square up with you before you git away.”

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

“You won’t play no baseball here, and don’t you think ye will. That’s
all settled. There won’t be no more baseball in this town as long as Joe
Gaddis tries to run things.”

“What’s the matter with Gaddis?”

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

“No ball team?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe that.”

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

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

“Carey Cameron will see about that.”

“Shut up, Bilker!” snapped Madison. “You ain’t to call no names.”

“Who is Carey Cameron?” asked Merry promptly.

But no one would answer the question.

Madison turned away, after giving Merriwell another glaring look of
hatred, and the young ruffians flocked after him.

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

                              CHAPTER XII

                              TURNED DOWN.

It was not a difficult thing to find a hotel. Inquiry enabled them to
reach the Hall House, which was the nearest public house after leaving
the station. It was not a particularly inviting house on the outside,
being sadly in need of paint. It was a frame building, standing on a
corner, and a number of loafers were sitting about 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 looking like a
countryman, were talking politics. They stopped and turned to look the
strangers over.

“Where is the proprietor?” inquired Frank, as he stepped 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 ball players. That ought to
be plain ernough for ye. Go on 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 your hotel?”

“You bet!”

“All right. Your only reason for doing so is because we 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, young feller. I’ve been in
the hotel business ten years, an’ you can’t trap me. We ain’t prepared
to accommerdate ye. You didn’t notify us you was comin’, an’ so we made
no special preparations. Our help is short, there’s a case of typhus
fever in the house, my wife is down with the lumbago, and I’m some broke
up myself with the chills. So you see there ain’t no need to discuss the
matter further. We can’t take ye in. Good day. The Mansion House is up
the street three squares.”

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

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

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

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

“Yah, I pelief id does haf a petterment look,” agreed Dunnerwurst. “I
think we vill peen accommodationed mit superiority here.”

The office was empty. They waited a few moments and no one appeared.
Then Frank found a bell on the desk and rang it. After another period of
waiting and a second ringing of the bell, a sleepy-eyed fat boy came in,
dragging his feet and looking both tired and disturbed.

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

“You’ll ha-ve t-o s-ee Mr. Jones,” declared the boy, 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 him up, Ready!” cried Joe
Gamp.

“Do-n’t yo-ou lar-a-rfe a-ut me-e-e!” said the fat boy, still in that
weary drawl. “I do-n’t li-ke to ha-ave a 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!” cried Harry. “He don’t li-i-ike
to ha-ave a pi-un stu-ck in-to he-e-e-um. Ha! ha! ha!”

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

“This is a fine hotel!” exploded Hodge.

Dunnerwurst waddled over to the fat boy.

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

“Guests, Hans,” corrected Frank, laughing.

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

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

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

He gave the fat boy a push, and the sleepy-eyed chap disappeared 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 reddish mustache came
pudging into the room. He was smoking a huge, black cigar, which he held
slanted upward in a comical manner. His hands were in his pockets.

“What do you fellers want?” he asked, in a voice like 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 are members of my baseball
team. We would like to know your 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 is full an’ runnin’
over. That settles it.”

“Where can we find accommodations in this town?”

“Can’t say.”

Frank was holding himself well in hand, although burning with
indignation.

“We would like to know the meaning of this,” he said. “Do the hotels in
this town ever accommodate transient guests?”

“Certain they do.”

“There are only two hotels here.”

“That’s correct.”

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

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

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

“Come on, boys.”

“Wait!” cried Bart Hodge, his dark eyes blazing—“wait until I tell this
imitation of a real man a few things!”

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

“Keep still, Hodge,” he commanded, in a low tone of authority. “It will
be a mistake. Come away quietly.”

Although he felt like rebelling, Bart submitted in mute protest, giving
Jones one contemptuous look, and they all left the Mansion House.

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

Jack Ready sang:

   I ain’t got no reg’ler place that I can call my home,
   I mark each back-yard gate as through this world I roam;
   Portland, Maine, is just the same as sunny Tennessee,
   And any old place that I hang up my hat is home, sweet home to me.

