“I am in truth glad to know you, Mr. Huntley,”nodded Merry, as he shook the hand of the man fromBuffalo.

“The pleasure is mutual,” assured Huntley. “Evenbefore coming to America I heard a great deal of you.Your career attracted the attention of Oxford andCambridge men. I believe you are the only all-roundathlete who has also excelled in competing with thechampions who have made a specialty of many differentsports. Usually an all-round man is in truth ajack of all trades and master of none. So you haveentered for the magnificent Ashley trophy?”

“Not yet; but I have announced my intention of entering.”

“Before the trophy was displayed?”

Something in this question gave Merry a slight flushof annoyance, but he concealed it perfectly.

“As Proctor can affirm, my intention was announcedbefore the trophy was shown. Your friend, Hollingsworth,who seems to have great confidence in you, banteredme into it.”

A slight cloud fell on Huntley’s face.

“Mr. Hollingsworth is a mere acquaintance,” hehastened to explain. “I was not aware that he hadso much confidence in me.”

Back of this Frank seemed to read the speaker’sthoughts, and he was satisfied that Huntley was inwardlycursing Hollingsworth.

“I was led to believe him a friend and to think hehad great confidence in you through some talk hemade.”

“Well, whatever Mr. Hollingsworth’s opinion ofme, I am certain he would rejoice to see me defeatedby one or more of the youngsters he has developedhere. It would be a feather in his cap to bring out achampion, you know.”

“It would, indeed; and I should be pleased to see amember of this club secure the trophy.”

“What, and you in the race?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, then, were you to find yourself matchedagainst an Ashport man toward the finish, with it settledthat one of you two must come in first, you wouldgive the other fellow the race?”

“I have not said so, nor would I do anything of thesort.”

“I thought not!” said Huntley, with the slightestcurl to his lips.

“Whenever I enter any contest I do so with thefull determination to win, if such a thing lies withinmy power. Were I confident an Ashport man wouldwin I would not enter at all.”

“Your generosity is really surprising!” cried theBuffalo man laughingly. “Under any circumstances,I’ll guarantee you’ll enter and do your best to securethe runner of gold. In spite of your past reputation,however, I think you will find it no simple matter toobtain the trophy.”

“Were it a simple matter,” said Frank, “it wouldnot be worth trying for.”

“That is handsomely said, Mr. Merriwell; but Ihardly fancy you could be deterred from trying underany conditions.”

Having said this, Huntley again expressed his satisfactionover the meeting with Frank and bowed himselfaway.

“You touched him, Frank,” said Hodge. “Hedidn’t like it when you mentioned his friendship forHollingsworth and the confidence the latter had inhim.”

“No, he didn’t like it at all,” agreed Frank. “Thefact that it did touch him increases my suspicions.”

“Naturally.”

“There is something going on beneath the surface.”

“I think it.”

“What is it?”

“I’d like to know.”

“So would I,” confessed Merry.

“We may find out.”

Bart now took a fancy to watch Huntley closely, andhe was rewarded, after a time, by seeing a slight signalpass between the representative of the Bison A. A. andthe Ashport trainer.

Five or ten minutes later Huntley sauntered out ofthe clubhouse. He stood a few moments on theveranda, surveying the track. Finally he crossed thetrack and walked out onto the field, seemingly highlyinterested in looking over the fine grounds of the club.

Still watching, Hodge observed that Hollingsworthleft the club by the door opposite the track, and passedround to the bathhouse, where he met the trackmaster,with whom he conversed for a few moments. Finallythe trainer and the trackmaster started along the ovaltrack, the former indicating by his gestures that hewas criticising something that did not suit his fancy.

By this time Huntley was far down at the lower endof the field. He crossed the track down there anddisappeared amid some trees.

At the western side of the baseball diamond andjust inside the track were seats for spectators and asmall covered grand stand for ladies.

Hollingsworth and the trackmaster paused just beforereaching the stand. The trainer appeared to bepointing out something near that point which causedhim dissatisfaction.

Hodge caught a glimpse of a man amid the trees, beyondthe track, far down at the southwestern extremityof the field. The man was sauntering northward.

“Behind the grand stand!” decided Bart. “That’swhere they are going to meet!”

He was palpitating with eagerness, but for the timehe seemed baffled and unable to make a move.

Finally Hollingsworth and the trackmaster parted,the latter turning back, while the Englishman saunteredon slowly, his head down. Twice he lookedround toward the clubhouse, as if fancying he mightbe watched. Finally he disappeared behind the stand.

In a twinkling Hodge was outside the house andtrotting away briskly along the track. He was takingchances. If seen, he hoped he might be thought a runnerseeking to sweat off a few pounds or an enthusiastwho had been spurred to try the track through seeingothers at it.

As he ran, he watched for the men amid the trees,and also kept his eyes open for Hollingsworth. Incase the latter reappeared beyond the stand, Hodge feltthat it would be useless to make any further attemptto follow him.

At first Bart hugged the outside of the track. Whenhe approached the turn at the shoulder of the oval, hecrossed and pressed close to the curb.

He had now brought the stand and seats betweenhim and the distant trees into which Huntley hadsauntered. None too soon, for the Buffalo man reappeared,vaulted the outside fence and came walkingup the track.

Hodge could not go much farther without appearingin full view of Hollingsworth, if the latter lingeredbehind the stand. Therefore he sprang over theinside fence and kept toward the stand in a straightline, running lightly on the turf.

Bart reached the stand, slipped past the corner,climbed into it without seeking the regular entrance,and walked softly toward the southern end. There,hidden from any one at the south by the boarding atthat end and equally well protected toward the west,he mounted without noise over the seats until hereached the highest one at the back. He might havelooked over the boarding in search of Hollingsworth,but he decided not to run the risk of being seen.Squatting there in the upper corner, he peered througha crack and saw Huntley rapidly approaching.

Bart knew his actions must seem suspicious to anyone at the clubhouse who happened to observe them;but he minded that not at all, being determined tolearn, if possible, if there existed a secret understandingof any sort between Hollingsworth and Huntley.

The Buffalo man hastened his steps. Finally he wasso near that Bart could no longer watch him throughthe crack, being too high for that. A moment later heheard Hollingsworth speak and knew the fellow wasbehind the stand and almost directly below.

“What’s the matter, Arthur?” asked the Ashporttrainer.

“You’ve been talking too much,” retorted Huntley,and there was suppressed anger in his voice.

“Talking?” exclaimed Hollingsworth.

“I said so!”

“’Ow—’ow ’ave I been talking?” cried the trainer,growing excited and beginning to misuse the eighthletter of the alphabet. “Hexplain what you mean!”

“You’ve been talking to Merriwell.”

“What if I ’ave? He didn’t get much satisfactionhout of it.”

“He got enough to discover that we are friendly.”

“’Ow did he? ’ow did he?”

“I don’t know, but he did. Besides that, you werefool enough to say you had confidence in me.”

“Never said hanything of the kind! Who told youall this?”

“Merriwell himself called you my friend and saidyou expressed great confidence in me.”

“He ’ad no right to say it! I only said an Englishmanmight win the race.”

“And I’m the only Englishman entered! That wasa wise remark!”

Huntley’s sarcasm was cutting.

“I didn’t stop to think he might make hanythingof it,” said Hollingsworth, with some humbleness.“’Owever, it can’t do no ’urt.”

“It can do any amount of harm. I fancy this Merriwellis a shrewd fellow. If he should learn that Ihave been staying in the country within ten miles ofAshford for the past two weeks, he might get an inclinationto investigate and so discover that duringthat time I have every day been over the course we areto run.”

“Heven then he could not prove hanything damaging,Harthur. ’Ow could he say you found hout thecourse through me? Why, sir, no one ’ere ’as any notionI know the course, which Mr. Hashley will givehout to-morrow.”

“You never can tell how things will leak out if someone goes nosing after the facts. I don’t want it evensuspected that I obtained an advantage by runningthe course day after day and making a study of thecountry so that I could cover it with the greatest speed,avoiding all the bad places and making a number ofshort cuts, like the one through Dead Timber Jungle.I cut off more than half a mile right there. Then Iknow a perfect path over Ragged Hill, and I’ll wagermore than two-thirds of the runners will skirt the hill.I’ll gain on them there.”

“If the truth hever came hout it would ’urt me morethan it would you. They would learn ’ow I bribed theman hemployed by Mr. Hashley to lay hout the courseand hinduced him to give me a map of it.”

“It would be disastrous for us both. I want thattrophy, but I don’t want any one to suspect I obtainedthe slightest advantage over the rest of the contestants,who will see a map of the course for the first time to-morrow.”

As may be readily understood, this conversation wasproving highly interesting to the young man in thegrand stand, who could distinctly hear every word.His eyes flashed as he whispered to himself:

“So you have it nicely fixed, my fine rascals! Irather think you’ll make a fizzle of your crooked gameafter all.”

Bart was now well pleased over the result of hisefforts. It was quite in opposition to his natural behaviorto thus play the eavesdropper; but what heheard in this manner fully justified the ruse andwarded off any qualms of conscience that otherwisemight have attacked him.

He continued to listen, for, believing themselves safefrom prying eyes or listening ears, the schemers pursuedtheir conversation.

“You will get the trophy, sir,” declared Hollingsworth,growing calmer and once more restoring theeighth letter of the alphabet to its rightful position.“No man from the outside is better than you, and theywill not have the advantage of your knowledge. Asfor the Ashport men, they might do very well on thistrack; but there’s only one in the lot who will makea great showing cross country.”

“You mean Prince, of course?”

“No, I don’t mean Prince, sir.”

“I thought you regarded him as the star of yourrunners.”

“He is the star in many ways; but there is anotherI think you have to fear more than Prince.”

“Who is it?”

“Bramwell.”

“Where has he ever made a record?”

“He has no record.”

“But you think——”

“He’s a better man than any one imagines—that is,any one except this Merriwell chap. Hang him! Hewatched the men from the observatory to-day, and hepicked Bramwell out as the best in the lot for crosscountry, although Prince was there, besides Clyde andSheldon, both of whom look more like runners.”

“How did he happen to select Bramwell?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Why do you think Bramwell the most dangerous?”

“Because he is a perfect bulldog, sir—he sets hisjaws and never lets go.”

“An excellent quality in a cross-country man.”

“It is Bramwell who might press you hard, sir, ifhe had confidence in himself, and had been trained inmuch cross-country running. I have not given himthe training, and I’ve taken pains not to let him knowhe’s half as good as he really is.”

“Oh, I think you overestimate him, Hollingsworth.Besides, the men I fear are Pope, Neil, Lyons, and—Merriwell.There is where you made another blunder.”

“Where, sir?”

“In hounding Merriwell to get into the match. Whydid you do it?”

“I didn’t think he would enter.”

“He’s going to enter, and he’s the man I fear aboveall others.”

“Which shows you have real horse sense,” mutteredthe unseen listener in the stand, smiling grimly.

“Look ’ere,” said Hollingsworth, growing excitedagain, “I looked at it this way, sir: If you defeatMerriwell it will be a great feather in your cap.”

“If!” said Huntley significantly.

“You ought to do it with the advantage you ’ave.With ’im in the match, you can well claim the championshipof Hamerica when you win.”

“I tell you, Hollingsworth, you made a blunderwhen you forced him into it. No man in America understandsthe requirements of the work as well as he,and I have a feeling that he will be the one to defeatme. I would give a hundred dollars—clean, cold cash—tokeep him from entering.”

“Perhaps ’e may be kept hout of it.”

“How?”

“Every man who henters must be a member of theAmateur Athletic Union of America.”

“Of course.”

“He must show his certificate of membership beforestarting in the race.”

“That’s the rule.”

“If Merriwell didn’t ’ave his certificate he couldn’tcompete.”

“No.”

“There may be some way to get ’old of it and destroyit.”

“I see no way of doing that.”

“Will you give me a ’undred dollars if I find away?”

Apparently Huntley was surprised by this question,for he remained silent some moments, while the eavesdropperin the stand hushed his breathing and strainedhis ear in order not to miss a word.

Finally the rascal from Buffalo vehemently butguardedly exclaimed:

“Yes, by the Lord Harry, I’ll give you a hundreddollars if you will find a way to do that trick—anddo it!”

“It’s good as done, sir!” declared Hollingsworth.“’Ave the money ready when I call for it.”

“But how do you propose to perform the trick?”

Hollingsworth laughed craftily.

“I know the bell boys at the Hashport ’Ouse, whereMerriwell and his party are stopping.”

“What of that?”

“They ’ave passkeys to all the rooms. They’re notsupposed to ’ave them, but that makes no difference.”

“Go on.”

“If I pay one of those boys, I can keep informed onall of Merriwell’s acts. Let him enter for the race.Between now and the day of the run he will go overthe course. On that day I’ll get my bell boy to admitme to his room. Somewhere among his effects I willfind his certificate. I’ll destroy it.”

Hollingsworth was calm again—calm with confidencein his own villainy.

“The plan is both desperate and dangerous,” saidHuntley.

“I’ll take all the chances, Arthur. I never forget afriend and a countryman. Rely on me.”

“I hope you may succeed, but I assure you that Ihave my doubts. I shall try to find a method of makingsure Merriwell does not defeat me if you fail tokeep him from running. In the meantime, go aheadand do your best.”

“That I will, sir.”

Although Hollingsworth claimed Huntley as afriend, it was plain from his manner of speech thathe recognized the man as one of higher caste thanhimself.

“Yes, go ahead and do your worst!” mentally exclaimedBart Hodge. “This plot will fizzle. I wish Iknew what other method Huntley will seek as a lastresort.”

But this he was not to learn, as the rascals how becamefearful that they might be seen together, and decidedto separate, which they soon did.

Frank Merriwell and Bart Hodge were walkingback to their hotel in town after the visit to the club,when the latter related to Merry all that he had heardwhile in the grand stand.

“What do you think of it?” cried Hodge, as he finished.

“I think you have unearthed some crooked workthat ought to put an end to the career of Arthur Huntleyas an amateur athlete and Herbert Hollingsworthas a reputable and honest trainer.”

“Just what I think, Frank. We’ll expose the plot.Huntley will be barred and Hollingsworth kicked outof his position in disgrace.”

Merry meditated a little as he walked, his headslightly bowed. After a few moments he slowly shookhis head.

“It won’t do,” he declared.

“What won’t?”

“Your plan.”

“I’d like to know why not!”

“I’ll tell you. In the first place, the proof is notsufficient.”

“Why, Merry, I heard their plot!”

“No question about that, but you have no one toback you up. You are the only person who overheardit.”

“That’s true,” admitted Bart reluctantly; “butthen——”

“If you were to accuse them, both men would denyit and demand corroborative evidence, which you couldnot produce. It would be two against one, and theirword would be just as effective as yours under suchcircumstances. Merely on your statement of the truthyou could not have Huntley barred.”

Hodge saw the force of this, but he rebelledagainst it.

“It isn’t right, Frank!” he cried. “It’s wrong! It’soutrageous!”

“It may be wrong, but that makes no difference.”

“What can we do?”

“Try to obtain evidence that will accomplish the result.”

“I doubt if we can do it in time.”

“So do I,” Frank confessed.

“Well, then——”

“The plot must be frustrated. Huntley must be defeatedin his ambition to secure the trophy.”

“You can do that,” asserted Bart eagerly and confidently.

“I can try.”

“But after that—is he to continue to be an amateurathlete in good standing?”

“Not if we can secure the needed evidence to exposehis rascality. What was it you overheard abouta jungle in some dead timber and a path over a hill?”

“Why, Huntley said he had found a number ofshort cuts over the course, one of which was throughDead Timber Jungle and the other over Ragged Hill.”

“To-morrow, when the course is given out, we’ll goover it and look for these short cuts. True, we maynot find them in such short time, but we’ll do our best.Plainly, unless we do find them, Huntley will have adecided advantage.”

“No doubt of it.”

“Then it is up to us, and may luck be with us.”

“But how about their dastardly scheme to destroyyour certificate of membership in the Amateur AthleticUnion of the United States?”

“Leave that matter to me,” smiled Frank. “Don’tworry about it in the least.”

“You mean to place the certificate where it cannotbe found? Put it into the safe at the hotel, Merry.”

“I will take care of it, all right,” was the assurance.

Early the following day a map of the course the runnerswere to follow was placed on exhibition at theclubhouse. This map was eagerly studied by the contestantswho had entered, and it was seen that thecourse would be a difficult one to traverse, as it ledthrough many wild and rugged sections of the Ashleyestate. At five different points along the coursewatchers were to be stationed to observe and recordthe passing of the runners. In this manner dishonestyon the part of the contestants in the way of failure tocover the entire distance was to be prevented.

Frank and Bart were among the first to examine themap, which was hung on a wall in the reading roomof the clubhouse. Merry went over it rapidly, copyingit on a sheet of paper, and questioning a man whohad been concerned in laying out the course, this manbeing present for the purpose of answering such questionsand giving the runners all needed information inregard to the country.

“There is the piece of woods known as Dead Timbers,Frank,” said Hodge, in a low tone, indicatingthe spot on the map.

“I’ve taken note of it,” nodded Merriwell.

“And here is Ragged Hill.”

“I have that indicated on my copy of the map.”

From the main clubhouse the old Fardale rivals andchums proceeded to the smaller house, where the dressingrooms were. Already Merry had been given alocker in one of the dressing rooms, and in this lockerhe had his running clothes, together with an outfit forHodge.

While they were dressing for the purpose of takinga run over the course, one of the Ashport men camein and busied himself in like manner.

Frank looked up and observed the fellow.

“Hello, Bramwell,” he said. “Going out to look thecourse over to see what we’re up against, are you?”

“That’s the idea,” laughed Bramwell. “Four fellowshave started already. I see you’re going, too.”

“Yes. My friend Hodge is coming with me. Won’tyou join us?”

“Sure. I know the country hereabouts pretty well,and I may be able to help you in following the course.”

“Thank you,” said Frank. “If you can give meany assistance that way I shall try to repay the favorin some manner.”

“Oh! that’s all right,” assured the Ashport man.“Every starter must know the course. After that if hecan find any means of covering it easier or quickerthan the rest, that’s his privilege.”

“Well, I reckon some of them will find a few shortcuts,” muttered Hodge.

“One has already, that’s sure,” said Frank, in a lowtone.

Bramwell cast a quick glance toward them, havingfailed to catch their words, although he heard themsay something.

Merry finished dressing and walked over to the Ashportman.

“Who do you consider the best runner in your set,Bramwell?” he inquired.

“Why, Prince, of course,” was the prompt answer.“We hope he’ll be able to take the trophy.”

“Has Hollingsworth ever told you that you couldbeat Prince in a cross-country run?”

“Well, hardly!” was the laughing answer. “Whyshould he?”

“Because you ought to do it, and I believe you can.”

Bramwell looked surprised.

“Quit your kidding!” he exclaimed. “I’m goinginto this thing because I like the sport.”

“That’s one good reason why you stand a finechance to win. You like it. Prince likes the glory,but he does not like the work. I want to tell yousomething in confidence: Hollingsworth really believesyou stand a better show of winning than anyother Ashport runner.”

Bramwell showed his incredulity, which seemed toturn into resentment in a moment.

“Say!” he cried, “do I look soft? What do youtake me for? I offered to show you the course ingood faith, but if you’re going to give me this sortof hot air——”

“If you knew me better,” said Frank, in a convincingmanner, “you would not accuse me of dealing inhot air. If we start out together to-day I’m goingto tell you a few things that will interest you and mayspur you on to victory.”

“Why should you do that? You’re out for thetrophy, aren’t you?”

“I am; still I give you my word of honor, Bramwell,if I do not win I hope most sincerely that youwill be the man to do so.”