“Don’d dood id! Don’d dood id!” implored Dunnerwurst. “Id gifes me such
a melancholery. I vish I 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 this town! I’m sick of this baseball business,
anyhow. It’s too much trouble. There’s always something doing. I’m going
to swear off and never play the game any more.”

Dick Starbright laughed and slapped Bruce on the shoulder.

“You’re a great bluffer, old chap,” he said. “You’ve been swearing off
ever since I knew you, but I’ll bet you’ll stick to the game until you
weigh three hundred pounds.”

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

“Then you haven’t long to live.”

Frank stepped out and spoke to a man who was passing, inquiring about
boarding houses. The man was rather surly, but he told Merry of a house
kept by Mrs. Walker, and soon the party was on the way thither.

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

Removing his hat and bowing low with grace and politeness, Merry
explained that they were looking for a place to stop overnight, at
least, and he hastened to add that they were willing to pay in advance,
emphasizing this statement by producing a roll of bills.

The eyes of the woman glittered as she saw the money.

“Are you baseball players?” she inquired.

Merry confessed that they were, whereupon she shook 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 and gentlemanly and pay
our bills in advance?” inquired Merriwell.

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

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

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

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

“Not if you pay ten times regler rates and pay in advance,” was the grim
answer. “I judge that’s plain enough for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Buck Badger suddenly placed a clenched fist right under Jim’s nose,
which caused the boy from Missouri to dodge backward, exclaiming:

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

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

“Perhaps we can get into a private house somewhere if we pay enough,”
suggested Rattleton. “I’m willing to 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 were promptly refused at
three houses, although Merry resorted to 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 complete the sentence was
very expressive.

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

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

“But it would relieve my feelings in a wonderful manner.”

“There is something behind this affair that we do not understand,” said
Merry. “In order to understand it we’ll have to learn the facts.”

“You’re sure Gaddis was in earnest when he made that 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 great seventeen-inning game with the Nebraska
Indians and lost no time after that in seeking to arrange a game with us
to be played here. Stated that his team had beaten the Indians twice out
of three times last season, and Green, the manager of the Indians,
acknowledged that it was so. The inducements offered were satisfactory.
We could reach this town without going out of our way on the trip East,
and I finally made a contract with him. Here we are.”

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

Reaching the main street of the town, they entered a drug store and
inquired for Mr. Gaddis. The druggist looked them over in a peculiar
manner. He knew Gaddis 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 which sat a woman heavily
veiled, drew up before the door. The lady waited until the druggist’s
clerk stepped out to see what she wanted. A moment later the clerk
re-entered the store and asked if Mr. Merriwell was there.

“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 beauty should have appealed to her. I am fast coming to the
conclusion that beauty like mine is a decided disadvantage. It awes the
fair sex.”

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

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

“I am—miss.”

He had quickly decided that she was young, and diplomacy led him in his
uncertainty to address her as miss instead of madam.

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

There was about her an air of mystery that struck Frank at once.

“I believe you are looking for some place to stop while in town?” she
observed questioningly.

“That is quite true, and thus far I have looked in vain.”

“It is a shame that a stranger here should be treated thus. The hotels
have declined to take you in?”

“Yes, miss; likewise the only boarding house and several private houses
where we have made application.”

“If you will depend on me I’ll find accommodations for you and your
friends.”

Merry’s surprise increased. His face cleared and he gave her one of
those rare, manly smiles that made him so wonderfully attractive.

“You are very kind, but I fear——”

“Do not fear anything. I live here, and this outrage upon strangers has
awakened my indignation. If you will enter my carriage and ask your
friends to follow us I’ll see that you are taken care of.”

“I hope you will not be putting yourself to any inconvenience in 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 the store and made known the
offer he had received from the unknown woman. Hodge surveyed her
suspiciously and then found an opportunity to whisper in Frank’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 the lady, who made room
for him. Thus they were driven away along the street, the others
following on the sidewalk.

“You appeared just in time to save us, miss,” said Merry. “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 the ruffian 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 over baseball affairs.
During a number of seasons, and up to last season, baseball here was
conducted by the cheapest element in the town, and the place acquired a
very bad reputation. Outside teams, I have heard, were robbed and mobbed
here. It became so bad that no manager who knew the exact condition of
affairs would bring his team here. Last season a number of people who
enjoy clean baseball resolved to put a stop to the hoodlumism. They
secured the ball ground through some stratagem, and the tough characters
found themselves out in the cold. A baseball association of respectable
people was formed and Mr. Gaddis was chosen manager. The ruffians made
him a lot of trouble, but he ran a team through the season. This year he
was warned that he would not be permitted to conduct a team here. He
paid no attention to the warning, but went ahead and made up his team.
Immediately there was trouble, and it became evident that an attempt
would be made to drive Gaddis out of baseball. The same ruffianly
element that had predominated before his appearance started to make it
warm for him. In doing this the whole place has been terrorized into
backing up the ruffians. No one seems to dare to do anything different.
Another man by the name of——”

She seemed to hesitate over the name, but quickly resumed:

“A man by the name of Cameron has organized a baseball team here. He has
announced that he will take possession of the ball ground to-morrow, and
that Gaddis will not be permitted to hold it longer. The members of
Gaddis’ team have been intimidated and driven out of town, Gaddis
himself has been threatened with personal violence. Without doubt, the
hotel keepers and people of the place were warned in advance to have
nothing to do with any ball team that came here to play with Gaddis’
team. Your team was chosen in particular, as it happened to be the first
to arrive here after—after Cameron came out boldly and announced his
intention. That is about all there is to it. At least, it is all I know
about it.”

“Well,” cried Merry, in surprise, “it certainly is astonishing that a
whole town can be intimidated in such a manner by a set of ruffians. Is
there no law here?”

“If so, there is little danger that it will be enforced against the
scoundrel Cameron!” she exclaimed, with surprising bitterness, all the
music and sweetness gone from her voice. “He is a wretch who finds
methods of evading the law, even when he commits the most heinous
crimes! But vengeance will fall on him in the end! He cannot always
escape!”

The depth of feeling betrayed by the mysterious woman told Frank that
she was the implacable enemy of Cameron and that she had reasons for
hating the man most intensely.

As they were passing the Mansion House two men came out and paused on
the steps.

One of them was the bruiser, Mat Madison.

The other was a slender, red-lipped, dark man of thirty-five or more,
dressed stylishly and smoking a cigarette.

“There is Carey Cameron!” hissed the veiled woman.

For all of her evident hatred of Cameron, the mysterious woman made no
outward demonstration that could lead either of the men on the steps of
the hotel to suppose she had as much as noticed them. If her face
expressed the passion of hatred that was betokened by her voice, the
veil effectually concealed the fact, and apparently she sat looking
straight ahead without even turning her eyes in the direction of the
hotel.

The two men who had chanced to come out upon the steps at that moment
quickly discovered Merriwell in the carriage and saw the others of
Frank’s team following on the sidewalk.

“What in blazes does that mean, Madison?” exclaimed Cameron.

“You know as well as I do, boss,” answered the bruiser.

“Who is that chap in the carriage with the woman?”

“That’s the feller I was just telling you about—the one who downed me at
the station.”

“Frank Merriwell himself, eh?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Well, I swear he doesn’t look very much like a fighter. You should
handle a smooth-faced chap like that with ease. I’m disgusted with you.
Where is he going with that woman?”

“I judge she’s taking him to her house, and it looks like the rest of
the bunch is bound for the same place. They couldn’t git no
accommodations at hotels or other places, 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 taking strangers in, as she’s been
so haughty and high-headed since comin’ here that she’s scarce spoke to
anybody, and she don’t have any dealings with the people in the town.”

Instantly Cameron descended the steps and hastened to the street, where
he planted himself in front of the horse, commanding the driver to stop.

“Madam,” he said, “it’s likely you don’t understand what you are doing.
I am led to suppose that you contemplate taking your companion and his
crowd into your house and giving them shelter. If such is the case you
had better change your mind instantly, or you will find yourself in
serious trouble.”