Another person than Frank Merriwell might nothave convinced Tom Bramwell that he was sincere insuch a statement; but there was about Merry an indefinablesomething that always bespoke his absolutehonesty and convinced the doubter and skeptic. Lookinginto Frank’s eyes, Bramwell was convinced.

“I thank you!” he exclaimed, with a flush of pleasure.“I am sure I don’t know why you feel that waytoward me, but I appreciate it.”

Herbert Hollingsworth was at the clubhouse whenthe map was suspended on the wall. He saw Merriwellarrive and begin to look the map over with theothers.

“He’ll go out this morning,” decided the trainer.“It will give me the opportunity I am looking for. Imust not miss it.”

After that he pretended to take no interest whateverin Frank’s movements, but he noted that Merry leftthe clubhouse for the small one adjoining and rightlydecided that he had resolved to go over the course atonce. A few minutes later he encountered Carl Princeand Clifford Clyde.

“Looking for you, Hollingsworth,” said Prince.“We’re going to start out to explore the course.”

“Are you?” asked the trainer.

“Why, of course!” exclaimed Clyde. “That was understood.You agreed to go with us.”

“I believe I did,” admitted the Englishman.

“You made us promise to be on hand so you could.Sheldon is here somewhere, and I saw Bramwell notten minutes ago.”

“Unfortunately,” said Hollingsworth, “I can’t startso early in the day.”

“How is that?”

“I have some important business to which I mustgive my attention.”

“Well, that’s fine!” cried Clyde sarcastically. “Isthere anything more important just now than seeingthat we are properly prepared for this race?”

“I’m going to attend to business in connection withthe race.”

“What sort of business?”

“Business that will be of great benefit to us. Nevermind what it is; but I give you my word it cannot beslighted or put off. Do you know if Merriwell is goingout this morning?”

“Think he’s dressing now,” answered Prince.

“If you wait until afternoon,” said Hollingsworth,“I’ll be able to go over the course with you.”

“Of course, if you say we are to wait——”

“It isn’t necessary. Perhaps you had better go onwithout me. Remember the instructions I have givenyou, Clyde. Take the rises as fast as you can withoutoverdoing. Shorten your stride coming down the hillsand keep your feet well under you. Don’t overstrideif you intend to keep in the race when it’s pulled off.Get the proper gait; make it even and steady, so yourheart, lungs, arms, legs, and your whole body movetogether correctly. You’re inclined to be irregular inyour gait. It’s the long, steady pull that counts.Keep pounding away.”

“Haven’t you anything to say to me?” asked Prince.

“Not a word. You know your book.”

Prince looked satisfied. He knew he was generallyregarded as the champion runner of the club. He wasa fellow who lived on his reputation and past record.Although he pretended modesty, he was as proud as apeacock over his Georgetown days and accomplishments.

Clyde and Prince started off to dress. They metMerriwell, Hodge, and Bramwell coming from thedressing rooms.

“Hello, Bram!” exclaimed Clyde, in some surprise.“You seem to be in a rush.”

“No rush at all,” was the assertion. “Is Hollingsworthgoing out with us?”

“Not this morning.”

“Why not? He said——”

“I know, but he has business he must look after thisforenoon. It’s very important, and he says it will beof benefit to us.”

Frank and Bart exchanged glances, but saidnothing.

“Well, if he isn’t going out with us,” said Bramwell,“I think I’ll start at once.”

Hollingsworth stood in a window of the clubhouseand smiled grimly as he saw Merriwell and his twocompanions set off along the road that led toward thewild country to the west.

“Go!” he mentally cried. “If things come my waythis morning I’ll make a hundred dollars and fix youso you’ll take no part in the run.”

He watched until Merriwell, Hodge, and Bramwellvanished, and then he sought Paul Proctor.

“I have to go into town, Mr. Proctor,” he said. “I’llbe back soon as possible.”

“Why, I supposed you were going out with our boysthis morning,” said Paul, his face betraying displeasure.“How is it that you are not?”

“Other business, sir. They don’t need me. I toldthem I would go out after noon.”

“But you claim that morning is the time for the bestwork. I am afraid——”

“Now I know what you’re going to say, sir; butyou are wrong. They don’t need me this morning.I’ve given them complete instructions. It’s all right,sir, I assure you. Those boys are going to make somepeople open their eyes. They’re in fine form.”

Proctor seemed anything but satisfied, althoughHollingsworth added a great deal more.

A few minutes later the treacherous trainer set offtoward the village, making considerable haste.

At the Ashport House, Hollingsworth lingeredabout until he found an opportunity to call one of thebell boys aside by means of a signal.

“Charley,” said the Englishman, “do you want toearn a fiver?”

“What doin’?” asked the boy, with a mingling ofdoubt and eagerness.

“Something easy.”

“What is it?”

“Frank Merriwell is stopping here?”

“Sure.”

“Know his room?”

“Number forty-three.”

“Any one room with him?”

“Chap named Hodge. Got it in for him. He gaveme a call last night because I forgot to bring up apitcher of ice water he’d called for.”

“Both Merriwell and Hodge are out?”

“Yep. They’ve gone over to the club.”

“I want to get into their room,” whispered Hollingsworth.

The boy looked alarmed.

“You can’t do it.”

“Now hold on, Charley. You have a passkey.”

“But I can’t let no one into a room.”

“It’s a fiver for you.”

“I’d be fired.”

“Nobody need know it.”

“It’s too risky.”

“I’m taking more risk than you.”

“You want to swipe something, I know! Boy firedlast week for swipin’. He came near goin’ to thejug. Stole a ring out of a room. Feller who ownedthe ring let him off when he coughed it up, but hegot chucked. Boss says he’s going to have the nextboy who swipes anything pinched.”

“I’m no thief, Charley. You ought to know that.”

“Watcher want, then?”

“I want to see something Merriwell has in his room.You know he’s a great runner.”

“You bet! They say he’s goin’ to come mighty nearwinning the cross-country race.”

“I’m afraid he is. He has a secret preparation hetakes every time he runs, and it makes him strong andswift. I want to find out what it is. I heard him tellanother fellow that it was prepared from a prescriptionhe has in his room. If I can get a look at thatprescription long enough to remember it or copy it, I’llbe able to use the stuff on my runners. No one willever know it. I’ll give you five dollars to let me havethe passkey that will admit me to Merriwell’s room.”

“Is this straight goods?”

“Certainly.”

“You may be seen getting into the room or comingout.”

“I’m too blooming clever for that, Charley; but ifI am seen, how can any one blame you?”

“They’ll ask where you got the key.”

“I’d never tell in a thousand years.”

“Not even if you was arrested?”

“No.”

“You might be tried and sent to prison.”

“But I’d never blow, Charley. Give me the keybefore some one comes and sees us together.”

Still the boy hesitated.

“Swear you won’t squeal, no matter what happens.”

“I swear it.”

“Give me the fiver.”

Hollingsworth produced a five-dollar bill.

“Give me the key.”

Key and bill changed hands.

“Room forty-three, you said?” whispered Hollingsworth.

“That’s right. Be mighty careful. Look out forany of Merriwell’s crowd. They have rooms on thatfloor, and one or two of ’em are in.”

“I’ll look out.”

“The housekeeper may be snoopin’ round, too.Look out for her.”

“All right.”

“And gimme that key before you leave, if you cangit a chance.”

Hollingsworth lingered about the office a while,finally finding an opportunity to slip upstairs when hewas not observed. He found Room No. 43 withouttrouble, and fortune seemed to favor him, for noone was in the corridor. He slipped the key into thelock and quickly opened the door. Having steppedinto the room, he removed the key, transferred it to theother side of the lock, closed the door softly andturned the key.

“There!” he muttered, with a breath of relief; “thatwas easy enough. Now if I can find that certificate!”

Five minutes later, opening a long, leather pocketbookhe had taken from Merry’s suit case, he removedsome papers, and almost the first one examined causedhim to utter an exclamation of delight.

“Here it is!” he cried.

It was a certificate of the Amateur Athletic Unionof the United States, properly filled out, dated andsigned, attesting that Frank Merriwell was for theyear of date an accepted and registered member ofsaid union.

Hollingsworth’s eyes glittered and he laughedsoftly.

“’Ow heasy it would be to destroy it!” he muttered,his excitement and triumph causing him to againabuse that much-tortured eighth letter. “But I ’avea better plan—a much better plan! Oh! it makes melaugh jolly ’ard to think of it! I know I’ll roar myblooming ’ead off if ’e brings it with ’im to show thecommittee, without hever taking a look at it ’imself!”

In his delight the rascal burst into such laughterthat he was startled, and suddenly clapped a hand overhis mouth, while he stood there listening, fearing hehad been heard outside the room.

After a little, as there seemed no probability that thesound of his evil merriment had reached other earsthan his own, he slipped softly across the floor to adesk that stood at one side. Placing a chair in frontof the desk, he sat down and spread out the certificate.

For a moment or two he paused to glance over itbefore continuing his dastardly operations. From hispocket he quickly brought forth a small vial of colorlessliquid, together with a camel’s hair brush. Uncorkingthe vial, he dipped the tiny brush into theliquid, and began at once with this to follow the tracingof the pen upon the document.

As the moisture disappeared from the brush, he re-dippedit at intervals into the liquid. Almost as swiftlyas he worked the writing thus touched by the moistbrush faded and disappeared from the paper. He wasusing a powerful ink-eradicating fluid.

Ten minutes of this work was sufficient to removefrom the certificate every trace of writing, leavingblank the places where it had been. At the end heused a blotter upon it to take up the moisture that hadnot dried out.

Then he picked up the ruined certificate and surveyedit in triumph.

“That settles the case of Mr. Frank Merriwell!”he declared. “’E’ll take no part in the run for theHashley Trophy, for ’e’ll ’ave no certificate to showwhen it is called for by the committee. It has cost mefive dollars to earn a ’undred.”

Having finished his work and gloated over it a fewmoments, to the intense satisfaction of his miserablesoul, he refolded the ruined certificate, replaced itamong the other papers and restored the whole packageto the pocketbook. The pocketbook he replaced inFrank’s suit case, which he closed as he had found it.

“Now to get out of here,” he whispered, as he hastenedto the door, at which he paused to listen.

Hearing no alarming sound outside, he quicklyturned the key and opened the door, stepping outbriskly. His satisfaction was complete when he observedno person in the corridor.

Again locking the door, he hastened downstairs.

Three men were in the office, and their words attractedthe attention of Hollingsworth as he lookedaround for the bell boy, to whom he wished to restorethe key.

“It’s a cinch that Frank Merriwell will win,” said aslender man in black. “He should have been barredfrom the race.”

“How is it possible to bar him?” inquired a stoutman.

“On the plea of professionalism.”

“But he is not a professional, you know,” said thethird man, who looked like a Spaniard and spoke witha slight foreign accent.

“If he isn’t he should be,” declared the slender man.

“I don’t see why.”

“He’s too good.”

“Oh, not at this game.”

“Yes, at this game.”

“What makes you think so?” asked the Spaniard.

“He wins at almost anything he undertakes.”

“I’ve never heard that he is regarded as an especialwonder as a runner,” grunted the stout man.

“Never mind what you have heard; he has a reputationthat frightens people from risking any money onother contestants when he takes part. I came here toback Huntley, but I’m not risking my good moneyagainst Merriwell.”

“You doped Huntley to win?” asked the man inblack, smiling. “Why, man, if Merriwell wasn’t enteredI’d take the field and give you big odds. I’dalmost go you even, if necessary, that Pope wouldcut the mustard.”

Hollingsworth was keenly interested, and he did nothesitate to “butt in.”

“Gentlemen,” he said, “Merriwell is much over-rated.I don’t believe he could win if he ran, but hewill not run.”

The trio turned and stared hard at him.

“Hello!” grunted the stout man. “I believe it’s thefellow who was pointed out to me as the trainer of theAshport squad.”

“I am Herbert Hollingsworth,” stated the Englishman,speaking slowly and taking care not to lose thattroublesome initial letter from his name.

“What makes you think Merriwell will not run?”inquired the slim man.

Hollingsworth hesitated a trifle, and then said:

“You were just saying he should be barred fromthe race, sir.”

“Yes; but——”

“If I am correctly informed he will be barred.”

Naturally these words created a slight sensation.

“What information leads you to think such athing?” was the quick demand of the Spaniard.

“I have it from a reliable source that he is not nowa member of the Amateur Athletic Union, and the rulesgoverning this cross-country run will exclude any onewho is not a member.”

“But he must be a member!” cried the man in black.

“Why so?”

“He is touring with his own team of athletes.”

“But he has not taken part in any contest conductedunder the rules of the A. A. U.,” asserted Hollingsworth.

“Hasn’t he? Are you sure?”

“I am positive.”

“How can that be?” grunted the stout man.

“Why, he has simply been doing what might becalled exhibition work. No record of any of his accomplishmentson this trip has been made. Any onemight get together an athletic team and go about doingthe same. Of course, he can secure baseball games,being Frank Merriwell, no matter if he should have ateam made up of all professionals.”

“If this is correct, it is quite surprising,” said theSpaniard; but it was plain that he doubted.

Hollingsworth did not fancy having any one doubthis statement.

“Of course it is correct!” he declared, being stirredup slightly. “I am willing to bet a ’undred dollars thatMerriwell does not start in the cross-country run.”

It happened that Buck Badger and Bruce Browning,having returned from a stroll, entered the office justin time to hear this.

“Whatever is that you’re saying?” demanded theKansan, in surprise. “Did I hear you offering to betthat Frank Merriwell would not start in that race?”

“Hexactly,” answered the trainer.

“Well, you’re sure blowing off a lot of hot air, Mr.Man.”

“If you think it is ’ot hair,” spluttered Hollingsworth,“get hout your money.”

“I haven’t seen the color of yours yet,” remindedBuck.

At this the Englishman plunged into his pocket, produceda leather pocketbook and slapped it against hisleft hand.

“There it is,” he asserted.

“Still I can’t see the money any,” said Badger.

Hollingsworth opened the book and brought fortha package of bills.

“’Ere is my money,” he declared. “Now put hupyours or shut hup!”

With a rumbling growl Bruce Browning went intohis pocket; but the Kansan stopped him, saying:

“This is mine; I saw it first.”

The hotel clerk had stepped from behind the desk,greatly interested by what was taking place. Badgermade a motion toward him, observing:

“Put up your stuff, my bluffing friend. Mr. Curtiswill hold it. You’re still keeping your paws on thelong green, ready to squeal when your bluff is called.”

“Oh, ham I?” sneered Hollingsworth, as he hastilycounted out a hundred, which took nearly the whole ofhis pile. “We’ll see habout that. ’Ere it goes hup inhis ’ands. Now, if you’re not a blooming squawkeryourself, let’s see you cover it. I’m betting FrankMerriwell will be barred from the race.”

Badger now hastily produced a roll of bills, from theoutside of which he stripped two fifties.

“It’s like finding money,” he chuckled, as he handedthe hundred to the clerk. “That’s whatever!”

“It’s like finding it for me,” said Hollingsworth.

“Oh, I don’t know!” laughed Buck.

It was true he did not know what had happened inFrank Merriwell’s room while Merry was absent.

Hollingsworth left the hotel in a well-satisfied frameof mind. He could not refrain from chuckling aloudas he sauntered along the street.

“Well, this has been a good day for me,” he muttered.“I’ve made two hundred dollars—or a hundredand ninety-five, taking out the fiver I had to give theboy. Oh, there’ll be a rumpus when Merriwell andhis blooming, insolent friend finds out what has happened.It’s too late for him to get a duplicate certificate,even if he should find out without delay whathas happened. It’s a sure thing for me. I’m a cleverone!”

He was so blown up with self-satisfaction that henearly collided with Arthur Huntley without seeinghim.

“What’s the matter with you, Holl?” demanded theBuffalo man, grasping his arm. “Have you gonedaft? You were grinning like a hyena and mutteringto yourself. Came near butting me over. Have youbeen tippling?”

“No, but I’m blooming near choked for a drink, Arthur.Let’s have one. I’ll tell you something that willmake you grin like a hyena, too.”

“I don’t like to be seen going into a saloon here onthe main street. Step down this way.”

On a side street they entered a saloon.

“What are you doing here in town?” asked Hollingsworth,expressing surprise for the first time. “Isupposed you would be out pretending to get familiarwith the course.”

“I had some business, and I took this as the besttime to do it when there would be no one to see me andget inquisitive.”

They stood up to the bar and ordered whisky.

There was only one bartender in the place, and,after serving them, he gave them no further attention,which permitted them to talk in low tones withoutfearing that they would be overheard.

“I’m going to take no chances with this man Merriwell,”said Huntley. “I propose to make sure he’ll notwin that trophy. I want it, and I’m going to have it.”

“Don’t be afraid of Merriwell,” laughed Hollingsworth,with a significance that Huntley did not catch.“He won’t beat anything.”

“You don’t seem to know what the fellow can do.He’s a wonder, and he wins at anything he tries ifgiven a fair show.”

“But how can he have a fair show with you whenyou know a short cut through Dead Timber Jungleand another over Ragged Hill? Seems to me you’reworrying too much about him.”

“I tell you that you don’t know him. He’s out onthe course now, and I’ll wager he’s looking for shortcuts. It’s likely he’ll find the way over Ragged Hill,though he may not strike the one through the jungle.If he should discover both those cuts—well, unlesssomething else stopped him, he’d surely carry off thattrophy. I tell you I don’t intend to take any chances.He’ll never win. In order to make sure of that I decidednot to cover the course to-day and came here.I’ve arranged it.”

“How?” asked Hollingsworth.

Huntley glanced toward the barkeeper, and thenwhispered:

“I’ve engaged two ruffians to waylay and sandbaghim.”

The trainer whistled softly.

“Oh, you have?”

“Yes. I found the men for it. Twenty-five a pieceI had to pay them.”

“And wasted your money.”

“No; they’ll do it. The only thing is to make surethey’ll get him at some point where he’ll be sure topass. And they must get him alone, too. That’s thedifficulty. I’m going to follow him close when he goesover the course to-morrow.”

“You’ve wasted your money,” repeated Hollingsworth.

“Not if they do the job.”

“They won’t.”

“Why not?”

“They won’t have the chance.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“Because he won’t race.”

Huntley looked at the trainer intently.

“I don’t suppose——” he began, then stopped andgazed still more fixedly at Hollingsworth.

“What are you doing here in town?” he suddenlyasked. “You ought to be out with your men, chasingthem over the country. I don’t understand it.”

“I had some business to look after,” grinned thetrainer. “Drink up, sir. Here’s success to you, andmay you take pleasure displaying the Ashley Trophywhen you have won it.”

They drank; but Huntley now knew his companionhad been up to something, and his curiosity was great.

“What did you do here in town?” he repeated.

“I made one hundred and ninety-five dollars,” wasthe answer.

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“In what manner?”

“To begin with, I made a hundred dollars off you.”

Huntley clutched the arm of the trainer.

“You—you didn’t get hold of Merriwell’s certificateand destroy it?” he hissed.

“No, I didn’t destroy it.”

“But you got hold of it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Why should I lie?”

“Then you have it with you?”

“No.”

“Where is it?”

“In Merriwell’s room, at the hotel.”

“You—you—what did you do?”

“I made it a worthless piece of paper.”

“How?”

Hollingsworth now related the whole story briefly,explaining how he had obtained admission to Frank’sroom, found the certificate, and eradicated the writingfrom it.

“Hand over the hundred dollars you promised,” hechuckled.

“You shall have it,” declared Huntley; “but I mustbe sure the work was well done. If Merriwell failsto produce his certificate——”

“I hope you don’t doubt my word, sir?”