The woman did not answer, but, rising slightly from her seat, she hissed
at the driver:

“Whip up! Drive over that man!”

The driver’s whip was in his hand, but he hesitated about 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 cut that 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 given time to come up and
take any part in the affair. Hodge was inclined to pitch into Cameron,
but the others advised against it, and all hurried along after the
carriage.

There was a glare of fury in the eyes of Carey Cameron as he stood in
the street looking after the mysterious woman 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 tried to run over me!”

“I should say she did, boss.”

“Confound her! I’ll make her regret it! She doesn’t know me! She doesn’t
know my influence in this town. I’ll drive her out of Cartersville!”

“Are you goin’ to let her take Merriwell’s crowd in?”

“I could stop it, but what’s the good? We’ve done enough, I fancy.
Gaddis is out of baseball, and the fine 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 we wished, and I
believe they understand. Half our new players are here now, and the rest
will arrive in the morning. The new Cartersville baseball team will take
the field the following day. Old Martin, who owns the field, is so well
cowed that he has told me to go ahead and use it, although Gaddis holds
a receipt for the season’s rent, which he has paid. I have no particular
quarrel with the Merriwell crowd.”

“Well, I have!” snarled Madison; “and I’m going to get a crack at
Merriwell before they pull out of Cartersville!”

“Go ahead,” nodded Cameron, as he took a gold cigarette case, decorated
with diamonds, from his pocket, and selected a fresh cigarette. “You
have my permission; but, according to your own story you’ll have to
catch him off his guard and lay him out stiff before he has a chance to
recover.”

“Leave it to me!” growled the bruiser.

                              CHAPTER XIII

                       THE HOUSE AMID THE TREES.

The gloved hands of the woman quivered as she restored the whip to the
driver. She did not look back, although an expression of disappointment
came from her hidden lips.

“Lucky for him he moved lively,” said Frank, as she sank down at his
side.

“Some evil charm protects him!” breathed the mysterious woman. “I did
not wish to kill him—then. I hoped 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 his wicked face, his
treacherous eyes and his cruel mouth! When I behold him something in my
heart struggles and burns until it is only by the utmost restraint that
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 yourself veiled?”

“He has never seen my face.”

By the time the driver had quieted and restrained the frightened horse,
and Merry looked back. He saw at a distance his companions making all
haste in that direction, and he knew Cameron had not interfered with
them, which gave him a feeling of relief.

“The boys are coming,” he said. “I thought that man might try to stop
them.”

The woman directed the driver to pull the horse down 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 greatly interested in Carey Cameron after what
has happened.”

“Quite natural,” admitted the woman. “He is a gambler.”

“I thought it by his appearance.”

“He has traveled much, making his living by gambling. His former home
was here, and he returned here a few months ago. As a boy he was a
baseball enthusiast, and that explains his wonderful interest in the
game. When he came back here he sided with the vicious element, and I
believe he has been appointed manager of the team they mean to put in
the place of the one organized by Gaddis. I do not know much about it,
but I have learned that they believe this team will be able to defeat
anything in these parts. He has secured a number of players blacklisted
in the big leagues. Cameron will run the team to make money for
himself.”

“How can he make money out of baseball in a town like this?”

“He will gamble on the games.”

“But if he has a team that is far superior to any team it meets he’ll
find no one to bet on the other teams.”

“When that happens he will bet on the other teams himself.”

“You mean——”

“That I know his treacherous nature. He will betray his friends. He’ll
not wager money openly on an opposing team. It is likely he will openly
bet small sums on his own team. His supposed-to-be friends will do the
betting. Some agent of Cameron will bet Cameron’s money, and you may be
sure that his team will lose that game.”

“In short, he will double-cross his friends, and that is 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 the town. The road led up
a low hill, near the crest of which, set back amid some trees, could be
seen a rather gloomy-looking house. This house the mysterious woman
indicated with a slight gesture, explaining that they 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 had never seen the place. I
shall be happy when I leave it 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 the vicious element predominates, and
respectable people are afraid to stand up for their rights.”