“No, not at all; but I’m going to be sure. I’ll takeno chances.”

This did not wholly please Hollingsworth.

“I had to put up a hundred against the money ofthat cowboy chap,” he said, “and that nearly cleanedme out. I thought you would pay me as soon as Itold you what I had done. I’m your friend, Arthur,and I ran a great risk for you in getting into Merriwell’sroom. If I’d been caught——”

“The hundred dollars I offered was some inducement,I take it,” said Huntley. “Of course I know youare my friend, Holl, and I appreciate it; but I noticethat money always makes you much more willing to doa friendly turn.”

“You wrong me, sir—indeed, you do!” protested therascally trainer. “However, it is all right. Only Iexpect you to have the honor to pay me, even if somethinghappens that you do not win after Merriwell isbarred.”

“Don’t let that worry you. We’ll have anotherdrink.”

“It’s a shame you was in such a great hurry aboutengaging them two sandbaggers,” muttered Hollingsworth,as they stood with their glasses lifted. “Toobad they got money they never can earn.”

“I’ll not regret it if I win that trophy. Better taketoo many precautions than not enough.”

“I suppose that’s right; but just think of fifty goodAmerican dollars spent for nothing!”

This seemed to worry the trainer far more than itdid Huntley, who, in the slang of the day, which hehad acquired in Buffalo, advised him to forget it.

In truth, Huntley, rascal though he was, wasashamed of Hollingsworth, whom he was inclined touse simply as a tool. The trainer’s protestations offriendship annoyed him.

Between them, however, there was little choice. Atheart one was quite as bad as the other.

The day dawned. The sun rose round and red inthe eastern sky, turning soon to a ball of gold thatrapidly diminished in size until it appeared normal.Birds sang amid dewy thickets, where cool brooksbabbled in the soft shadows. There seemed no hint oftreachery, plot, or wickedness in all the “so glorious,high-domed, blossoming world.”

It was the day of the great cross-country race forthe Ashley Trophy, and at an early hour the humantide of the country roundabout set toward the groundsof the Ashport A. A. People on foot and in conveyancesof many sorts came pouring in. It was a surprisinggathering, considering the nature of the contestand the fact that such affairs seldom attract andinterest people in general.

The watchers were posted at five given points alongthe course, the judges were arranging preliminaries,the starter was ready to do his part.

A number of deputies were kept busy clearing theroad down which the runners would dash from thestarting point, and along which it was understood theywould return to the finish. The spectators were good-natured.They lined up all along both sides of theroad to the distance of more than half a mile from theclubhouse. There were old folks and young, manyfrom the country, and not a few from cities near andfar. There were groups of collegians and schoolboys.There were pretty girls in summer attire, many withtheir elders and some in laughing clusters. Peoplestood up in the country wagons and on the tops oftallyhos and coaches.

“Pope, Pope, he’s our hope!” chanted a dozen youngmen who had obtained a fine position on a high ledge.

“Clyde, Clyde, Clyde of Yale!” flung back a groupof younger chaps, several of whom wore knots of blueribbon.

“What’s the matter with Huntley?” yelled a ruddy-facedman; and the answer came from fifty throats.“He’s all right!” “Who’s all right?” was the questionthat followed. Once more the answer was prompt:“Why, Huntley! Huntley! Huntley!”

“Prince! Prince! Rah! rah! rah!” barked the Ashportites.

Near the clubhouse were ten young fellows comprisingFrank Merriwell’s athletic team. Of a suddenthey gave a yell of their own:

This created a laugh, and suddenly the cheer forMerriwell was taken up all along the two lines followingthe shoulders of the road. The cheering for othershad broken out in spots. This cheer for the best-knownamateur athlete in America began at the clubhouseand ran away into the distance, growing in volume,until it seemed that every man, woman, boy, girl,and child was shouting.

In the dressing rooms the contestants were makingfinal preparations. Frank was there. He and TomBramwell spoke a few low words together.

“Don’t miss the splintered pine, Bramwell,” saidFrank. “It marks the spot where we cut into the DeadTimbers. You know how easy it can be missed.”

“I know,” nodded Bramwell. “I’m going to stickby you that far—if I can.”

“If you can! Don’t get an idea that you can’t do it.After we pass Ragged Hill will come the grand pull tothe finish.”

Arthur Huntley, ready for the start, came throughthe room from another.

“Oh! make sure your shoes are all right, Mr. Merriwell!”he mentally exclaimed. “Lots of good it willdo you! I’ve taken no chances on you to-day. I knowyou’ve found the cut over Ragged Hill, and my twosandbaggers wait for you at the break in the wall. Idon’t trust Hollingsworth, for all of his certificatestory. You may start, but you’ll never finish.”

A whistle sounded. A voice called the runners tocome forth.

The hour had arrived!

Herbert Hollingsworth was waiting. The judgeswere assembled in the clubhouse. As the runnerspassed through, Merriwell was spoken to by an official.

“Mr. Merriwell, you are the only one who has failedto show a certificate of registration in the A. A. U., accordingto the requirements. We have been informedthis morning that you are not registered.”

“The statement is false,” retorted Frank quietly.“Who made it?”

“Never mind that. If you have your certificate itwill settle the point.”

“I have it, but not with me. Will you take my wordfor it and permit me to show the certificate after thecontest?”

“Impossible, for you are challenged.”

“Then I demand to have the challenger face me.”

There was a moment of hesitation, and then HerbertHollingsworth stood out.

“I am the challenger!” he cried. “You’ll ’ave toshow your certificate or be barred!”

Merry looked him over with an expression of contemptand withering scorn on his handsome face.

“You’re a very clever rascal, Hollingsworth,” hesaid; “but the cleverest rascals sometimes overreachthemselves.”

“I hobject to such language!” snarled the trainer.

“Oh, I haven’t begun to tell you what I think ofyou!” said Frank. “When the race is over, if youremain, I will, in your presence, tell the judges and theofficials of this club all about you and your rascallytricks. I know you were in my room at the AshportHouse day before yesterday. You——”

“Lies habout me won’t ’elp you!” sneered Hollingsworth.“You’ll ’ave to show your certificate. If youcan’t do that, you can henjoy the pleasure of being aspectator.”

“Enough of this!” commanded Robert Ashley, inhigh disapproval. “Mr. Merriwell, like the others,must show his certificate.”

“Which he can’t do,” asserted the trainer.

Frank turned and called:

“Bart! Bart Hodge!”

It seemed that Hodge had been waiting for this.

“Coming, Frank,” he answered, and pushed into theroom.

Merry held out his hand.

From an inner pocket, Hodge produced a folded paper,which he delivered to his friend.

“Here, gentlemen, is my certificate,” said Frank, ashe passed it to the judges.

The paper was opened and scanned. Herbert Hollingsworth,his face gone pale and wearing an expressionof astonishment and perplexity, pressed forwardand stared at it. He seemed to doubt the evidence ofhis eyes.

“The certificate is correct,” decided one of thejudges. “Mr. Merriwell is eligible, being a regularlyenrolled member of the A. A. U.”

“I thought it remarkable if he were not,” said Mr.Ashley.

Hollingsworth was dazed.

Frank turned on him, speaking in a low tone, hisvoice indicating suppressed anger:

“I’ll see you, sneak, and square the account after therace!”

Hollingsworth said not a word.

Frank passed on from the clubhouse to join theother runners at the starting point.

“They’re off!”

“There they go!”

“Rah! rah! rah! Huntley!”

“Rah! rah! rah! Merriwell!”

The cross-country run had started. Twenty-fourlithe-limbed, clear-eyed young fellows went flashingalong the road, amid two lines of shouting people, whowere waving hats, handkerchiefs, hands, and colors.

They all started swiftly, having a fine stretch ofroad for some distance, and being determined to makethe most of it. They were fairly well bunched whenthey came to the point where the road turned to thenorth and left them to keep on over hills, valleys, andfields, through woods and thickets, each selecting acourse for himself.

Mr. Ashley, Paul Proctor, the judges and a certainnumber of especially favored ones, had mounted to theobservatory on the top of the clubhouse.

Bart Hodge was one of those favored by an invitation,but he lingered behind. He observed HerbertHollingsworth, head down, sneaking away toward thetrackmaster’s house, where were located the baths anddressing rooms.

Bart followed.

In one of the rooms he found the trainer, sitting ona locker and looking vastly dejected.

Hollingsworth looked up and saw Hodge. Immediatelyhe sprang to his feet.

Bart came forward with his lips pressed together,his face clouded and his eyes flashing. His mannerand appearance were suggestive of a thunderstorm.

“What—what do you want?” faltered the treacheroustrainer.

Bart paused three feet away.

“I want to tell you that you are the meanest andmost contemptible cur I’ve encountered in a longtime,” answered Merriwell’s friend. “You’re a crawling,slimy, disgusting snake. I think that is plainenough for you.”

“’Ow dare you talk to me that way!” gasped therascal.

“How dare I? Why, I can’t find words to expressthe contempt I feel for you! I can’t think of epithetsnasty enough to fit you properly!”

Although Hollingsworth was infuriated, somethingabout Hodge held him in check.

“I suppose you’re whining because I challengedyour friend,” he said. “Didn’t I ’ave a right to dothat?”

“You had a right to challenge him; but you knowthat is not what I mean.”

“I don’t know what helse you can mean.”

“Oh, yes you do know.”

“You lie! ’Ow can I know?”

“Because I know what you tried to do. I know howyou happened to challenge Frank.”

“I challenged ’im because ’e ’adn’t shown his certificate.”

“And because you believed you had ruined that certificate.”

Now Hollingsworth had been wondering greatlyover Merriwell’s ability to produce the certificate, forhe was absolutely certain he had obliterated from thedocument every trace of writing. The restoration ofthe paper to its former condition—for Hollingsworthfancied it had been somehow restored—was somethingin the order of magic and the doings of the black art.

“’Ow could I ruin it?” muttered he huskily.

“You sneaked into his room when he was away andobliterated the writing upon it.”

Hollingsworth started. Then the writing had beenobliterated, for Hodge said so.

“It’s a forgery!” cried the trainer, of a sudden.“Merriwell retraced the writing! ’E forged it! Proofof that will keep ’im from getting the trophy, hevenif ’e wins!”

“Which language from you is the same as a confessionthat you did sneak into Frank’s room and tamperwith the document.”

“Prove it! I deny it! But it’s forged! ’E’ll ’aveno right to the trophy if he wins!”

“You poor fool!” sneered Bart. “You thought youwere clever, but you were easily deceived. The certificateyou found was left for you to find. It waslast year’s certificate.”

“No!” contradicted Hollingsworth. “I took specialpains to look at the date. It was this year.”

“You unblushingly confess your villainy! Well, letme tell you how you were fooled still further. Expectingyou to do just what you did, Merriwell hadaltered the date on his certificate of last year. His lastcertificate he placed in the safe at the hotel, where itremained until he called for it to-day.”

The outwitted scoundrel saw his last hope vanish.He realized he was baffled and done for.

“Take off your coat!” Hodge suddenly cried, strippingoff his own and flinging it upon a locker.

“What are you going to do?” gasped Hollingsworth.

“I’m going to give you the soundest thrashing youever received,” was Bart’s answer.

He did.

“There they go along the edge of the Dead Timbers,”said Mr. Ashley, watching the runners througha glass. “I’ve counted them all but three. Threeseem missing entirely.”

“That’s so,” agreed Paul Proctor, who likewise hada pair of strong field glasses. “They strung out now,but three of them have never issued from the cedarsdown in the hollow.”

“Can you see anything of Merriwell?” anxiouslyasked Hodge, who had just mounted the steps to theobservatory.

He bore not a mark of his encounter with Hollingsworth,although his face was somewhat flushed and heseemed to be perspiring freely. He had field glassesof his own, and these he quickly trained on the distantmoving specks which were creeping up along the edgeof the far-away, dark timberland.

“I haven’t been looking for him particularly,” acknowledgedProctor. “I think one of our boys is missing,although I cannot tell which one. I wonder whathappened in the cedars.”

Something had happened to Frank Merriwell beforehe plunged into the cedars. Leaping a bit of thickbrush, he thrust his left foot into the hole of some sortof burrowing animal and went down, giving his anklea fearful wrench. For a moment he fancied he hadbroken the bone.

“Hurt?” cried Tom Bramwell, as he passed.

“No,” answered Frank, rising quickly.

When he tried to step on that foot, however, henearly went down, and an excruciating pain shot fromhis ankle to his hip. This cutting pain threatened torob him of strength and put him out of the race atonce.

But he found the ankle was not broken. It was awrench or a sprain. He knew sprains were sometimesmore obstinate than breaks in the recovery, yet he hadno thought of letting that stop him.

So he ran on in the rear of several of the contestants,the whole pack being stretched out and more or lessscattered. He could not run fast, and it was only bysetting his teeth and forcing himself forward that hegot on at all.

More than that, every moment his ankle seemed toget worse. He had thought the pain might cease aftera little, but each time his foot met the ground it jabbedhim afresh.

Not one fellow in a thousand would have continuedin the running. But Frank Merriwell was one in tenthousand. He had the fortitude to endure pain stoically.Not a sound came from his lips. His jawswere set and his eyes filled with unconquerable fire.He forced himself to greater speed and plunged intothe cedars whither Bramwell had disappeared.

Instead of keeping straight through the cedarsFrank bore to the right. He fought his way into atangled thicket, where branches whipped him stinginglyin the face, and at last came staggeringlythrough. Close at hand was the border of the DeadTimbers, a wild and seemingly impassable tract offorest, swept and blackened by fire, overtaken sometime by a tornado, with tall trunks twisted and tangledin chaotic confusion.

Merry looked for the shattered pine and found itwhere he looked. It was his guide post. There heplunged into what seemed the most impassable portionof the jungle. He fell on his hands and knees to creepsome distance along a hidden path, but soon arose,with the fearful pain stinging him to weakness at eachstep.

He wondered if Bramwell was far in advance. Together,aided by the hint overheard by Bart Hodgeand conveyed to Frank, they had searched for the secretpassage and found it. By means of it they couldcut off much of the distance, those who knew nothingabout it being compelled to follow round the edge ofthe timbers.

Soon the path became more open. On either sidethe dead branches had been cut away. Huntley hadprepared it so he could run with speed through thisportion of the secret cut-off.

Finally Merry arrived at a part of the forest wherethe trees had been caught and twisted and scattered insuch a tangle that passage seemed impossible. Therehe found a long tree trunk that extended upwardslopingly over the tangled mass; and, balancing himself,he used it as a bridge, mounting along it untilhe was at least twenty feet above the ground, with adark jungle below, from which, should he fall, itmight be almost impossible to force an egress.

Up there he found yet another dead tree upon whichhe ventured.

Suddenly he halted.

From beneath his very feet came a call for help!

Frank was astonished. He looked downward,clutching an upthrust limb to steady himself, but couldsee no one.

“Oh, Merriwell!” came the call.

“Hello!” he answered. “Who’s down there?”

“It is I—Bramwell.”

“Bramwell? What are you doing down there?”

“I’m stuck and I can’t get out. I’ve climbed partof the way out, but I can get no higher. Go on andfinish the run, but come back for me afterward, for Ithink I’ll have to stay here.”

And now, peering into the gloom, Merry caught aglimpse of the gray face of Bramwell upturned somedistance below. Evidently the fellow had fallen fromthe tree trunk in trying to cross.

“I’ll get you out now,” said Frank.

“Don’t you do it—don’t stop for it!” exclaimed thefellow below. “If you do Huntley will win the race.”

“If I don’t he may win just the same. I’ve sprainedmy ankle. You’re the man to beat him in case I giveout entirely.”

Frank was acting even as he spoke. At a distancehe saw a long, dead limb that had been almost twistedoff at the base. It did not take him long to reach thelimb, break it wholly clear, return with it and thrustone end down until Bramwell could grasp it. Therewere other branches and limbs and tangled masses bywhich the fellow could assist himself, and slowly, littleby little, Merry drew him up. Although it was notdone swiftly, little time was wasted, and soon Frankwas able to give the other a hand and assist him tothe tree trunk. Together they passed over the jungleand reached that part of the path beyond.

“Oh, if we can beat Huntley after this!” exclaimedBramwell. “I did not fall down there, Merriwell. Hemet me on that tree trunk and struck me off with aheavy stick. I did not see him until I was right uponhim, so busy was I watching where I placed my feet.Evidently he had discovered I was following himclosely and knew of the path.”

“He is in the same class with Hollingsworth,” saidFrank. “They make a fine pair! I’ve sprained myankle, Bramwell.”

“Did it when you fell?”

“Yes.”

“But it isn’t badly injured?”

“Bad enough. I’m afraid it will put me out of therunning before I can cover the distance. You takethe lead and do your prettiest. If you can beat Huntley,by all means beat him.”

“I will!” fiercely cried Bramwell. “He shall neverhave that trophy if I can help it! But he has a start.”

“You should cut his lead down. He’ll think you aredisposed of, and he may take it easy as soon as hefancies he is reasonably sure of winning.”

Bramwell took the lead, as Merry had suggested,but Frank kept at his heels. Together they came outfrom the Dead Timbers and pressed on.

With the endurance of a man of iron, Merry seemedto pay no heed to the pain and his now badly swollenankle. He talked to his companion, giving him adviceand instructions as they ran. Where the ground wasrough and uneven he warned Bramwell to run loosely,in order not to jar and shock himself as he would werehis muscles taut. He corrected Bramwell’s too longstride in descending steeps and urged him to a steady,strong gait in mounting ordinary slopes.

“Why,” said the Ashport man, “with you for acoach we might, all of us, have learned much moreabout cross-country running than we now know.”

Together they passed the first point where watchersnoted their numbers and recorded them. From aheight they looked back and discovered the most of therunners behind them.

One man, however, was in advance.

No one save Merriwell himself ever knew how muchhe endured and how keenly he suffered during thatcross-country run. Considering what he accomplishedno one could have appreciated his unconquerable determinationnot to give up and drop out.

Toward the end, when all the greater difficultieswere passed, he and Bramwell still clinging together,they came to Ragged Hill. They knew that not morethan one man was ahead of them, and that man theyhad seen disappearing over the crest of the hill as theymounted its lower slopes.

Once or twice before this Bramwell had urgedFrank to take the lead. This he now did once more.

“You are the man to beat Huntley,” he declared. “Ifear I can’t do it.”

“You have too many fears,” said Frank. “Huntleyhasn’t seen us. From the top of the hill he surveyedthe country behind him. He must have seen most ofthe runners who are near, and he must feel that hehas time to burn. He is full of confidence now.”

“You’re the one to take the confidence out of him.”

Frank waited for no further urging. He took thelead and set such a pace in mounting to the crest ofthe hill, following the difficult path they had discovered,that Bramwell dropped some distance in the rear.

The eastern side of the hill was partly cleared orhad never borne timber. Down the declivity spedMerry. He cut hither and thither, choosing the bestcourse.

Halfway down the hill was an old stone wall. Inone particular spot the wall was lower than elsewhere,and behind it, just at that point, crouched two maskedruffians clutching sand bags.

One of them had peered over the wall and seenFrank coming down the hill.

“This is the bloke, pal!” he growled. “Reddy tersoak him!”

“All right!” hissed the other.

On came the runner. Like a bird he sailed over theweakest part of the old wall, wholly unaware of themasked ruffians who were lying in wait for him at thatpoint.

They rose as he came over, and both leaped at him.

He saw them before his feet again touched theground. With his upflung arms he sought to protecthis head. The moment his feet touched the earth heducked.

They were on him. One struck him a blow thatstaggered him, although it did not land full and fair.

The other missed him entirely.

But Frank went down to one knee, and they followedhim up.

“Lay him stiff, pal!” snarled one.