“A fine place in which to play baseball!” laughed Merry.

“No worse place in Iowa.”

“Perhaps it is just as well that we are not going to play here.”

“You are better off.”

The boys were not far behind when they reached the gate and turned into
the grounds surrounding the gloomy house amid the trees. The house was
shuttered, and many of the shutters were closed.

At the front step Merry sprang from the carriage and assisted his
strange companion to alight.

As the others of his party came up Frank said:

“Fellows, although this lady has been kind enough to offer us the
shelter of her house, I fear we are intruding in a certain way. I am
sure we are putting her to great inconvenience, and I wish to——”

“Mr. Merriwell,” interrupted the veiled woman, “I have tried to make it
plain that you are not placing me at any inconvenience. I will add that
my circumstances are such that the sum you may pay me for the
accommodation of yourself and friends will be very acceptable. Oh! I’m
going to take pay! You may give whatever sum you choose; I am satisfied
that it will be satisfactory. I think this should put you more at your
ease.”

“To a certain extent it does,” admitted Merry.

“Then come in.”

The woman turned toward the door, which opened at once. As Merry
followed her he saw the door had been opened by a singularly
grave-looking Chinaman.

“John,” said the mysterious woman, “these are my guests.”

“Velly well, miss,” nodded the Celestial.

“They will remain as long as they choose and are to have the best the
house affords while here.”

“Velly well, miss.”

“Take them upstairs and let them select their own rooms.”

“Velly well, miss.”

Then, turning to Frank, the woman said:

“Dinner will be served in an hour. I think you will be ready by that
time.”

“Yah,” muttered Hans. “I vos readiness alretty soon.”

“If you wish to send to the station for anything in the way of baggage I
will call a man to attend to that.”

“There is nothing at the station that we shall need to-night,” said
Frank. “We had better leave our stuff there. We have everything
necessary for present wants in our hand bags.”

“Show them up, John.”

“Velly well, miss.”

They followed the Chinaman of the solemn and respectful manner and the
limited vocabulary.

                              CHAPTER XIV

                        MATTERS OF UNCERTAINTY.

“Well, this is not half bad,” grunted Browning, as he stretched himself
on one of the double beds which had delighted his eyes. “It’s a lot
better than camping outdoors overnight.”

“Thou speakest truly, weary knight,” said Ready. “The prospect of a
supperless bed on the greensward was not at all cheerful to me, and the
lady with the somber drop curtain over her radiant features came to 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 any light on the subject, Frank?”

Merry told them what he had learned while in the carriage with the
mysterious woman.

“Well,” smiled Starbright, as he finished, “we can thank our stars that
she has no use for Mr. Carey Cameron. Evidently she has offered us this
hospitality because we seem to be the special objects of Mr. Cameron’s
spite.”

“She did come plenty near hiking over Cameron when he tried to hold her
up,” said Badger. “It sure was a close call for that gent. Way he acted
after that, I thought he was going to pull a gun and try to pot you
both.”

“And then I th-th-thought he was going to cuc-cuc-come at us,” observed
Gamp.

“It was lucky for him that he decided to let us alone,” declared Hodge.

“Yah!” cried Hans. “You bet my life he vos luckiness!”

“This whole affair is most peculiar from start to finish,” said Dade
Morgan. “It has many mysterious features, and not the least mysterious
is this strange young woman who keeps her face hidden by a heavy veil
and who lives here in this gloomy house. Who is she? and what is she?”

“I scarcely think you will find any one in Cartersville who can answer
those questions,” said Frank. “It is not for us to be too inquisitive
while accepting her hospitality.”

“In one sense, we are not exactly accepting hospitality,” asserted
Stretcher. “What we receive we’re going to pay for.”

“It is hospitality none the less.”

“I dud-dud-don’t believe she tut-tut-took us in because she needs the
mum-mum-money,” declared Gamp.

“That was a bluff,” nodded Hodge.

“She made that assertion,” said Frank, “in order that we might accept
her kindness with greater freedom. It was very good of her to attempt to
make us feel more at home and less like intruders by giving us a chance
to pay for what we shall obtain.”

“Vainly I speculate upon her looks,” murmured Ready. “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 exceptionally good-looking,”
said Stretcher.

“All this speculation about her leads to nothing,” interrupted Frank.
“Besides that, as long as we are beneath this roof too much curiosity
concerning her is a matter of poor taste. It’s up to us to accept what
she has provided, pay for it liberally, and be very grateful for her
kindness. That she is a person of courage she has demonstrated by
defying the ruffianly element of the town, which has the entire place
subjugated and trembling beneath a reign of terror. I admire her nerve,
and I am ready to render her assistance or 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. How apoudt you, Choe? Speech up und declaration
yourseluf.”

“I gug-gug-guess she can depend on the whole of us to bub-bub-back her,”
said Gamp.

“We’re still in the land of the hostiles,” reminded Jack Ready. “His
nibs, Mattie Madison, must still be smarting a trifle over what happened
to him when he endeavored to lay violent hands on our leader, and it is
probable that he will seek retaliation.”

“Besides that,” smiled Badger, “Carey Cameron must be some sore because
he failed to hold Merry up and the lady whipped the horse in an attempt
to run him down. I have a notion we’ll hear further from him. That’s
whatever.”

Darkness came on slowly. The rooms were supplied with oil lamps, which
the boys lighted. They prepared for dinner, and at the expiration of an
hour after they entered the house a set of chimes in the lower hall
summoned them.

They filed down and were conducted to the dining room by the same solemn
Chinaman who had admitted them 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 to find seats around it before they discovered there were
only eleven chairs.

“It’s all right,” said Merry, in a low tone. “It’s plain we’re not to
enjoy the society of our hostess during this meal.”

When they were seated two women in black, with white aprons, appeared
and served soup.

At first the boys were somewhat oppressed by the situation, but Merry
soon started things up with a jest and they began to enjoy themselves.

“Although we met a warm reception in this town,” said Frank, “it was not
much worse than the reception given Ready the first time he visited
Niagara Falls. When Jack stepped off the trolley he found several
carriages waiting for passengers. He capered over to one of 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. “He failed to note my marvelous
beauty, and he thought he could get gay with me. He lost as much as
fifty small coins of the realm by that joke.”

“You should remember, Jack,” said Rattleton, “that beauty is only din
skeep—er, that is skin deep.”

“But I’m very thick-skinned,” retorted Ready promptly. “Tra-la-la!”

“Vale, in Puffalo,” said Dunnerwurst, “I vos consulted.”

“Insulted, Hans,” corrected Morgan.

“Shoot yourseluf apoudt der bronunciation,” gurgled Hans. “Dese vos der
vay in vich id habbened. A street car vos riding on me ven a chent who
vos intoxicated came apoard. A numper uf laties peen on dot car, und I
thought id vos a shame. I rose me up und caldt to der corn doctor. Says
I to dot corn doctor: ‘Do you bermit intoxicationed men to ride der cars
ondo?’ ‘Yah,’ saidt der corn doctor. ‘Sid down und shut up und nopody
vill know you vos drunk.’ Dot made a seddlement by me, und don’d you
vorget him.”

“Did you notice that terrible thing about the epidemic in Chicago?”
asked Frank seriously.

“The epidemic? What epidemic?” asked Rattleton instantly.

“Why, the whole city is sick. I saw it in the newspaper this morning.
The first words I read in the paper were: ‘Chicago, Ill.’”

Somebody groaned. It was Browning, who had dropped his fork and seemed
about to collapse.

“That makes me ill myself!” he gasped huskily. “I never thought it of
you, Merry! You are rapidly descending to the level of such buffoons as
Ready and his kind.”

“I admit it was a bad one,” smiled Frank, “and I promise 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 were hungry, but when the dessert
was over even Dunnerwurst confessed that he was more than satisfied.