“Stiff an’ cold!” panted the other.

Instead of seeking to rise, as they expected himto do, Frank shot out a foot and caught one of themen fairly in the pit of the stomach, doubling him upand hurling him backward.

Then he turned instantly on his back, with his feettoward the other, who sought to fling himself on Frankas he lay thus.

Both of Merry’s legs shot up from the ground asthe man came down upon him. They caught the legsof the ruffian across the shins. A surprising result followed.The man’s feet went upward and he turnedover in the air, falling on his back beyond Merry, withhis head toward Frank’s head.

By this time Merriwell was up and had the wretchby the throat. He held him thus with one hand, tearingoff his mask with the other.

“I want to see your features, my fine bird!” he said.“A trip to the stone jug will cure you of your pranks,perhaps.”

In the meantime, the other fellow had been flungback toward the weak point in the stone wall, andBramwell, following Merry over, landed on the wretchwith both feet and stretched him quivering on theground.

“This one is cooked, Merriwell!” he cried.

“Go on, Bramwell—go on!” urged Merry. “Leavethem to me! I’m out of the race now.”

The Ashport man hesitated a moment. He sawthat Frank was in a position to make the ruffians hiscaptives. If he lingered to give aid there would beno chance of defeating Huntley.

Away he went.

Frank was on his feet now. He limped to the spotwhere the second man lay, stripped off his mask andlooked at him.

“I’ll know you both,” he muttered, and shot awayin pursuit of Bramwell.

The waiting crowd had grown weary when, fromthe observatory of the clubhouse, came a cry. Thenfollowed the announcement that the first runner hadappeared in sight.

Word ran down the line. The road was clearedagain. People began to cheer and stand on tiptoes.

Bart Hodge, watching in the observatory, had foundit difficult to repress an exclamation of bitterest disappointmentwhen he turned his glass on the runnerfar away across the fields and discovered it was notMerry.

“It’s Huntley!” he mentally groaned. “Where isFrank?”

“There’s another!” shouted Paul Proctor. “Who isit? Who is it? It’s one of our boys!”

“I believe it is,” said Robert Ashley.

“It—it’s Bramwell!” declared the astounded presidentof the club. “He’s gaining on Huntley, too!Huntley is fagged! Bramwell seems fresh! It’s goingto be a hot finish!”

The excitement was growing, but it increased whena third runner appeared.

“There’s Merriwell!” said Hodge, unable to keepstill.

It was Frank, and Bart saw he was gaining on bothBramwell and Huntley. Still he detected somethingwrong in Merry’s gait and began to suspect that anaccident had befallen him.

“That’s it—that’s what’s the trouble!” he muttered.“Otherwise he’d be leading now.”

Huntley looked back and saw the two pursuers.He tried to spurt, but his knees seemed weak beneathhim. However, he held on grimly.

Down at the far end of the people who lined theroad cheering rose. They could see the runners.

“Come on, Merry—come on!” whispered Hodge.“You can do it yet!”

Huntley reached the road. His strength seemed renewed.The cheers of his friends braced him wonderfully.It was but half a mile to the finish, and he lethimself out. But he was in distress, and occasionallyhe lifted his clenched hands and pressed them to hisbreast.

Bramwell continued to gain. He struck the roadand came after Huntley in a manner that threatenedto do the work in a hurry.

Then came Frank.

“Look at Merriwell!”

“He’s running like a man in a hundred yards dash!”

“He’s closing the gap!”

“He’ll pass them both!”

The strain was too much for Huntley. Within sightof the finish he began to reel.

Bramwell shot past, and a wild yell went up fromthe Ashportites.

But Merriwell was gaining, gaining, gaining! Couldhe pass Bramwell? He was doing his best.

The tape was stretched; the judges were waiting.

Bramwell heard thudding feet close behind him.Something seemed bursting in his breast. It was hisheart. Let it burst! He heard a dull roar, which wasthe cheering of the excited throng. But he could notsee. Twenty yards from the tape he went blind for thetime. He kept on his feet, however.

To the crowd in general it seemed that the two runnersbreasted the tape at the same moment.

But, looking down from the observatory, BartHodge uttered a groan, for he saw that Bramwellreached it a second in advance.

The Ashport man had won.

That night, in the Ashport Opera House, before agreat gathering of enthusiastic people, the trophy waspresented to Bramwell by Mr. Ashley.

Then Tom Bramwell spoke up and told how he cameto win. He told how Merriwell had discovered theshort cut through Dead Timber Jungle, and howFrank had rescued him from the trap into which hehad been cast by Huntley. He also told how Merryhad covered more than three-fourths of the distance witha sprained ankle, and how, at that very moment, he wasin bed under the care of a doctor. Then he proposedcheers for Frank, which were given with such a willthat the windows of the building rattled.

Herbert Hollingsworth was not there, for he hadnot waited to witness the finish of the race. FearingMerriwell’s wrath, he fled from Ashport.

Nor did Arthur Huntley linger. With Phil Proctor’sassurance that charges would be preferred againsthim, he decided it best to get out quickly—and did so.

As for the two ruffians who had tried to sandbagMerriwell, they followed the example of their employerand vanished.

The next stopping place of the Merries on theireastern journey was Elkton, Ohio, a red-hot baseballtown, its team being one of the four-cornered CentralLeague.

Elkton’s misfortune was its lack of first-class amateurbaseball players. Although there were manyplayers in town, it happened that the place had notproduced a single star in many seasons.

For this reason, according to the agreement enteredinto by the managers of the different teams in the CentralLeague, Elkton was greatly handicapped.

By this agreement, no team was to have on its listmore than three salaried players, or professionals. Inorder to make the games fast and attract spectatorswho would not be satisfied with ordinary amateurbaseball, the by-laws of the league permitted eachmanager to engage three professionals. For the mostpart the teams had secured expert pitchers andcatchers.

The early part of the season had proved discouragingfor Elkton, as her weak local men were unable tobat effectively against the fine pitching of the clever“slab artists” of the other clubs. As a result, Elktonhad fallen to the foot of the list and seemed destinedto remain there.

The pride of the Elkton followers of the game wasaroused. The association held a meeting, at which itwas made plain that one of two courses must bepursued. Either the local team must be disbanded andElkton must retire from the league in disgrace, or, atany cost, something must be done to make the Elksas strong as the strongest of their rivals.

Elkton could not bear the thought of confessing itselftoo weak to cope with the other towns on the diamond.After a deal of heated argument and discussiona proposition was made to secure a new team throughout—ateam that could “wallop” anything in the State,barring only the big league teams of Cincinnati, Cleveland,and Toledo. It was even proposed to have anaggregation that could “trim” Toledo.

It would take money to do this, and, at the height ofthe patriotic fever developed in the meeting, one of thedirectors announced that he would start a subscriptionpaper with one hundred dollars. He backed up histalk by hastily drawing up the paper and attaching hisname thereto, pledging himself to pay one hundreddollars for the support of such a team, providing onethousand dollars was raised.

Within ten minutes seven hundred and fifty dollarshad been subscribed.

Then, somewhat cooled, the enthusiasts paused andbegan to consider another difficulty.

It was plain the required amount would be pledged;but money could not overcome the clause in the by-lawsof the league whereby each team was restrictedto not more than three salaried players.

There was further discussion and argument, whichwas settled at length by the suggestion that the playersrequired be engaged by different men of business inElkton, not to play baseball, but to act as groceryclerks and in other capacities. Of course, these menwould not be required to work like other clerks; butthey could appear at the business houses of their employersand seem to busy themselves for an hour or soeach day, and these so-called employers should paythem their salaries. Their real business would be toplay baseball and defeat the now crowing rivals of thespirited little town.

This was the plan Elkton attempted to carry out.The manager of the team scarcely hesitated at any expensein securing players, and in a wonderfully briefspace of time he brought together a team that wasreally formidable and one that far outclassed any otherorganization in the league.

Then arose further trouble.

The league association held a meeting, at which themanagers of the various teams were commanded toappear. At this meeting it was asserted that Elktonhad transgressed the by-laws, and it was voted to suspendthe Elks until the team should be placed in organizedform to comply with the requirement concerningsalaried players.

Elkton stood her ground, contending that if herbusiness men were patriotic enough to employ baseballplayers as clerks and let them off from their labors toplay baseball the by-laws of the league were not transgressed.

The matter was hanging fire. The Central Leaguewas puttering along with three teams. Elkton believedthe other places would succumb in time. Andso, in order to keep things moving and get her teaminto the best form possible, Elkton arranged gameswith independent teams.

And it happened that this was the situation justwhen the Merries struck the town. Frank and histeam had not been an hour in the town when theirpresence became known to the manager of the Elks,and a representative at once called on Frank and challengedhim to a game. The challenge was promptlyaccepted, and the citizens of Elkton and the surroundingcountry turned out in large numbers to witnessthe work of the reorganized Elks against what wasknown to be the strongest independent team in thecountry.

At first the spectators had been disappointed as thevisitors seemed to have everything their own way,but at the end of seven hard-hitting innings the Elkstied the score at nine to nine.

Dade Morgan was pale and dejected as he took aseat beside Frank on the bench.

“You must go in and pitch the game out, Merry,”he said. “My arm is gone. I’ve pitched it clean offtrying to hold them down. They’ll bat me all over thelot if I stay in. It will be a shame to lose this gameafter holding them down to one run for five innings.If they take the lead we’re ruined. That man Wolfers,who replaced Cutts in the fifth, is a wonder. Wehaven’t been able to get a hit off him.”

“He’s a good pitcher,” agreed Frank. “I’ve beenwatching him. He has all kinds of kinks and speed,and his head is full of brains. But you know why Idon’t want to pitch to-day, Dade. My ankle is almostwell. If I pitch, I’m sure to hurt it. Next week, accordingto promise, I’m due back at Ashport to takepart in the all-round championship contest. I can’tcompete in that with a lame ankle.”

“You’re right,” admitted Morgan. “I’ll finish thegame if you say so; but I’m confident I’ll never pitchagain if I do. It will ruin my arm. You know I’mnot a quitter, and I——”

“No one knows you’re not a quitter better than Ido,” said Frank promptly. “If you feel that wayabout your arm, I wouldn’t have you stay in the boxfor anything in the world.”

“Besides,” said Dade, “the game is tied, and youcan hold those sluggers down. They are the fiercestbatters we’ve encountered this season.”

“Sluggers is the correct name for them,” noddedMerriwell. “No wonder the Central League of Ohiois fighting against taking in the reconstructed Elktonaggregation. Every man on this team is a professionalwith a reputation.”

Frank pulled off his sweater.

“What are you going to do?” eagerly asked theother players. “Are you going in?”

“Sure,” he nodded. “You bat this inning, Dade, ifyour turn comes.”

Instantly the whole team seemed to brighten up.They had been dejected by the manner in which theElks of Elkton had climbed up on them and tied thescore; but with Merry in the box it seemed that theywould have little trouble in stopping the tally-gettingcareer of their opponents.

Dick Starbright, who had taken his place at bat,smiled joyously on observing that Merry was preparingto warm up.

Hodge being the batter who followed Starbright,Frank asked Badger to do the catching.

“One to the stable!” bellowed a delighted Elktonite,as Frank started to warm up.

“We’ll send this one after him!” shouted another.

“He’ll be fruit for our boys!” whooped a third.

“You’ll find it some different, gents,” muttered BuckBadger, as he tossed the big catcher’s mitt at his feetfor a base in order to let Merry find control by throwingover it. “This game is ours now. That’s whatever!”

Wolfers grinned viciously. There was somethingabout his appearance, as well as his name, that suggesteda wolf. He was pleased to see Merriwell preparingto enter the box, for he had absolute confidencein himself. But he discovered a sudden and surprisingchange in the manner of the batters. Starbright wentafter the ball with resolution, making foul after foul.

“Oh, you would, would ye!” muttered the Elktonpitcher. “Well, why don’t ye!”

“Tut-tut-taking a bub-bub-bite out of it every time,Dick!” cried Joe Gamp. “You’ll land on the trade-markin a minute.”

“Yah!” nodded Dunnerwurst; “der trade-mark villland on you in a minute, py Shimminy! Id vill knockyou a mile.”

“Strike him out, Wolfers!” implored the spectators.“He’s easy. Strike the big fellow out!”

Wolfers was working hard, and he finally succeededin fooling the yellow-haired chap to his satisfaction,for Dick missed the third strike and was declared out.

“How easy!” laughed a man on the bleachers.“That’s the kind of a pitcher to have!”

“That’s the kind they raise up in Wisconsin,” saidanother man.

It was Bart’s turn to strike.

“Got to get a hit,” thought Hodge, as he chose abat of medium weight.

“He’s using the spit ball, Bart,” said Starbright.“The things are slippery, and you have to hit themsquare on the nose.”

Bart nodded. It was the first time for the seasonthat the Merries had encountered a pitcher who wasmaster of the new “spit ball.” Wolfers seemed tohave it down fine, his control being something beautifulto witness.

As Merry had observed, the Elkton twirler had ahead full of brains. Although master of the spit ball,he did not use it constantly. He worked different battersin a variety of ways. His curves were fine, buthe had something better than curves, which was control.He seemed able to put the ball exactly where hedesired. He studied the batters. While sitting onthe bench, he had watched closely to discover theweak spots of every man. If he found a player inclinedto strike over a low ball, he kept the ball lowon him all the time. If he found a man who was inclinedto step toward the plate when striking, he keptthe ball close to that man, thus making it almost certainthat he would hit it close to his fingers if he hit itat all. On the other hand, if a hitter pulled away fromthe plate, he used an outcurve, keeping the ball overthe outside corner or beyond it. If such a batter hitit, the end of the bat was almost certain to be the pointof contact, and there is seldom much force in a hitmade in such a manner.

In Wolfers, Merriwell fancied he discerned “big leaguematerial.” He believed the man would be “discovered”by some manager and “reserved” before theseason closed.

Hodge was grimly determined, but determinationdid not count for much in the face of Wolfers’ pitching.Bart did his best to “work” the man from Wisconsin,but was finally “worked” himself, being ledinto putting up a weak pop fly to Rush, the Elktonshortstop.

“Oh, we’ve got ye!” howled one of the local rooters.“You may as well give up.”

“We’re not the kuk-kuk-kind that gives up,” growledGamp, as he strode out with his bat on his shoulder.

In the meantime, Merry was working his arm outslowly, taking care not to twist his weak left ankle.

It was no easy matter to pitch without putting abig strain on that ankle. He could not throw himselfback and balance on one foot, for when he came downit jarred his ankle, and, therefore, he was unable to putthe force of his body into his delivery.

Merry had long ago learned to make his body andback muscles do much of the work in throwing a swiftball. This was done with the body swing, as it iscalled. He actually made his body do at least two-thirdsof the work, thus sparing his arm.

Young and inexperienced pitchers seldom use thisbody swing properly, and, therefore, they strain theirarms unnecessarily. Sometimes they stand on bothfeet and throw with all the force of their biceps inorder to get speed. In this manner they bring a fearfulstrain on their arms, and many a promising chaphas ruined his wing just as he was beginning to developinto a real pitcher.

Merry had discovered the secret of the body swingin his college days, and for this reason he had withstoodthe strain of much pitching and steadily grownbetter from year to year.

When ready to deliver the ball, he swung his bodybackward as his arm was drawn up. On securingthe proper poise, he came forward with the full weightand force of his body, at the same time making thedelivery. Often his arm did little except to guide theball, speed being secured by the great force of theback and shoulder muscles.

Frank was not a “wind-up” pitcher. He resorted tono windmill movements, yet he used the force of hisback and shoulder muscles in almost every delivery.In doing so, he threw himself forward with force ontohis left foot, and he now discovered that this wouldbe impossible without great risk in regard to his ankle.He was compelled to stand up straight and pitch withoutthe swing. As this was not his usual custom, hequickly discovered it interfered with his control. Hecould not, as he usually did, put a ball where he desired.

This surprised and annoyed Merry, for it was hiscustom when runners were on bases to cut out muchof the body swing. Often he would snap the ball tothe plate before the runner was aware that he meant todeliver it, thus preventing the man from getting astart to steal.

In a very short time he realized that he was in poorcondition to do effective work against good hitters;but Morgan had said that it would ruin his arm topitch any more, and so Frank was determined to goin and do his best.

Wolfers worked Gamp as he had worked Starbrightand Hodge, finally striking the lanky chap out.

“Now,” cried a spectator, “we’ll see them hammerthe head off the great and only Merriwell.”

Hodge knew Merry’s ankle was in poor condition,but he was not aware of Frank’s trouble in securingcontrol of the ball. Therefore he was satisfied when hedonned the body protector and mask that there wouldbe a great and immediate change in the run of thegame. He doubted not that Merriwell would checkthe run getting of the enemy.

Cronin, the lank and lively third baseman of theElks, was the first batter to face Frank.

Merry knew Cronin was a great sacrifice hitter, hisposition being second on the batting list.

Still the man had shown that he could hit out beautifullywhen occasion demanded, and, with no one aheadof him on the bags, he would be sure to try for a hitor a pass.

This man’s only weakness was a high ball, closeto the shoulder; and sometimes he could hit thosesafely.

Frank’s first ball was handsomely placed and cleanlymissed.

“Str-r-r-rike—kah!” called the umpire.

“Hit id vere id missed you!” yelled Dunnerwurst,from the field.

“That’s the place, Merry,” laughed Hodge, all theclouds gone from his face. “It’s so easy!”

“Verily it is a thing of great delight,” murmuredJack Ready.

“How can he hit them when he can’t see them?”rumbled Bruce Browning.

Dade Morgan, sitting on the bench, his left handclasping his right arm above the elbow, smiled andnodded with satisfaction.

“Merry will save the game,” he muttered to himself.

“He’s a snap, Billy,” called Rush, the Elkton shortstop.“Let those whisker trimmers go.”

Cronin nodded and winked. He was satisfied thathe would have no trouble in getting what he wantedoff Frank.

As for Merry, he was agreeably surprised by hissuccess in placing the first ball.

“If I can only keep that up!” he thought.

His next ball was lower, but still close.

Cronin let it pass.

“Ba-a-a-all—ah!” came from the umpire.

“He’s got to put it over, Billy,” chirped Rush.

Hodge snapped the ball back to Frank, who instantlyreturned it.

Cronin was caught napping and did not try to hit.

It cut the plate in halves.

“Str-r-r-rike—kah two!”

“Come, come, Mr. Batter!” yelled one of the spectators;“smoke up! You’re in a trance.”

“It surely is a thing of exceeding great delight,”again murmured Ready.

Cronin was somewhat disgusted. He was not, as arule, the sort of chap to be caught in such a manner,and it made him sore. His face flushed and his eyesglinted. He gripped his bat and stood ready for anything.

Frank tried an outcurve, causing it to sweep outsidethe plate.

Cronin grinned derisively and let it pass.

“Ba-a-a-all—ah!”

“Even with him, Merry,” said Hodge. “Put thenext one right over. Let him hit it a mile—if hecan.”

At the same time he called for a drop.

Frank had abandoned the practice of shaking hishead when about to pitch a ball different from the onecalled for. Instead, he assumed a position that plainlytold Hodge he would use a rise or a very high ball.

It proved too high, and Cronin did not move his bat.

“Ba-a-a-all—ah three!” announced the umpire.

“Got him in a hole, Billy!” chuckled Rush. “Nowhe’s got to put ’er over.”

Merry had no intention of putting the next onestraight over. It was his object to keep it shoulderhigh and on the inside corner. This time, however, hedid not gauge it accurately, and, to his dismay, he didput it over the middle of the pan and a trifle lowerthan the batter’s shoulder.