As they were leaving the dining room Frank was about to ask for the
hostess, when she appeared. Merry again protested that they feared they
were causing her great inconvenience.

“Not at all,” she declared. “I shall not be home to-night, and I decided
to caution you before leaving the house. At the top of the stairs and at
the rear there is a room with a black door. Although you have perfect
liberty in the rest of the house, I wish it understood that you are to
keep away from that room with the black door.”

“You may depend on it that we’ll not go near the room,” pledged Merry
instantly.

“And should you hear strange sounds in the night there will be no cause
for alarm. Pay no attention to anything you may hear. That is all. I
shall return before you leave in the morning.”

She then bade them good night in a pleasant manner, and, being dressed
for the street and still heavily veiled, left at once.

“More mystery!” grunted Browning, as they were once more gathered in the
big room upstairs.

“A room with a bub-bub-bub-black door!” exploded Gamp.

“Und stranch noises may hear us in der nighdt!” cried Dunnerwurst.
“Poys, you vos indo a haunted house!”

“La! la!” said Jack Ready easily. “I am ne’er disturbed by departed
spirits. They alarm me not.”

“Why did she go out to-night?” questioned Hodge.

“It is my idea,” laughed Frank, “that we will occupy about all the beds
in the house. Quite likely she went out to find a place to sleep. I feel
guilty over it, but she 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 go poking round on the
top floor looking for a room with a bub-bub-black door,” declared Gamp.

“I’m afraid I’ll not sleep very well to-night,” acknowledged Rattleton.

“I vos anodder,” confessed Hans. “Vrankie, vos ghosts afraidt uf you?”

“Not that I know of,” answered Merry.

“Vale, in der room vich you haf selectioned dere vos 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 when I hear any one snoring.”

“I vill nod dood id,” promised the Dutchman. “I vill 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 be thankful,” said
Harry.

“Lo, and behold! you are exceedingly timid,” mocked Ready.

They soon fell to joking and laughing, after their usual manner, and, in
spite of the mystery which seemed to hover near, the evening passed
pleasantly.

Some time in the night Frank was awakened by something that caused him
to lift his head from the pillow and listen.

At first he could not make out what it was, but after a while he decided
that it was some person singing somewhere in the house. Finally the
singing became somewhat more distinct, and he decided that it was the
voice of a woman. The song, as best he could determine, was a lullaby,
such as a mother might croon above the crib of her sleeping babe. It was
strangely pathetic and gave Frank a peculiar sensation of sadness. To
him it seemed as if the person who sang that song had met with a
terrible affliction and was thus softly pouring forth the grief of a
broken heart.

Merry thought of the warning of the mysterious veiled woman and how she
had cautioned them to pay no attention to anything they might hear.
Still he could 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 of the house. A moment
after he opened the door it stopped, and, although he remained there for
fully ten minutes, he heard it no more.

Hodge was sleeping soundly, and Dunnerwurst breathing heavily, on the
verge of snoring, when Merry crept back into bed.

It was some time after that before Merriwell again closed his eyes in
sleep. He longed to investigate the mystery, but the promise made to the
veiled woman restrained him. He was inclined to fancy he had not slept
at all when he was once more awakened.

Something soft and cold, almost clammy, was touching his cheek gently
with a patting motion.

In a twinkling he was wide awake, but he did not stir.

He felt a presence near him and knew some one or something was bending
over the bed!

A chill ran over him.

The touch on his cheek was like the cold hand of a dead person!

Then he heard a voice—that of a woman—which softly murmured:

“Sleep, my baby—sleep! Mother is near!”

Fear passed from Frank in a twinkling, and he stirred, making a grab at
the hand that had touched him.

Quick as he was, he was not quick enough, although he barely missed as
the hand was snatched away.

Springing up, he saw a shadowy figure in white gliding toward the door.

At that moment Dunnerwurst awoke and beheld the figure as it flitted
past the couch.

Uttering a squawk of terror, the Dutchman rolled off the couch with a
crash.