“Just what the doctor ordered!” cried Rush, asCronin hit the ball.

It was a clean drive to left field, and, by swift running,Cronin succeeded in reaching second before theball could be fielded in.

“Why, how easy he is!” laughed Rush. “Put itover the fence, Sparks.”

Sparks, the centre fielder of the Elks, was the nextbatter.

Although Merry was greatly displeased with himself,he did not betray it. He knew it was the easiestthing in the world for a disappointed pitcher to takethe spirit out of an entire team.

Hodge was cheerful.

“Accidents will happen, Merry,” he said. “Nevermind that.”

Apparently Frank did not mind.

“I’ll have to try the double shoot for a strike-outball,” he mentally decided.

Sparks expected to find Frank easy.

“It’s a shame to do it,” he declared. “I’m afraidyou’ll loss your reputation to-day, my boy.”

“Don’t let that worry you,” said Frank, with perfectgood nature.

“Oh, I’m not worrying. Still I’m sorry for you. Itcan’t be helped, you know. We can’t afford to letyou youngsters have this game. The whole CentralLeague would laugh at us.”

The Elks had discovered that Hodge was a beautifulthrower to the bags, and it was not difficult to holdCronin close to second, although he took sufficientlead to go to third on a sacrifice or any sort of a scratchhit.

Cronin was a fast runner, and Frank knew he mightscore on a clean single.

Merry worked carefully. Finally, with two strikesand three balls called, he ventured to try the doubleshoot.

Sparks was fooled handsomely and missed.

“Str-r-r-rike—kah! You’re out!” said the umpire.

“Now you’re doing it, Merry!” nodded Hodge.

But Frank had hurt his ankle with that final delivery,and he limped about the pitching plate a fewmoments.

“Can’t use the double shoot unless I’m willing to goonto the shelf,” he decided. “It’s out of the question.”

He felt now that it was necessary for him to winthe game without resorting to his most effective curve.

“Try it on me,” invited Rush, the talkative, as hedanced out to the plate.

“I’d like to,” thought Frank. “You’re one fellowI’d enjoy striking out.”

“Get after him, Rushie!” urged an Elktonite. “Yousay he’s easy. Now prove it.”

Rush made no retort to this, but he hit the secondball pitched. The ball was driven straight at Badger,who was playing at short.

Buck felt sure of it, and Cronin did not try to takethird, although he was ready to move to draw areturn throw if the stocky young Kansan whistled thesphere over to first.

Just before the ball reached Badger it struck a smallpebble and was deflected. Buck managed to cuff itwith his glove, but did not get hold of it. It rolledtoward second. Badger went after it, Cronin beingforced back to the bag.

Merry took in everything quickly, seeing that itwould be dangerous for the Kansan to attempt a throwto first. It was extremely doubtful if Rush, a fast runner,could be caught, and a bad throw would let Croninreach third, to say nothing of the possibility that itmight permit him to score.

Therefore Frank shouted for Buck to hold the ball.

“Well! well! well!” laughed Rush, as he crossedthe initial sack. “This is too much!”

“It is,” agreed Browning. “You should have beenout.”

Badger was dismayed, but he did not receive a calldownfrom Frank. Nevertheless, Merry regrettedthat he had not placed Morgan at short after takinghim out of the box. Buck was playing out of his regularposition, while Morgan could cover shortstop’s territoryin a most beautiful manner.

It was too late now, however; Morgan had been retired.Badger was the only man for the position,Stretcher having left the team at Ashport to return tohis home in Missouri.

Jack Lawrence, the manager of the Elks, waspleased by the prospect of victory. On hearing that theElks would play with the Merries, the managers ofother teams in the league had given Lawrence thelaugh, all of them saying his great aggregation wouldbe downed by the visitors. Lawrence was anxious towin the game.

Glade, the right fielder of the Elks, was the nextman to hit. That is, he was the next man in order onthe batting list. He did not try to hit, for it wasnot necessary. Merriwell’s control was poor, and hecould not find the plate. Two balls were called. Thencame a strike, although, if anything, the umpirefavored Frank.

“He can’t find the pan again,” yelled a coacher.

It seemed that he was right, for the next one pitchedwas a ball—and the next.

Glade was sent to first.

The bags were filled, with only one out.

Well might the Elks and the Elkton crowd be confidentand jubilant.

Things were coming their way.

The local team had played an uphill game, and victoryseemed in sight.

Frank was in a tight box.

Tinker, the next batter, was no slouch with thestick. He had a reputation for making hits when theywere badly needed.

Behind the wires of his mask, the face of BartHodge looked grim and a trifle worried.

Hodge knew now that Merry was in anything butgood form. He realized that the game might goagainst them, and no one disliked to lose a game morethan did Bart, the bulldog. Especially hard was it tolose after seeming to have victory within reach.

But Hodge did not have a thought of giving up.

“Line it out, Tink!” urged Rush. “We’ve quit fooling.Give us some runs.”

Tinker looked harmless enough. He was an awkwardchap with a half-foolish face. Apparently hedid not waste much of his time in thinking realthoughts.

Merry knew the fellow was not nearly as foolish ashe appeared. So Frank worked carefully with the batter,using a change of pace, but making no furthereffort to throw the double shoot.

Finally Tinker put up a foul.

Hodge went after it, although the spectators yelledderisively, thinking he could not touch it.

In some manner the catcher stretched himself amazinglyand got the ball on the end of his big mitt asit was falling to the ground.

It bounded off.

On the dead run, Bart caught it a second time.

And held it.

After a moment of silence, the spectators applauded.The people of Elkton were generous enough to recognizea good play, whether made by one of their ownteam or by an opponent.

“Hard luck, Tink!” cried Rush. “That catcherought to be decorated with horseshoes.”

“Clever, Bart,” smiled Merry approvingly.

“Only one more man this inning, Frank,” said Bart.

Could Merriwell “get” the next batter?

The situation was one to work up the spectators,who felt that it would be shameful to have their newteam, on which they had spent so much money, defeatedby the visitors.

“A pall nefer couldt catch dot Part Hodge!” shoutedHans Dunnerwurst joyously.

Sitting on the bench, Wolfers growled a little tothe manager of the team.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “Why don’t they hitsome? I can’t win the game if they don’t hit. I’llhold those kids down all right, but the rest of the teammust bat a little.”

“A hit right now will win the game,” asserted Lawrence.

“But Tink was the man to make the hit. If he hadlifted a long one to the field it would have been something.Cronin could have scored on it, even if it hadbeen caught.”

“Cross will have to turn the trick.”

“He ought to,” nodded Wolfers. “That pitcher ispie. He’s pie, I say. Don’t see how he ever got sucha reputation.”

“He has a lame ankle to-day.”

“Don’t you think it! That’s a bluff. He was afraidto pitch against us, and so he put up that squeal abouta lame ankle.”

“But the rest of his players say his ankle is lame.”

“He gets round on it all right, don’t he?”

“He limps.”

“Well, a lame ankle isn’t much beside a lame wing.Hey, there, Lem, what are you doing?”

Cross had reached for a wide one. He shook hishead and settled his feet into position.

“He’s trying for the fence,” said Wolfers. “Betterstop him.”

Instantly Lawrence rapped on the bench in a mannerthat caused Cross to give him a look. The managersignaled for the batter to attempt to single.

“Oh, it’s easy!” growled Cross.

Lawrence persisted.

A moment later the batter hit a ball that struckthe ground and rolled slowly toward Frank.

Merry sprang forward, but as he sought to pick theball up his weak ankle seemed to melt beneath him,and he went down onto one knee. He secured theball, however, and snapped it instantly to Hodge, whowas standing on the plate.

Bart promptly whistled the ball to Browning, althoughit was not necessary, Cronin having beenforced.

The local team had failed to secure a run in theeighth, after having everything in its favor.

The crowd was keenly disappointed.

Frank was relieved and his players were delighted.

Now came the ninth inning.

“Vrankie, you vos a pird!” said Hans Dunnerwurst,as he waddled in to the bench. “I nefer expectoratedyou couldt pitch a pall by your lame ankle much; butyou dooded der trick mit a greadt deal of satisfactoriness.Yah!”

“I didn’t do it, Hans,” confessed Merry. “It was acase of good luck.”

“Don’d let me toldt you dot!” exploded the Dutchman.“You don’d pelief me!”

Frank had limped to the bench.

“How is the ankle?” anxiously asked Morgan.

“Oh, I think I’ll get through another inning with it.”

“I’m sorry I was not able to stay in; but you seehow much better you did.”

“Which was luck, just as I told Hans.”

“I can’t see it that way. You made Cross roll thatweak one to you.”

“Perhaps it looked that way,” said Merriwell; “butI want to whisper in your ear that I thought all thetime that he was likely to lift out a two-bagger orsomething of the sort.”

“You’re too modest, Merry.”

“It’s not modesty, Dade; I’m simply telling you thetruth. Let the rest of the boys think what theyplease.”

“Let them get some runs this inning and we’ll carryoff this game,” said Dade. “I feel it in my bones. Allwe need is one run. That will do the trick.”

Browning was the first man up. The big fellow didnot try for a long hit. He made an effort to drop theball over the infield; but Rush covered ground swiftlyand made a handsome catch.

“Too bad, Bruce,” said Frank, as Browning returnedto the bench. “With a poorer shortstop outthere, you would have had a safe one.”

“It’s rotten!” growled the big fellow, in disgust.“We want this game! We can’t lose it! We’ve gotto have it! These fellows are too conceited. They callus kids! If we’re kids, I wonder where they can findtheir men!”

“This game vill vin us,” asserted Dunnerwurst. “Idcan’t lose us.”

“Oh, go on!” blurted Bruce. “You’ll find it’s easyenough to lose this game. You think we can defeatanything, just because we’ve had good success thusfar. I suppose you have an idea in your head thatthere are no teams in the country that can down us?”

“Oh, I don’d know apout dot!” admitted Hans.“Some uf der big league teams mighdt us down; butder Chicagos dit not dood id in California.”

Rattleton was the next man to face Wolfers. Thelocal pitcher grinned a bit, for Harry had not eventouched the ball during the game.

Wolfers regarded Rattles with supreme contempt,which led him into carelessness, and the first thing heknew Harry cracked out a daisy cutter and capereddown to the initial sack.

“Dot peen der kindt!” yelled Hans, seizing a bat.“Now we vin der game alretty! Der pall vill knockme vor a dree-pagger righdt avay soon. Holdt yourselufreadiness indo to come home, Harry.”

“Oh, go ahead!” snapped Wolfers. “Stand up tothe plate and let me strike you out. You talk too muchwith your face.”

“You couldn’d struck me oudt a year indo!” retortedHans. “Shust vatch und see me put der fenceofer der pall. I vill dood id! Yah!”

He swiped wildly at the first ball and missed by atleast a foot.

Wolfers chuckled.

“Oh, yes, you’ll put it over the fence!” he sneered.“It’s easy for you to do that.”

“Sure id vos easiness vor dot to do me,” said Hans.“Nexdt dime I vill hit id vere you missed id dot dime.”

The Elkton twirler kept Rattleton close to first.

Harry dared not try to steal unless he could securea good lead, for Sprowl was a beautiful thrower tosecond.

After wasting one, Wolfers used the spit ball. Itcame from his hand with great speed and “broke”handsomely at exactly the proper point, taking a sharpjump.

Dunnerwurst tried to hit it.

Again he missed by at least a foot.

“Why don’t you drive it over the fence?” laughedthe Wonder from Wisconsin.

“Sdop vetting der pall all ofer und I vill dood id,”asserted Hans. “Uf der ball hit me, id vos such aslipperiness dot id vould der bat pop off a foul for.Yah!”

“Oh, I can toss you one and you can’t hit it.”

“I vish I thought id!”

“Well, here goes.”

Wolfers actually tossed the Dutchman one.

Hans basted it full and fair on the trade-mark!

“Yow!” he whooped, as he dropped his bat andstarted for first.

But he stopped short, for the ball had landed in thehands of Tinker, where it stuck.

Tinker snapped it to first to catch Rattleton.

Had the throw been accurate Harry would havebeen caught, but Cross was compelled to jump for it.He muffed it, giving Rattleton time to get back to thebag.

“Wouldn’t dot jar you!” half sobbed Hans, as heturned toward the bench. “I had dot pall labeled dreepags vor.”

“Oh, give up! give up!” laughed Wolfers. “You’rebeaten.”

“It is my hour of glory,” said Ready, as he pickedout a slugger and sauntered toward the plate.

“You’ll be a snap,” said the Elkton pitcher.

“Don’d you pelief him!” cried Hans. “Der pall canhit you easy. You vill a three-pagger get.”

“A safe hit wins this game,” declared Jack. “Merryfollows me, and he will promulgate the ball out of thelot.”

“You’ll get no safe hit off me,” asserted Wolfers.

He was mistaken. Ready did not try to “kill” theball. He took a short hold on his bat and drove aclean hit out between first and second.

Rattleton stretched his legs and raced to third, whileReady took first.

Wolfers was disturbed.

“Here’s where de Merries win der game!” yelled asmall boy. “Frank Merriwell is goin’ ter hit, an’ healways does de trick.”

Instantly a dozen of his companions turned on him.

“What’s der matter with you, Spud Bailey?” snarleda big chap, with red hair and plenty of freckles.“Wolfers will strike him out!”

“Bet you two hundred t’ousan’ dollars he don’t!”hotly retorted Spud. “Dey never strike dat boy out!”

“Bet your small change,” advised Freckles. “Howdo you know so much?”

“I’ve read about Frank Merriwell. Wot’s der matterwith you! You’re a back number!”

“You’ll think you’re a back number arter you seewot Wolfers does ter him.”

“Will I?”

“Yes, yer will!”

“Naw, I won’t!”

“Yes, yer will!”

“Naw, I won’t!”

By this time they had their fists clenched and theirnoses close together, while they were glaring into eachother’s eyes.

“Say,” said Freckles, “arter ther game I’ll give youall that’s comin’ ter ye!”

“You try it! I ain’t skeered of you!”

“Stop that an’ watch ther game,” said another boy,butting between them. “A hit will do ther trick ferthem fellers now.”

“Wolfers won’t let him hit,” asserted Freckles.

“He can’t help it,” declared Spud. “Don’t younever read no papers? Don’t you know northing aboutFrank Merriwell? He’s the greatest baseball playerin the country.”

“Guess ag’in,” advised Freckles.

Frank fouled the first ball pitched.

“Wot’d I tell yer?” shouted Freckles.

“He bit a piece outer it,” said Spud.

“He’ll have ter do better’n dat.”

“He will, all right, all right.”

Needless to say that Merry’s players were anxious.On third Rattleton crouched, ready to dash home onany sort of a hit. Ready played off first. He wastempted to go down before getting a signal fromFrank. After that foul, Merry signaled. On the nextball pitched Jack scooted for second.

Sprowl made a fake motion as if he meant to throwto second, but snapped the ball to third.

Ready had slackened speed, intending to be caughtbetween first and second if Sprowl threw to Tinker.Merry had signaled for Jack to work this trick in orderto give Rattleton an opportunity to try to steal home.

The Elks declined to step into the trap.

Rattleton was compelled to plunge back to third.

“It’s all right now,” asserted Spud Bailey. “FrankMerriwell will drive in two runs, an’ he may make ahomer.”

“You make me sick!” sneered Freckles. “I don’tberlieve he ever got a hit in his life.”

“You’ll see! You’ll see!”

Merry refused to bite at Wolfers’ “teasers,” but hemissed one that was over the inside corner.

A moment later the third ball was called.

With two strikes and three balls declared, every oneseemed to feel that the critical point of the game hadbeen reached.

The next ball pitched might settle the contest.

Could Merriwell make a safe hit? That was thequestion.

“It wouldn’t surprise me to see him lift it over thefence,” muttered Bart Hodge.

Wolfers delivered the ball.

Frank struck!

And missed!

Plunk!—the ball landed in Sprowl’s mitt.

“You’re out!” yelled the umpire.

Frank had struck out!

His comrades on the bench seemed completelydazed.

Freckles gave Spud a jab in the stomach, whoopingwith delight:

“What’d I tell yer? Oh, you’re a knowin’ feller,you are! He done a lot, didn’t he!”

Spud made some kind of retort, but the roaring ofthe delighted crowd drowned his words.

Wolfers was the hero of the moment as he swaggeredin toward the local bench.

Hans Dunnerwurst could not believe the evidenceof his eyes.

“A misdake has made you,” he muttered, as hestared at the umpire. “Nefer in his life dit der pallstrike him oudt.”

“Into the field, boys,” said Frank. “We must holdthem down and get another inning. We still have achance for this game.”

“How could you strike out, Merry!” muttered BartHodge. “How could you!”

Frank saw that his companions were badly brokenup over what had happened.

His reputation as a safe hitter at critical momentswas such that a failure seemed impossible.

“Brace up, fellows!” he sharply commanded. “Thescore is still tied.”

Morgan was angry.

“What’s the matter with you fellows?” he sharplydemanded. “You think a man ought to hit all thetime. Keep in the game, and Merry will pull it offthe coals.”

The Elks were jubilant. They patted Wolfers onthe back and complimented him on his cleverness.

“Get out!” he growled. “It was no trick at all. Ican strike him out four times out of five. I know hisweak spot.”

“I’ve been told he has no weak spot,” said BillyCronin.

“That’s rot! He has a weak spot, all right enough.I wish all the others on his team were just as easy.”

“Well, you’ve made yourself solid in this town, anyhow,”said George Rush. “The crowd was frightened.A hit just then might have fixed us.”

“Well, you must jump in and get some runs now,”said the manager. “We may as well wind the gameup. The crowd is satisfied, and the town will back thisteam after to-day.”

“If we ever get a chance at the other teams in thisold league we’ll trim them for fair,” grinned Rush.“But I’m afraid we’ll frighten them so they’ll continueto hold us out.”

“They can’t do it,” declared Lawrence. “The CentralLeague can’t run without us. A three-corneredleague is rotten, and the other towns must have us.They’ll come to time pretty soon. If we can get gamesenough, we’ll lose no money while this thing is hangingfire. We’ll make something on the game to-day.It might have hurt us if we’d lost, as I agreed thatthe winners should take two-thirds of the net receipts.Merriwell made the terms. He’ll have to be satisfiedwith a third if we carry off the game.”

“We’ll carry it off,” said Sprowl, as he selected abat. “This inning ought to be enough.”

“Aw, it’ll be enough,” nodded Wolfers. “Go aheadand get first, Chuck. I’ll drive you round. That fellercan’t pitch any better than he can bat.”

Wolfers had a very poor opinion of Merriwell’s ability.

Sprowl hit the first ball pitched.

It skimmed along the ground about four feet insidethe line to first base.

Browning sprang in front of it, but he did nottouch it with his hands, and it went between his legs.

Sprowl turned toward second, but Dunnerwurst hadsecured the ball, and he dodged back to first.

“You’re a mark, Merriwell,” laughed Wolfers, ashe walked out to hit. “How did you ever get a reputationas a pitcher, anyhow?”

Frank was a trifle “touched” by the fellow’s insolence,although he did not betray it.

“Getting a reputation isn’t as difficult as keeping itsometimes, you know,” he said.

“Well, don’t you care. You’re up against the realthing to-day. You might beat dub teams; but it’s differentwhen you have to face the real hot stuff.”

“If I’m able,” thought Merry, “I’m going to strikeyou out.”

He knew this would not be a simple matter in caseWolfers tried to sacrifice for the purpose of advancingSprowl; but the conceit and insolence of the fellowmade him long to accomplish the feat.

Frank summoned all his power of self-command.He had watched to learn the weak points of the manat bat, and now he commanded himself to be accurateand to do the things he wished.

As a result, he fooled the hitter with the first twoballs pitched, Wolfers going after both of them andmissing.

As Hodge snapped the ball back to him, Merry decidedon the course he would pursue. He knew Wolferswould expect him to “waste” a ball in an attemptto fool him, this being the natural course when twostrikes and no balls had been called. Instead of doingso, Frank summoned his speed and control and drovea straight one over the very heart of the plate.

When it was too late, Wolfers realized what Merryhad done. He made a weak and tardy swing at theball, which he did not touch.

“Str-r-r-rike—kah three!” cried the umpire.“You’re out!”

Wolfers flung aside the bat and paused, his handson his hips, staring at Merry.

“You’re very clever!” he sneered.

“Thank you,” said Merry.

“No thanks needed. Only an amateur would put astraight one over under such circumstances. It’s alwaysimpossible to tell what a greenhorn will do.”

Wolfers was sore. He did not like to acknowledgethat he had been outwitted, although such was the case.

“Go sit down, Bob,” laughed Kitson, as he walkedout to strike. “You missed. Let it go at that.”

Wolfers retired to the bench, feeling very sore.

Frank knew Kitson was reckoned as a clever basegetter, for which reason he had been placed at thehead of the list. Merry felt that it would be best toforce the man to hit, if possible, and this he tried todo.

Now, however, all at once, he had lost control. Thebatter saw this and waited. As a result, he walked.

“It’s all to the good!” yelled Rush, as he caperedon the coaching line. “Get away off! Take a lead!Divorce yourselves from those sacks! Don’t forceChuck, Kit. Remember he’s ahead of you. How easyto win a game like this! It’s a cinch! Move off, yousnails! Get a long lead! Let him throw the ball.He’ll throw it wild in a minute. He hasn’t any control.He’s off his feed to-day.”

The spectators began to “root,” hoping to rattleFrank.

Merry took his time. He knew he was in poor condition,yet he was fighting to win the game, if such athing could be done. For once in his life, he lackedconfidence; but this was caused by his lame ankle,which had seriously interfered with his control.

In endeavoring to fool Cronin he put one straightover. It happened that Cronin had not expected itand simply drove a foul down back of first base.

Hodge was shaking a little, for he saw that Merrywas in no condition to pitch against good batters.

“Give me another like that,” invited Cronin.

“Once is enough,” smiled Merry. “Why didn’tyou take advantage of your opportunity?”

“Oh, well, give me anything. I’ll hit anything youget over the pan.”

In spite of this boast, Frank finally struck Croninout with a ball close to his shoulder.

Hodge breathed easier.

“Merry will do it,” he thought. “He never fails. Itisn’t in him to fail. But I fear he’ll fix his ankle to-dayso he’ll take no part in the meet at Ashport.”

Perhaps Bart was the only one who fully realizedhow much it was costing Frank to pitch that game.

Two men were out now, and two were on bases.

Sparks, the centre fielder of the Elks, advanced tothe plate.

“Give it a ride, Sparkie!” implored Rush. “Youcan do it! You must do it!”

“Hit it! Beef it out!” roared the crowd.

Sparks was eager to comply, for he felt that thegame depended on him. He was a fine hitter, althoughMerry had struck him out in the eighth.

Frank worked carefully, taking all the time permissible.Hodge talked to him soothingly.

“This chap is shaking, Frank,” said Bart. “He rememberedwhat you did to him before. He knows youcan do it again. Watch him shake.”

“Shake your grandmother!” growled Sparks.

“It would be shameful to shake an old lady likethat,” said Hodge. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

“Str-r-r-rike—kah two!” called the umpire, asSparks missed a bender.

“Got him, Merry!” said Hodge confidently. “It’s aten-inning game.”

“Who told you so much?” grinned Sparks.

“It’s all settled,” declared Bart. “Shut your eyesnext time you swing. You’ll do just as well.”

He was trying to bother the batter by talking to him.

Frank attempted to fool Sparks with the next ballpitched. To his dismay, he realized the moment theball left his hand that it was certain to curve over theplate.

Sparks was watching like a hawk. He saw the ballbreak and judged it correctly.

A moment later he hit it.

At the crack of ball and bat the spectators seemedto rise as one man. They saw the ball go sailing outon a line, rising higher gradually. It was a long,hard drive, not a rainbow fly.

Sprowl and Kitson capered along over the bags.

Gamp stretched his long legs in an effort to getunder the ball. He covered ground with amazingstrides.

“All to the mustard!” yelled Rush. “He couldn’ttouch it in a thousand years! The game is ours, boys!We had to have it!”

“Get dot pall under, Choe!” squawked Dunnerwurst.“Pick id oudt uf a cloudt! You can dood id!”

Frank was watching with no little anxiety. Heknew Joe was a wonderful fielder, and he had seen himmake some astonishing catches; but his judgment toldhim that the chances were decidedly against the long-leggedchap.

Gamp knew it, too, and he was trying harder thanhe had ever tried before in all his life.

“I must get it!” he thought. “I will get it!”

Joe knew the game depended on his success. If hefailed, the Elks would be the winners. His heartleaped into his throat. He seemed to find it necessaryto set his teeth to keep it from leaping quite out ofhis mouth.

He saw the ball beginning to fall.

“I must get it! I will!” he repeated.

In his mind he saw what would follow failure. Hesaw the Elks triumphant, the crowd roaring with joy,his own friends dejected and downcast. He even sawhimself walking in from the field, his head hanging,unable to look Frank in the face. He knew how Frankwould take it; he knew he would be a good loser.

Across from right field came the wail of Dunnerwurst:

“Get dot pall under, Choe! You can dood id!”

He was doing his level best; it was not in him to domore. He realized at last that he was going to missthe ball by inches—if he missed it.

Oh, that he could cover a little more ground! Oh,that he had wings!

His comrades knew how madly he was trying.They scarcely breathed.

“Good old Joe!” whispered Rattleton. “He can’tfail!”

But there are things beyond human accomplishment.It was possible for Gamp to fail.

He made a last great leap, his hands outstretched.

The ball barely touched the ends of his gloved fingers.

Three inches farther and he might have held it.

He did not catch it, and Elkton had won the game.

As soon as Joe could stop he looked after the balla moment and then turned to walk in, refusing to chaseand recover it.

Roar after roar came from the stand and the bleachers.The crowd was wild with delight. It was thesort of finish to fill them with unutterable joy. Theywaved their hats, hands, and handkerchiefs in the air.Men howled hoarsely; women added a shriller note tothe volume of sound.

For the moment Sparks was the hero; but Wolferswas not forgotten. Down from the bleachers pouredthe spectators and out onto the field they streamed.They wanted to get near those two great heroes. Theypacked close about them. They even tried to lift andcarry them, but neither man would have it.

“Stop your foolishness!” cried Wolfers sharply.“Didn’t you ever see a game won before?”

“This certainly is a red-hot baseball town!” laughedSparks.

“It will be red hot after this. The game went justright to please the bunch.”

In all Elkton it seemed that just one inhabitant wasdowncast. Spud Bailey looked sick. He said not aword when Freckles jumped on him and punched him,crying jubilantly:

“Yah! yah! yah! What do you think about it now?Knew a lot, didn’t ye! Your great Frank Merriwellgot his dat time! He jest did!”

Frank Merriwell waited for Gamp. Joe had hiseyes on the ground as he came up. Merry took hisarm, and they walked in together.

“Dud-don’t touch me!” said Gamp huskily. “I’ma lul-lobster!”

“You made a wonderful run for that ball, Joe,” saidMerry. “I didn’t think you could get anywherenear it!”

“Th-three inches mum-mum-more and I’d ha-hadit!” groaned the sorrowful fellow. “I lul-lost the gug-game!”

“Nothing of the sort!”

“Yes, I did!”

“I lost it myself. I couldn’t control the ball, andI gave that batter one just where he wanted it.”

“It’s all right for you to sus-say that, Merry; butI didn’t cuc-catch that fly.”

“No fielder could have caught it, and not one ina thousand could have touched it.”

Still Gamp blamed himself.

Hodge had flung aside the mask and body protector.He glared at Joe as the tall fellow came up.

“Why didn’t you get your paws onto that ball?”he snarled.

“I ought to,” said Joe.

“Of course you had! That would——”

“Stop, Bart!” commanded Frank promptly. “Youknow, as well as I, that Joe came amazingly near gettingit.”

“Well, why didn’t he?”

“Because it was beyond human accomplishment.You have no right to speak to him that way. Bettertake it back.”

Bart muttered something and began overhauling thebats to get hold of his own stick, which he religiouslycared for at all times. The sting of defeat was hardto bear.

Merry was not satisfied.

“You know who lost the game, Bart,” he said.“You know I am alone to blame. Don’t try to putthe blame onto any one else. Kick at me for my rottenpitching, if you like.”

Hodge said nothing now. He had found his bat,but he glared at the stick as if that were somehow toblame for the misfortune that had befallen them.

Dunnerwurst seemed on the verge of tears, whileRattleton looked sad enough.

The loss of this particular game had depressed thewhole team more than anything that had happened onthe entire trip.

Finally Hodge turned to Gamp, who was pulling onhis sweater.

“I beg your pardon, Joe,” he said sincerely. “Iwas wrong. I know it. You were not to blame.”

“Yes, I was!” persisted Gamp, willing and ready toshoulder the burden.

“Not a bit of it,” asserted Bart. “It was fate. Wehad to lose the game. We were all to blame. Wecouldn’t hit Wolfers! I’d like to try it again!” hesavagely ended.

“We’d all like to try it again,” said Browning.

“Can’t we?” eagerly asked Rattleton.

“Let’s!” grunted Badger.

“Get together, fellows,” directed Frank. “We’llgive Elkton a cheer.”

“It’s their place to cheer us first,” objected Hodge.

“Never mind that. We’ll get ahead of them. Openit up good and hearty. Let’s show them that we canlose without crying baby. None of us fancies a baby.”

He gathered them about him and led the cheer,which was hearty enough.

The Elks were taken by surprise. Some of themhad started to leave the field. The manager realizedhe had been outdone in politeness, and he hastenedafter his players, hustling together those he could assemble.Then they cheered, but it lacked the vigor ofthe cheer from the Merries.

This little piece of business on the part of the visitorscaught the fancy of the crowd. The spectatorsrealized now that Frank and his comrades had madea game fight.

“You’re all right, blue boys!” shouted a man. “Youcan play the game!”

“That’s right,” agreed another. “You’re dandies,boys!”

Others followed their example. The crowd couldafford to be generous. It was perfectly satisfied.

In their hotel at Elkton the boys had one roomwhich was used exclusively as a “dressing room.” Init was kept all the paraphernalia which they carried onthe tour.

After the game they hurried silently to the hotel,few words passing on the way.

In the dressing room they were very quiet. DadeMorgan came over to Frank, speaking in a low tone.

“I’m sorry, Merry,” he said simply.

“We can’t win all the games,” answered Frank.

“But this was a hard game to lose.”

“Almost any game is a hard one to lose.”

The defeated players sat around meditatively asthey slowly stripped off their playing clothes. Connectedwith the room there was a bath with a shower.One after another they jumped under the shower,turned on the cold spray, drenched themselves thoroughly,jumped out, rubbed down until glowing, andthen dressed.

“That was a great catch you made in the second inning,Hans,” said Browning.

“Oh, I don’d know apout dot,” retorted the Dutchman.“Id peen nottings peside der pall vot caught youven Chack threw him so high der first innings indo.”

“Say, Badg, you nipped Glade beautifully in thefourth,” said Rattleton. “Hodge made a great throw.Glade thought he had the sack purloined.”

“I noticed you were backing me up all right,” saidthe Kansan.

“I saw you were going to cover the bag. I wasplaying too deep to cover it for the throw.”

Starbright slapped Morgan on the shoulder.

“You had ’em guessing, my boy.”

“Rot!” growled Dade. “I’ve got a crockery wing.It went back on me in a pinch. Still I might havestayed in the game. I’m afraid I squealed.”

Then they all sat still some moments. Of a suddenBrowning turned on Morgan.

“Why didn’t you cover first when I went off afterthat foul in the third?” he rumbled, frowning. “Wecould have made a double play on it.”

“Oh, go on!” retorted Dade. “It wasn’t your ball.Why didn’t you let Hodge have it and stick to thebag? Play your own position and you’ll do better.”

“You made a nice mess in muffing that short throwfrom Hodge in the seventh!” snarled Rattleton, glaringat Badger. “That let in a run. Why don’t you doyour neeping slights—I mean your sleeping nights?”

“Oh, you haven’t anything to say!” fiercely retortedthe Kansan. “You muffed the ball when I picked upTinker’s grounder and snapped it to you.”

“How did I know you was going to snap it underhandthat way? You had plenty of time.”

With the exception of Merry, the whole teamseemed growling and snarling all at once.

Underneath it all, however, Frank saw the real truespirit that longs for victory. They were not reallymalicious, but each man was to do his level best and tohave every other man do the same.

“We lost the game, fellows, and it’s no use to kick,”said Merry. “I think every man did his best. I knowI did. It was poor enough. We’ll have to swallowdefeat and go out for the next game we play.”

“It would be different if we could get another crackat these fellows,” muttered Ready, all his usual flippancygone.

“We’d eat ’em!” roared Badger fiercely.

“You’d have quite a job with that man Wolfers onthe pitcher’s plate,” said Merry. “He’s the cleveresttwirler we’ve encountered this season.”

“But he knows he’s good,” rumbled Browning.“That’s what’s the matter with him. He keeps boringit into the opposing players.”

“For the purpose of rattling them. That’s a partof his game. A man as clever as he is don’t need toresort to that trick; but Wolfers does it. He learnedit in the small leagues and independent teams. He’llget over it if he gets into fast company.”

“We ought to haf peen fast enough vor him,” saidHans. “Didn’t dot pall hit me righdt indo der handtsuf Dinker? I hat id lapeled four pases vor. Id peenroppery for der pall der catch him dot vay.”

Again Hans seemed on the verge of shedding tears.

“Does this end it, Merry?” asked Rattleton. “Can’twe get another game with these fellows?”

“Do you want to play them again?”

“Do I? Ask me!”

“How about the others?”

Every man was on his feet, clamoring for anothergame.

“We’ll beat them or die trying!” cried Ready. “Doget another game with them, Frank!”

“Do!” echoed all the others.

“But make it far enough off so you can pitch yourself,”said Starbright.

“Oh, I know I didn’t make good, Dick!” snappedMorgan. “No need to rub it in!”

“But you did make good until you pitched yourarm off,” said the big, blond chap quickly. “I didn’tmean to cast any stones your way.”

“All right,” said Dade. “I know when I’m outclassed,and Wolfers was too good for me. I had topitch my arm off after he went into the box.”

“Cutts was something of a cinch!” snickeredBadger. “Why didn’t they keep him in? We’d rolledup fifty runs. That’s whatever!”

“Oh, great and mighty chieftain!” cried Ready, hisflippant air returning; “we beseech thee to arrange anothergame with the frisky Elks of Elkton. We wishto wipe out the stain. Give us a chance and see us doa bit of fancy wiping.”

“I’ll do my best, fellows,” promised Frank. “Butyou know I’ll not be able to pitch for at least three orfour more days. I don’t know whether I hurt myankle much to-day or not. Once or twice I gave it atwist. If I’d put some one else in and let him throwthe ball over the pan, it would have been better. ButI thought I might save the game. This game may bea bad thing for the Elks. It may frighten the otherteams in the league.”

“Go after another game right away, Frank,” urgedBart. “Put it far enough off so your ankle will getstrong. We must redeem ourselves.”

The others were just as anxious. Frank foundevery man on the team was yearning to wipe out thedisgrace of defeat, so he agreed to see Jack Lawrence,the manager of the Elks, and try to arrange anothergame.

Ben Raybold, representative of the Northern SecuritiesCompany, was lighting a cigar at the stand inthe office of the Antlers Hotel when he heard aboutthe game of baseball that had been played in Elktonthat afternoon.

“The Merries?” said he, addressing the cigar clerk.“Do you mean Frank Merriwell’s team?”

“Yes; our boys trimmed those fellows to-day.”

Raybold lifted his eyebrows.

“Do you mean to tell me that a local team defeatedMerriwell’s team?”

“Sure thing. I tell you, we’ve got the hottest teamin Ohio right here in Elkton.”

“You must have a hot team to beat those fellows.I’ve seen them play. They got away with the Chicagostwo out of three games in Los Angeles.”

“Well, I rather think our boys might do better thanthat,” said the clerk, throwing out his chest.

Raybold smiled a bit.

“Many queer things happen in baseball,” he said.“Your team is not a straight local nine?”

“Oh, no,” was the proud answer. “We’ve got asalaried team. That is,” he hastily added, “three menare on salary. The others are employed in town. Oneof them is a bell boy here in this hotel.”

The Northern Securities man shook his head in apuzzled manner.

“And such a team got away with Frank Merriwell’snine?” he said. “I don’t understand it.”

The cigar clerk was touched.

“You don’t seem to understand,” he said. “Elktonhas a team that can make any of ’em hustle. Youought to see our pitcher. He’s from Wisconsin. Hisname is Wolfers. Mark what I’m telling you, he’llbe in one of the big leagues within two years. I thinkhe’s a better man than Cy Young or Chesbro, or anyof them fellows. He uses the spit ball, and he canput it just where he wants to, which is better thansome of the pitchers can do.”

At this moment Bob Wolfers, accompanied by JackLawrence and Seymour Whittaker, a local baseball enthusiastand a man of wealth, entered the hotel.

“Oh, your pitcher may be a good man,” said Raybold,taking his cigar from his mouth and examiningit critically: “but you ought to know that Frank Merriwellis, beyond doubt, the cleverest slab artist not gobbledup by one of the two big leagues. The BostonAmericans and the New York Nationals both wanthim.”

“Is that straight, mister?” asked Wolfers, buttingin and winking at the cigar clerk.

“Yes, that’s straight.”

“I suppose you know it for a fact?”

“I suppose I do.”

“Well, that fellow wouldn’t last twenty seconds oneither the Bostons or the New Yorks. He’s the greatestshine for a pitcher that I ever saw.”

Raybold flushed a bit and chewed at the end of hiscigar, while he surveyed Wolfers from head to foot.

“I presume you’re competent to judge?” he said.

“I presume I am.”

“It’s a fine thing for a man to have a high estimationof his ability as a judge. Who are you?”

“My name is Wolfers.”

“Oh-ho! I see! Professional jealousy. A case ofsour grapes.”

Wolfers laughed derisively.

“Why should it be a case of sour grapes? Merriwellgot his medicine all right to-day.”

“Did you ever get bumped?”

“What has that got to do with it? All pitchers gethit occasionally.”

“That’s right; and, therefore, I claim that you can’tjudge Merriwell’s ability by one game. Probably itwill be different in the next game.”

“There will be no next game,” said the manager.

“How is that?”

“One game wound us up with those chaps.”

“Don’t you dare play them another?”

“Dare? Ha! ha! ha! That’s a joke! Look here,my friend, there’s nothing we’re afraid to hitch upwith.”

“Then why don’t you give them another chance atyou?”

“Because we have games arranged for the rest ofthis week, and we expect to be playing in the leagueagain by the first of next week. We can’t bother withsmall fry. We play out of town to-morrow and nextday, and the Cuban Giants meet us here Saturday.”

“I like the way you talk about small fry!” exclaimedRaybold, the tone of his voice indicating that he didnot like it.

“Besides,” said Lawrence, “I don’t fancy Merriwellor any of his crowd want to tackle us again.”

“That’s where you make a mistake,” said a quietvoice, as Frank entered the office, limping the leastbit. “We’re very anxious to get another game withyou, Mr. Lawrence. We think we might reverse theresult of to-day.”

Raybold’s eyes twinkled. He recognized Frank atonce, but, having never met him, he did not speak.Lawrence shrugged his shoulders.

“It seems to me you ought to be satisfied, Merriwell,”he said. “You got your bumps to-day, didn’tyou?”

“You certainly hit me enough,” confessed Frank.

“Still you are anxious for more. Some peoplenever know when they’ve got enough.”

This kind of talk was most annoying, but Merriwellhad perfect self-control.

“That’s right,” he acknowledged. “Perhaps I’m oneof that kind.”

“Well, out of pity for you, we shouldn’t think ofmaking another game with you, even if we had the opportunity.”

“Look here,” chipped in Raybold, a trifle warmly,“I believe you’re troubled with cold feet. That’swhat’s the matter! You’re so pleased over this victorythat you want to boast about it.”

This angered Lawrence, who declared that it wasnothing to boast about and made a great deal of talkto that effect. When he had finished, Raybold said:

“I’ll wager a hundred dollars even with any manthat you can’t defeat Merriwell’s team in anothergame.”

Seymour Whittaker pricked up his ears.

“What’s that?” he asked. “Your money would feelgood in my pocket.”

“Do you take my bet?”

Lawrence turned quickly to Whittaker.

“No use to bet,” he said. “We can’t give themanother game. They’ll have to swallow their defeatand make the best of it.”

“The best of it, or the worst of it,” laughed Wolfers.“Too bad they feel so sore. They were outclassed,that’s all.”

“I’m sorry I can’t win that hundred off you, sir,”said Whittaker to Raybold. “It would be easy moneyfor me.”

Lawrence then inquired if Sprowl was in his roomat the hotel, and, being told at the desk that he was,he proceeded upstairs, followed by Wolfers and Whittaker.

“It’s unfortunate that these fellows will give youno chance to get even, Mr. Merriwell,” said Raybold.“They must be afraid of you.”

“I hardly think that,” said Merry. “The game to-daycould not have frightened them, although it wasclose until the finish of the ninth inning. They haveperfect confidence in themselves. As you are astranger, it was a surprise to me when you offeredto back us in that manner.”

“Oh, we’ve never met, but I’ve seen you pitch. Iwas out West a short time ago. Have you the sameteam you had in California and Colorado?”

“Just the same, except that we’re one substituteshort. Stretcher has gone home.”

“How did you happen to lose to-day? Was it badfielding behind you?”

“No, sir. In the ninth I failed to make a hit, withtwo men on the bags. On the other hand, when theirturn came, they did get the hit needed, likewise havingtwo men on the sacks. That’s about how it happened.”

In this manner Frank shouldered the burden. Hemade no reference to his lame ankle, nor did he explainthat he had entered the box after Morgan’s armgave out.

“That was hard luck!” exclaimed Raybold. “Couldyou beat them to-morrow?”

“No man can predict what will happen in baseball.Look at the poor showing the Boston Americans madeat the opening of the season, just when every one expectedgreat things of them. There are no sure thingsin baseball that is worth being called baseball.”

“Of course we all realize that. Evidently you arenot satisfied to leave Elkton without another try atthe team here.”

“Hardly satisfied. Quite the contrary.”

“Well, can’t you drive them into giving you agame?”

“I don’t know how. You’ve just heard their managerrefuse.”

“Yes, but men frequently change their minds. Keepat him. Give me permission to see what I can do.Will you?”

“Well——”

“Of course I mean on my own responsibility. I’llnot represent you.”

“I couldn’t think of permitting that, in case youtried to get a game through a wager. I can’t preventyou from betting as much as you choose on your ownresponsibility.”

“I understand your position. I believe I heard oncethat betting was against your principles. You seem tohave taken a decided stand on that matter. It’s ratherpeculiar for a young fellow in your position, but I admireyou for it. Stick by your principles, say I. Ihave a theory that it is wrong for a man to do anythinghe believes to be wrong. Another man maynot consider it wrong, and, therefore, for him it maybe all right.”

“That’s a dangerous doctrine to preach, as it’s likelyto be misunderstood. I have no doubt but there aremen who do not consider it wrong to lie or cheat;but——”

“Oh, beyond a certain limit my theory does notapply. It applies to some mooted questions. Lyingand cheating are things no man can make right bythinking or pretending to think they are right. Butyou know some strait-laced persons believe attendingthe theatre on Sunday is wrong. For them it iswrong. I see no harm in it. I feel that it frequentlydoes me good. For me it is all right.”

“How about playing cards on Sunday?”

“I see no harm in it. Do you?”

“Yes,” answered Frank honestly. “Even if I didnot think it harmed me, I would not do it on accountof the example I might be placing before others. Aman has to consider that.”

“If he considers everything of that sort, he’ll findhimself robbed of much of the pleasure in this life.”

“A man can have plenty of pleasure without resortingto license. This life can be enjoyed in a good,healthy way, and the person who takes care not to seta bad example for others enjoys it more than one whois careless and indifferent. I do not believe any youngman of my years ever enjoyed life more than I; yet Ihave been conscientious in many things on account ofthe example I might be setting before others. It ispossible I might drink without harming myself, but Iknow there are fellows on my baseball team who couldnot drink without doing themselves serious injury. IfI drank, several of them might drink. Could I becontented and undisturbed if I saw them forming thehabit through following in my footsteps?”

“Well, you put up a great argument, and you’vegiven me something new to think about. Just thesame, if I can drive Elkton into playing another gamewith you through betting that you’ll defeat them, I amgoing to do it. The sandy gentleman was inclinedto snap up the hundred I offered. He must have someinfluence in baseball circles. I propose to keep afterhim. Leave it to me. On what terms did you play to-day?”

“Two-thirds of the net gate money went to thewinners.”

“Good crowd?”

“Fine.”

“Your share will pay your bills?”

“It ought to.”

“Well, if you can get two-thirds in the next game,even if you have to wait several days before you play,you may not lose anything.”

“I’m willing to wait and lose money if I can getthe game.”

Raybold found another opportunity that evening tomake some betting talk to Seymour Whittaker.

Whittaker professed a strong desire to wagermoney on the Elks, but said he could not, as Lawrencewould not consider making another game with theMerries.

“Are you one of the directors of the team?” askedRaybold.

“Yes, sir.”

“It seems that you might have some influence withhim.”

“Not enough to cause him to change his mind.He’s very set. It’s a good thing for you. I’d feellike a robber after taking your money.”

“Would you, indeed?” laughed Raybold. “Well,see here, my dear man, I’ll give you a perfect snap.I’ll wager two hundred to one hundred that you cannotdefeat the Merries again, the game to be played hereany time next week, with a fair and impartial umpire.”

“Why don’t you give me your money!” cried Whittaker.“You might as well.”

“What do you say? Two hundred to one hundred.”

“No use. It can’t be done, and you’re in luck.”

“When does your local paper appear?”

“Thursday.”

“I’m going to insert a notice in the paper to theeffect that the Elkton team does not dare give Merriwellanother chance.”

“Don’t be so foolish!”

“Look the paper over when it comes out,” said Raybold.“You’ll find the notice.”

Raybold was in earnest. He really did insert anotice in the local paper, paying advertising rates forthe privilege. This notice was sarcastically wordedand reflected on the courage of the local team in refusingto give the Merries another game. It called attentionto the fact that the Merries had on their tour defeatedfar better known and much stronger teams thanthe Elks, while it further stated that no team coulddraw such a crowd, all of Elkton being desirous ofwitnessing another “go” with the visitors who hadgiven the locals such a tussle the first time.

There was something about this notice that arousedthe pride and indignation of the Elktonites. The villagehummed over it. The citizens began to tell oneanother that the Elks must give Frank Merriwell’steam another chance.

The Elks were playing in another town, but Lawrencewas called up on the phone by two or three personswho asked him why he did not play the Merriesagain.

Frank had not known Raybold intended to insert thenotice. After the notice appeared Merry kept still andawaited results.

He had lingered in Elkton with his team, hopinganother game could be secured.

Seymour Whittaker was indignant. He lookedaround for Raybold and demanded to know why thepeople of Elkton had been insulted. Raybold laughedand said no insult was intended. Whittaker insistedthat the newspaper notice plainly insinuated that theElktonites were afraid their team would be beaten if itmet the Merries again.

“It looks that way to me,” said Raybold.

“You know we’re not afraid.”

“Prove it.”

“We will!” cried Whittaker. “I’ll have the directorsof the team get together. They can instruct Lawrenceto arrange for the game. Then I presume you’llsqueal on that betting talk you’ve made.”

“Hardly.”

“Put your money up now, then.”

“All right.”

“Two hundred to one.”

“That’s what I offered. If the game is not played,the bet is off.”

They went out and found a stakeholder. The moneywas put up.

On Saturday the Elks returned home and thefamous Cuban Giants appeared to play them.

The Cuban Giants is one of the strongest coloredteams in the country, and the people of Elkton believedthe real test of the locals would come in the game withthe Giants.

Merry knew the directors of the team had held ameeting for the purpose of considering the advisabilityof playing again with his team, but he could learnnothing as to the result of that meeting.

Somehow, after returning to Elkton, Lawrence keptaway from Frank, who saw him for the first timeSaturday on the baseball field just before the beginningof the game with the Giants.

In the presence of the assembled spectators, Frankwalked out to the bench and spoke to the Elktonmanager, asking if he had decided to give him anothergame.

“Merriwell,” said Lawrence disagreeably, “I neversaw a fellow so persistent in seeking a second drubbing.We’ll play you Monday, on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“The winning team shall take all the gate money.”

“Agreed!” said Frank, with a promptness that surprisedLawrence. “It’s settled!”

“You won’t get a dollar.”

“Don’t worry about me. Will you announce thegame here to-day? It will be the best sort of an advertisement.”

“Yes, I’ll announce it.”

As Frank walked away, Lawrence turned to Wolfers,chuckling:

“Didn’t I work that cleverly? The directors instructedme to give him another game. I’d had tohave done so on an even break, fifty per cent. to eachteam, if he had insisted; but I kept away from him andmade him so eager he was willing to take terms of anysort. We’ll get all the boodle.”

Cutts went in to pitch the game, and for five inningshe had the heavy-hitting colored boys at his mercy.In the sixth inning he went to pieces and gave theGiants five base bits, which netted three runs.

At that time the Elks had five scores.

Wolfers warmed up at once.

He was greeted with tumultuous cheers when hewalked out to pitch at the beginning of the sixth.

The colored boys were stayers. They laughedheartily over the applause given Wolfers.

“We’ll put him into the stable quicker than we didthe other fellow,” said the captain of the Giants. “Getright after him, boys. Knock his eye out. He’s aman with a swelled head. You can see it in the wayhe walks.”

But when Wolfers struck out the first three battersto face him, pitching only eleven balls, they began torealize that they were up against a wizard.

The joy of the spectators was boundless. The manfrom Wisconsin was cheered madly as he struck outthe third man.

“That’s all right,” declared one of the Giants.“We’ll fall on his neck next inning.”

“Oh, yes you will!” derisively roared a big man.“You’ll fall on his neck—I don’t think!”

Lawrence seized the opportunity as a favorable oneto make an announcement. Walking out to the homeplate, he held up his hand for silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, “I wish to informyou that there will be another game here in ElktonMonday afternoon at the usual hour.”

“Hooray!” bellowed the big man. “I’ll quit workto come! You can’t give us too much of this kind ofbaseball!”

“It seems,” said the manager of the Elks, smiling,“that some baseball players are greedy to be trimmed.They don’t know when they have enough. Our firstgame with Frank Merriwell’s Athletic Team resultedin a victory for us. The Merries were not satisfied.Mr. Merriwell has boned us into giving him anothergame. We intend to give him all he wants. I understandthat Merriwell himself will pitch for his team.Bob Wolfers will do the pitching for us, and——”

What a yell went up!

“Oh, that’s a shame!” howled the big man, as theuproar subsided somewhat. “Why don’t you givethem a chance? It isn’t fair!”

“We propose to show you just what kind of agame we can put up with Wolfers in the box,” saidLawrence. “We promise you your money’s worth.Don’t miss it.”

“We won’t!” they cried.

Following was the batting order when the Merriesagain faced the Elks:

The Elks fancied they would have an easy thingwith Wolfers in the box. Still they were anxious toget a safe lead early in the game, and Lawrence urgedthem to “jump on” Merriwell without delay.

Of course the Merries were sent to bat first, as thisgave the locals their last opportunity.

Wolfers was chewing gum and grinning when hewent into the box. He looked more than ever like awolf, yet he seemed to be very good-natured. Thecrowd cheered him and he touched his cap in acknowledgment.

“Good old Bobby!” howled the same big man whohad made himself heard so often at the game with theCuban Giants. “You’re the boy! This will be a picnicfor you.”

The usual gathering of small boys was to be seen.Spud Bailey was on hand, and he seemed to be an objectof much ridicule.

“Oh, you know er lot erbout baseball!” sneeredFreckles, while all the others laughed. “Mebbe you’vegot it inter dat nut of yourn that them Merriwell fellerswill win dis game?”

“I has,” acknowledged Spud defiantly.

They jeered him.

“You don’t know ernough ter come in w’en itrains,” said Freckles.

“You’ll know more arter ther game. Frank Merriwellis goin’ ter pitch ther whole of this one.”

“Dey’ll pound him outer der box inside of t’reeinnin’s.”

“I know a man dat’s bet two hundrud dollars ter onehundred dat the Merriwells will win.”

“He’s a bigger fool dan you are! W’y didn’t he goburn his money. He’d had more fun wid it.”

But Spud was unmoved.

“You wait,” he muttered. “You’ll see.”

Never in their careers had the members of Merriwell’steam been more determined to win, if possible.All levity was cut out of the early part of the game.They went at it seriously, earnestly, with heart andsoul.

Ready cast aside his flippancy and did his level bestto start things off with a hit. The best he could dowas to drive a grounder into the hands of Cronin, whowhistled it across to Cross for an easy out.

Wolfers continued to grin, although he had anticipated,beginning by showing his ability to strike a manout when he desired.

Morgan fouled several times, finally striking outon a “spit ball,” which took a wonderfully sharp jumpto one side as he swung, nearly getting away fromSprowl.

“That’s the kind, Bob, old socks!” cried the catcher.“They never can hit those.”

Badger popped a little one into the air, and the firstthree batters to face the wonder from Wisconsin werehis victims.

“Now get right after Merriwell, boys,” urged Lawrence,as his players reached the bench. “Clinch thegame at the start, and then take it easy. Put us intoit, Kit.”

Merriwell did not limp as he walked out. His anklewas tightly supported with a broad leather band. Inwarming up he had found that his control was perfect.He could put the ball exactly where he pleased, andhe felt that on this day he would be in his best form.He also felt that he would need all his skill.

Kitson laughed.

“Just put one over and see me bump it,” he urged.

Frank looked round to make sure every man wasin position.

“We’re all behind you, Merry,” assured Rattleton.“Let him mump it a bile—I mean bump it a mile!”

The first ball pitched looked good to Kitson. Itwas speedy and quite high.

Just as the batter slashed at it the ball took a sharprise, or jump, and the bat encountered nothing butempty air.

“Stir-r-r-rike—kah one!” came from the umpire.

Spud Bailey seized the first opportunity to rejoice.

“Why didn’t he hit dat?” he cried.

“Oh, wait, wait!” advised Freckles. “Dere’s plentyof time. He’ll hit der next one he goes after.”

But Freckles was mistaken. The next ball was awide outdrop, which Kitson let pass. Then came ahigh ball that changed into a drop and shot down pastthe batter’s shoulders. He had anticipated a drop,and he tried to hit it, but did not judge it correctly.

“Stir-r-r-rike—kah two!”

Spud didn’t miss his chance to turn on Freckles.

“Shut up!” snapped Freckles. “He’s goin’ ter gita hit!”

Kitson thought so himself. He picked out anotherthat looked good. It was an inshoot, and it spankedinto Bart’s big mitt.

“You’re out!” came from the umpire.

Spud Bailey stood on his head, but Freckles viciouslykicked him over.

Kitson shook his head as he walked to the bench.

“He fooled me,” he acknowledged. “Still I shouldhave hit ’em.”

“Never mind,” said Cronin. “I’ll start something.”

Ben Raybold was sitting on the bleachers. Hesmiled the least bit as he saw Merry easily dispose ofKitson.

“He seems to be in his best form,” thought thebacker of the visitors. “If so, I’ve won a hundred. Iwish I’d made it more.”

The eyes of Bart Hodge were gleaming. He hammereda hole into his big mitt with his fist.

“Drop ’em into that pocket, Merry, old boy,” hecried. “You know how to do it.”

“You bet my life he knows how!” cried Dunnerwurst.

“They’re all swelled up over striking you out, Kit,”said Rush.

“It won’t be so easy next time,” declared Kitson.“I’m onto his tricks.”

“Plenty of speed.”

“Oh, yes; but we like speed.”

“Sure. We eat speed. If he keeps burnin’ ’em over,we’ll fall on him pretty soon and pound him to thefour winds.”

Merry remembered Cronin’s weakness. He keptthe ball close to the fellow, and, having both controland speed, found it just as easy to strike him out.

“Well! well!” cried the big man with the stentorianvoice. “What’s the matter, boys?”

“Get a hit, Sparksie,” urged Rush. “I think I canboost you along.”

“Let him give me some of those swift inshoots,”muttered Sparks.

This, however, Merry declined to do. He kept theball away from Sparks, although starting it straightat him at least twice. His outcurve was wonderfullywide, and it quite bewildered the batter.

Wolfers had ceased to grin. He realized that Merriwellwas “showing him up” in the first inning.

“Oh, well,” he muttered, “a strike-out pitcher isn’tthe whole cheese.”

Still he was nettled.

Merry was testing himself. Kitson, Cronin, andSparks were all batters of different styles. To mowthem down in succession would be a severe test forany pitcher.

This, however, was what Frank did. Sparks finallysuccumbed, declining at the finish to strike at a highstraight one, and growling because the umpire called ita strike, although it was not above his shoulder.

Spud Bailey was overjoyed.

“Now, now, now!” he cried. “I guess you fellersbegin ter see I ain’t such a fool!”

“Oh, he can’t keep dat up,” sneered Freckles. “He’llgo all ter pieces arter one or two innin’s.”

“Bet you anyt’ing he won’t!” flung back Spud.“You ain’t posted about him. He’s der greates’pitcher in der business. I tole yer so, but you didn’ttake no stock in it.”

“I don’t take no stock in it now.”

“You will.”

“Git out!”

“You will,” persisted Spud.

The crowd had been surprised, but it was far fromdispleased. Having perfect confidence in Wolfers, itrejoiced because the game promised to be close and exciting.

“Frank, you have the goods!” said Hodge, as Merrycame to the bench. “Why, I believe you could shootthe ball through a knot hole to-day!”

“My control is pretty good,” nodded Merry.

“Pretty good! It’s marvelous! Can you keep itup?”

“Somehow I think so. I have a feeling that I’ll beable to do just about what I like with the ball throughthis game.”

“Then the game is ours,” said Hodge.

Merriwell was the first batter in the second inning.

“Let’s see if I can’t give him a little of the medicinehe’s been handing out,” Wolfers muttered to himself.

He tried his best to fool Merry, but Frank let thefirst pitch go for a ball and caught the second onefairly on his bat, lining it out for two bags.

Wolfers turned green.

To himself he swore savagely.

“I’ll know better than to give him another one likethat,” he thought.

Hodge was eager to follow Frank’s example. Heforced Wolfers to cut a corner, and then he hit theball fair and hard.

It went like a bullet.

Straight into the hands of Rush.

Like a flash Rush snapped it to Tinker, who coveredsecond.

Frank was caught off the bag, not having time toget back, and the Elks had made a handsome doubleplay.

“Hooray!” bellowed the big man. “That’s the kindof work, boys!”

The crowd cheered, and the play deserved it.

Hodge felt sore.

“That was hard luck!” he exclaimed. “I tried toplace that hit, but I didn’t judge the curve just right.”

Naturally Merry felt somewhat disappointed, but heaccepted the result philosophically, knowing suchthings were the penalty of fate in baseball.

Gamp came out not a whit the less resolute anddetermined. He felt that it was up to him to do something,and he tried hard, but Wolfers was on hismettle at last, and he struck Joe out.

“That’s the stuff!” roared the big man. “Nowyou’re getting into gear, Robert!”

Then he urged the local players to go in and hammerFrank all over the lot. Rush was eager to followthis advice. He was too eager, for Merry led himinto putting up a pop fly, which fell into the hands ofRattleton.

Glade followed and tried a waiting game. Seeingwhat he was doing, Merry put two swift ones over theinside corner, and two strikes were called.

Then Glade hit a pretty grounder to Morgan, whomade a mess of it, permitting the Elkton man toreach first.

It was recorded as an error for Dade. Morgan wasangry, but Merry soothed him with a word or two.

“Those things will happen occasionally,” said Frank.“You’ll get the next one, my boy.”

“You bet I will!” Dade muttered to himself.

Frank took a chance with Glade, making a longswing before delivering the ball, and then sending it inwith great speed.

Glade fancied he saw his opportunity to steal on thatswing, and he tried it.

Few who saw the Elkton man go down from firstfancied it would be possible for Bart to catch him atsecond.

The ball had been delivered so that it came into thehands of Bart just right for a quick throw. He waitednot a second in making a long swing, but snapped itwith a short-arm movement.

As true as a bullet from a rifle it flew into thehands of Rattles at second. And it came just right forHarry to put it onto the runner.

Glade saw his danger and tried to slide under, butRattleton pinned him fast to the ground.

Once more Spud Bailey stood on his head, and oncemore Freckles kicked him over.

The spectators were generous with their applause,for they recognized the fact that Bart had made awonderful throw.

“That’s a good whip you have, young fellow,” saidthe big man.

“Pretty work, Hodge!” smiled Frank. “I thoughthe would try it. Can’t fool many of them that wayif you keep up that throwing.”

“Oh, they’ll work for this game if they get it!”said Hodge.

“Haw! haw!” laughed Tinker mockingly. “Don’tpat yourself on the back so soon. The game isyoung.”

He walked out to hit.

All the Elks were inclined to be sarcastic and mocking,but they were beginning to realize that it would beno easy thing to run up a safe score early in the game.The Merries were out to win if such a thing could bedone.

Frank knew Tinker was inclined to bat the ball intothe air, and he pitched with the idea of compelling thefellow to do this. In the end he succeeded, for the batterput up a slow and easy one to Badger, who smotheredit.

The second inning was over, and neither side hadmade a run.

“He won’t last,” declared Wolfers. “He’ll take aballoon trip, same as the other chap did.”

“They never can score off you, Bob,” declaredSprowl.

“Not in a thousand years,” grinned the Elktonpitcher. “It would be a disgrace.”

Then he went into the box and handed Browningone on which Bruce made a clean single.

“Stay there, you big duffer!” muttered Wolfers.“You’ll never reach second.”

He was mistaken, for, although he kept the ballhigh, Rattleton managed to bunt, making a beautifulsacrifice.

The wonder from Wisconsin saw that the Merriesknew something about scientific stick work. He bracedup and did his prettiest with Dunnerwurst.

“A hit must get me!” murmured the Dutchman, ashe missed the first one struck at. “Der oppordunityvas all mine. Yah!”

But Wolfers led him into batting a weak one toCronin, who snapped it across the diamond.

Dunnerwurst was out.

Cross returned the ball to Cronin, for Browning haddashed toward third.

Browning got a handsome start and he ran like adeer. He slid for the bag.

Cross tried to block him, but Bruce went round thefellow’s feet and grabbed a corner of the bag, lyingflat on his stomach just out of reach when the thirdbaseman tried to touch him quickly.

Never could any person unacquainted with the bigchap fancy it possible for him to purloin a bag so handsomely.Cronin was sore with himself for givingBruce the opportunity. He had fancied it would bean easy thing for Cross to return the ball in time tocatch the runner, in case the latter attempted to takethird.

Merry was on the coaching line back of third.

“Pretty work, Bruce!” he laughed. “You fooledthem. They thought they had you.”

Ready came out to bat once more.

A signal passed between Wolfers and Sprowl. Thelatter crouched close under the bat.

Wolfers put the first ball straight over.

It was a beauty.

Ready swung at it.

Just as he did so something touched his bat lightly,deflecting it the least bit, and he missed.

Jack turned quickly on Sprowl.

“What are you trying to do?” he demanded, frowning,no trace of levity in his manner.

“Excuse me,” said the catcher sweetly. “I was abit too close.”

“Better get back a little.”

Again Wolfers put the ball over the very heart ofthe pan.

Again Jack’s bat was tapped lightly and deflected.

Ready dropped the end of his bat to the ground andstepped onto the plate to prevent Wolfers from pitching.

“Mr. Umpire,” he called, “I wish you would watchthis catcher. He is rather careless with his hands.”

“Oh, come off!” cried Sprowl. “Don’t cry baby ifyou can’t hit a straight ball. It’s your own fault. Givehim another, Bob. He never made a hit in his life.”

Hodge had seen Wolfers deflect Ready’s bat.

“Play ball!” commanded the umpire.

“Get off that plate, or I’ll put the ball through you!”snarled Wolfers.

“Get off, Jack,” called Hodge. “I’ll watch him. Ifhe does the trick again, I’ll talk to him a bit.”

Sprowl looked at Bart and laughed.

“You wouldn’t frighten any one,” he said. “Whydon’t you fellows play ball? Are you going to crybaby so early in the game?”

“That’s the talk!” roared the big man. “Make ’emplay ball! Of course he can’t hit Wolfers, and hewants to work his way down to first somehow.”

Few among the spectators had seen Sprowl touchJack’s bat, and therefore the crowd was opposed tohim. Jeers and catcalls came from every side.

Ready was angry. For once in his life, he had quitelost control of his temper.

“If you keep it up,” he growled to Sprowl, “somethingwill happen to you.”

Then he stepped off the plate and Wolfers snappedthe ball over like a flash.

“Str-r-r-rike—kah three!” cried the umpire.“You’re out!”

How the crowd did laugh and jeer at Jack.

“That’s what you get for crying baby!” yelled ashrill voice.

“It will be Mr. Sprowl’s turn to bat in a moment!”said Hodge, as he picked up the body protector.

Frank heard these words.

“None of that kind of business, Bart,” he saidgrimly. “It won’t do. We’re not playing that sortof a game.”

“But are we going to stand for this?”

“We can call the attention of the umpire to it. He’llhave to stop it.”

“He doesn’t seem inclined.”

“We’ll have to make him inclined, then. I thinkhe’s pretty near square, although it’s likely he sympathizedwith the locals.”

“Of course he does! We’ve got to fight for ourrights, if we get them.”

“That’s true; but we’ll fight on the level. No crookedness.No trickery.”

So Bart went under the bat feeling rather sore andvery anxious to get even with Sprowl.

Cross hit to Frank, who tossed the ball to Browningfor an easy out.

Then it was Sprowl’s turn.

As Bart crouched under the bat of the tricky catcher,he muttered:

“I want to give you a warning, Mr. Man.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead.”

“If you hit my bat with your mitt when I’m strikingyou’ll be sorry. I won’t stand for it.”

“Why, what will you do?”

“You’ll find out!”

Sprowl laughed sneeringly. Then he batted agrounder to Ready, who made a poor throw to Browning,and Sprowl reached first.

“Don’t talk to me!” he cried. “Don’t warn me!I always get a hit when somebody threatens me.”

“Dot hid dit not get you!” cried Dunnerwurst. “Idpeen not a hit. Off Vrankie Merrivell you got yet nohits ad all, and maype you vill nod dood id efer solong as I live.”

“Why don’t you learn to talk United States?” criedRush, who was coaching.

“He can talk better than he can play ball,” saidSprowl, in his nasty way.

Wolfers strode out with his bat.

“Got a hit off me, did you, Merriwell!” he thought.“Well, here is where I even up.”

Then Frank fooled him handsomely with a swiftrise, a drop and a “dope ball.” Wolfers struck at themall. He fancied the dope was coming straight over,but the ball seemed to pause and hang in the air, asif something pulled it back. This caused the batterto strike too soon.

“Str-r-r-rike—kah three! You’re out!”

The man from Wisconsin turned crimson with angerand mortification.

“Oh, I presume you think you’re a great gun!” hesnapped at Frank.

“Not at all,” retorted Merry. “It’s no trick to strikeyou out.”

This infuriated Wolfers.

“I don’t think it’s much of a trick to strike youout,” he flung back.

“It’s dead easy for a good pitcher to do it,” laughedMerriwell.

“Oh, you fresh duck!” muttered Wolfers, as hewalked to the bench. “Just you wait! I’ll give youyour medicine.”

His appearance of good nature had vanished likefog before a hot sun. He was now consumed withrage and a desire to outdo Frank in some manner.

“Lace ’em out, Kit!” implored Sprowl, as Kitsonadvanced to the plate. “He’s easy.”

Never in his life had Merry pitched with greaterease. He used curves, speed and a change of pace,having perfect control. Although he could handle the“spit ball,” he did not attempt to use it. He did notbelieve it necessary.

Kitson was anxious to hit. Merry seemed to givehim pretty ones, but the ball took queer curves andshoots, and soon the right fielder of the Elks struckout.

The third inning was over, and neither side hadscored. It was a battle royal between Wolfers andMerriwell.

Up to this point two clean hits, one a two-bagger,had been made off Wolfers.

Merriwell had not permitted a hit.

Morgan opened the fourth by smashing a hot onealong the ground to Rush, who stopped it but chasedit round his feet long enough for Dade to canter downto first.

“Here we go!” roared Browning.

“You won’t go very far!” sneered Wolfers.

Badger tried to sacrifice, but his bunt lifted a littlepop fly to Wolfers, and he was out.

Then came Merriwell again.

“Don’t let this chap get another hit off you, Bob,”implored Cronin.

“No danger of it,” said the pitcher.

But on the second ball delivered Frank reached farover the outside corner of the plate and connected withthe ball, cracking out a hot single that permittedBadger to speed round to third.

Merry took second on the throw to catch Badger atthird.

The look on the face of Bob Wolfers was murderous.He stood and glared at Frank, who smiledsweetly in return.

“You’re the luckiest fellow alive!” said the Elktontwirler. “I saw you shut your eyes when you struckat that ball.”

“You’re so easy that I can hit your pitching withmy eyes closed,” retorted Merriwell.

Imagine the feelings of Spud Bailey. He was struttingnow in the midst of the village boys, not a whitintimidated by threats of a “walloping” after the game.

“I told you fellers how it would be before der gamebegan,” he said, throwing out his chest, with histhumbs in the armholes of his vest. “It couldn’t helpbein’ dat way. Dey’re bangin’ der eye outer Wolfers,but I don’t see ’em hitting Frank Merriwell any.”

“Wot sorter feller are you ter go back on yer owntown, hey?” savagely snarled Freckles. “We’ll allt’ump yo’ as soon as we git ye off der groun’s!”

“I ain’t goin’ back on me own town!”

“You are!”

“I ain’t goin’ back on me own town!” asserted Spud.“How many Elkton fellers is dere on dat team?They’ve dropped all our players an’ brung fellers infrom ev’rywhere. If Frank Merriwell’s team wasplayin’ fer us, all you fellers would be yellin’ fer them.”

This sort of logic did not go with the other boys,nevertheless, and Spud was very unpopular.

Once again it was the turn of Bart Hodge to bat.He gave Sprowl a look as he came out.

Sprowl snickered.

“You scare me dreadfully,” he said.

“Keep your paws off my bat when I’m striking,”warned Bart.

Wolfers started with a drop.

Bart missed it.

He longed to get a clean, safe hit to right field, beingsatisfied that Merry would score on it if obtained, followingMorgan in.

The suspense was great, for every one realized thata hit meant one run—possibly two.

Then Bart began to make fouls.

Once Sprowl touched his bat, but he fouled the ball.He felt that he must have made a safe hit only forthat light deflection of the bat just as he swung.

“Did you see that, Mr. Umpire?” he cried.

The umpire had seen nothing.

Like Ready, Bart stepped onto the plate and turnedto Sprowl.

“I want to tell you something,” he said, in a cold,hard tone. “This is it: If you touch my bat again I’llturn round and punch your face for you! Is that plainenough?”

“I’d enjoy having you try it!” flung back Sprowl.

“You’re quite certain to have the enjoyment.”

“I haven’t touched your bat. You dreamed it.”

“You hear what I said and take heed.”

Then Hodge stepped off, but he was ready to hit, sothat Wolfers could not catch him napping, as Readyhad been caught.

Wolfers took plenty of time and sent one straightover the outside corner.

Sprowl again touched the bat with his mitt just asBart started to strike. True to his threat, Hodge flungthe bat aside and sailed into the tricky catcher withboth fists.

Sprowl seemed to expect it, for he snapped off hismask and met Hodge halfway.

He did not last long, for Bart smashed down the fellow’sguard and struck him a blow that sent him downin a heap.

What an uproar followed!

Several of Bart’s companions rushed from the benchand seized him, while players of the other team hurriedto get between the two.

“Time!” yelled the umpire.

Ladies in the stand screamed and one fainted.

Men rose up and shouted incoherently, while thecrowd from the bleachers poured onto the field.

It seemed that the game would end in a free fight.

In the midst of the excitement Seymour Whittakerforced his way into the midst of the struggling, wranglingmass of men.

“Gentlemen!” he cried; “be reasonable! I’ve beenwatching this thing. I played ball myself once. I sawour catcher touch the batter’s stick! He did it twiceand did it deliberately. The umpire may not haveseen it. The batter warned our catcher. He had aright to be mad. Don’t break this game up in a freefight! You know I have wagered money on our boys.I believe they can win, but I want them to win honorably.Wolfers doesn’t need a catcher to help him bysuch tricks. He can pitch well enough to win withoutsuch aid. Let’s be square. Let those fellows settletheir trouble after the game is over. We’re notrowdies here in Elkton. We want to see square baseball.This business will hurt the game. Go back andsit down, all of you.”

These words were enough, although other men nowdeclared that they had seen Sprowl touch Bart’s bat.The crowd was quieted, and began to walk off to thebleachers.

Sprowl had been struck on the cheek, and Bart’sfist left a bad bruise there.

He swore he would get even with Hodge. His companionsinduced him to agree not to press the matteruntil after the game was finished.

Finally things quieted down and playing was resumed.

Hodge asked the umpire to give him a pass to firston the interference of Sprowl; but the umpire hadnot seen it, Sprowl denied it, and Bart was declared outon the third strike.

This made two men out, with Morgan and Merriwellon third and second.

Gamp was the batter, and everything seemed to dependon him.

Wolfers was on his mettle. His pitching againstJoe was superb, for the tall chap did not touch theball.

The Merries had been prevented from securing arun. They felt that they had been defrauded, for toall it seemed likely that Bart might have made a hitonly for the interference of Sprowl.

As a pitchers’ battle the game was a great exhibition.Although seven hits were obtained off Wolfersin seven innings, the visitors could not score.

On the other hand, being in the most perfect form,Frank did not permit a hit in seven innings.

The eighth opened with Badger at bat.

Buck managed to roll a slow one into the diamond.

Both Cronin and Wolfers went after it, botheringeach other, and Buck reached first by tall hustling.

Then came the hit of the day.

Merriwell was the man. Each time he had facedWolfers there was “something doing.” This timeWolfers tried harder than ever to strike him out; butFrank slammed the ball against the centre-field fencefor three bags, sending Badger home with the first runof the game.

Spud Bailey nearly died of delight.

“I knowed it!” he whooped. “Wot d’yer t’ink ofhim now, Freck?”

“He’s a lucky hitter,” said Freckles.

But the sympathy of several small boys had turnedto the visitors. They admired Bart Hodge for standingup for his rights.

“G’wan, Freck!” they cried. “He’s a corkin’ player,an’ you know it.”

“I hope them fellers win,” said a tall, thin boy.“Dey’re all right.”

“They’ll win; don’t worry about that,” assuredSpud.

Ben Raybold and Seymour Whittaker had foundseats together after the excitement caused when Hodgehit Sprowl.

Raybold had complimented Whittaker on his manlinessand sporting blood in taking the stand he did.

“It may cost you a hundred dollars, Mr. Whittaker,”said Raybold.

“I don’t care a rap!” retorted the Elktonite. “Iwant to see a square game, win or lose.”

After Frank’s hit, Raybold asked Whittaker whathe thought of Merry.

“He’s the greatest ball player I ever saw!” exclaimedWhittaker. “We must have him on our team.”

“You haven’t money enough in the State of Ohio toget him on salary,” said Raybold.

That run obtained by Badger was the only one securedin the eighth. The Elks tried hard, but theycould not fathom Merry’s curves.

In the first of the ninth the visitors did nothing,Wolfers striking out three men, one after another, asfast as they faced him.

Although the Elkton pitcher was sore, he kept up hisgood work. He was not a quitter. He played ballright along, never failing to do his best.

When the Elks came to bat in their half of theninth Jack Lawrence implored them to get a run somehow.

“Don’t let them shut us out!” he entreated. “It willbe a disgrace!”

“I thought so a while ago,” said Wolfers, in a lowtone; “but it will be no disgrace to be whitewashedwhile batting against a fellow like that Merriwell. Ididn’t think he could pitch at all. He’s the best manI ever saw toe the rubber! I’m going to tell him soafter the game. Why, Lawrence, we’ve got a team ofhitters. Every man is a sticker. Do you realize thatwe haven’t secured a single safe hit to-day?”

“I realize it!” groaned Lawrence.

Nor did they secure one. For Merry it was a “no-hit,no-run” game. Although he struck out but oneman in the ninth, the other two batted easy boundersinto the diamond and were thrown out at first.

The game ended one to nothing in favor of the Merries.

Bob Wolfers was the first to reach Frank and grasphis hand.

“Boy, you’re all right!” he cried. “If I’ve said anythingunpleasant, I apologize. You’re a gentleman,too! As a pitcher, you’ve got any youngster livingskinned a mile!”

The Elks remembered what had followed the firstgame, when the Merries were defeated, and they didnot fail to cheer for the winners.

“Sa-a-ay, Mr. Merriwell—sa-a-a-ay!”

Frank looked round.

Spud Bailey and a dozen other youngsters hadmanaged to crowd as near him as possible. Freckleswas with them, hanging back a little.

“Dese are me frien’s,” said Spud, with a wave ofhis hand. “I tole ’em wot you could do, an’ nowdey know it. Dey t’ink you’re de goods. Permit meter introduce ’em.”

“With pleasure,” smiled Frank.

And he made every one of them—even Freckles—asproud as a peacock by shaking hands as they werepresented by Spud. In after years they would boastof the day when they shook hands with FrankMerriwell, the greatest pitcher “wot ever was.”

A Merriwell book, full of thrilling drama, loveand adventure will next be published by theMerriwellSeries, No. 124—under the title of “DickMerriwell’s Cleverness,” by Burt L. Standish.

• Transcriber’s Notes:
  • Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
  • Unbalanced quotation marks were left as the author intended.
  • Typographical errors were silently corrected.
  • Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.