Hodge leaped from the bed and grappled with Frank as Merry came round
the foot in pursuit of the mysterious visitor. Before he could realize
his mistake Hans had clutched them both round the legs, chattering:

“Safe me from der ghost! Safe me! safe me!”

Frank broke away, but the visitor was gone. Merry rushed out of the
room, but he was too late.

This racket had aroused the others, and they came flocking from their
rooms, demanding the cause of the trouble.

“Hans had a bad case of nightmare, I think,” said Merry.

They found the Dutchman with his head under the couch, whither he had
attempted to crawl. Bart struck a light and Merry pulled Dunnerwurst
out.

“Vos der ghost gone alretty yet?” asked Hans, his teeth chattering.

“There was no ghost,” assured Frank.

“Don’d you toldt me so!” palpitated the frightened fellow. “Der ghost
seen me mit my own eyes! Yah!”

“Nonsense,” said Merriwell. “I tell you there was no ghost.”

“Vot vos id dot seen me all in vite?” demanded Hans.

“That was either Bart or myself. If you’re going to kick up such a
disturbance you’ll have to sleep somewhere else.”

It proved no simple matter to convince the Dutchman that he had not seen
a ghost. The boys ridiculed him until he relapsed into sulky silence,
and finally all went back to bed.

“What was it, Merry?” asked Bart, when they were once more in bed.
“Wasn’t there some person in this room?”

“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 falling asleep, to be
finally aroused by the touch of an ice-cold hand and to hear the voice
of a woman who seemed to fancy she was speaking to a sleeping babe.

“I take no stock in spooks,” said Hodge; “but I’ll be rather pleased
when we get out of this ranch.”

“On the contrary,” averred Merry, “if it were not a breach of
hospitality I’d like to remain here for the purpose of solving the
mystery.”

Ten minutes later he was sound asleep, and he slept soundly until
morning.

                               CHAPTER XV

                          CAMERON’S CHALLENGE.

The boys were finishing their breakfast when John, the Chinaman,
appeared and stated that there was a gentleman at the door who wished to
speak with Frank.

Frank left the table and went to the door, Hodge following him, in case
there should be trouble.

Carey Cameron was waiting on the step.

“That heathen is decidedly inhospitable,” laughed Cameron pleasantly,
removing a cigarette from his lips and holding it between a discolored
thumb and forefinger. “He left me standing out here, like a huckster.
But I understand that visitors—with the exception of yourselves—are not
welcome in this house.”

Merriwell waited for the man to announce why he had called.

“I presume you’re surprised to see me here at this early hour,” said the
man. “Oh, I’m alone! There’s no 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 willing to explain and
apologize. You may have learned of the baseball mix-up in Cartersville.”

“I have heard something about it.”

“Well, perhaps you know that I am manager of the new Cartersville
baseball team. Gaddis and his bunch of stiffs have been put out of
business. He has taken to the woods. Two of his best men have signed
with me. The others are in retirement.”

Merriwell wondered what the man was driving at.

“My team will be complete to-day and every man on hand ready for
business. I had arranged to open the season to-morrow with Bloomfield.
Received a message late last evening that Bloomfield would not appear.
The duffers! They are afraid to come.”

“If what I have heard about past methods of conducting baseball here is
true,” said Merry, “I don’t wonder 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 rooters have been rather rough on
visiting teams in the past, 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 by intimidating
visitors,” said Cameron. “When you learn the line-up of my team you’ll
agree that I have the players. Among them I have Johnson, the great
colored player, formerly of the Chicago Giants. Then there is Moran,
from Springfield; Hickey, of Indianapolis; Tonando, with the Kansas City
team last season; and Weaver, the great Indian fielder. The others are
just as good. I have a team that can defeat anything on the turf in the
middle West, and when we get into trim we’ll be able to make some of the
big leaguers hustle. I’m going to give Cartersville and southern Iowa
such baseball as was never before seen in these parts.”

“How does this interest me?” inquired Frank.

“I’m coming to that. I presume you’re rather hot over your treatment in
this town.”

“You presume correctly.”

“Well, I don’t blame you; but you see Gaddis was given fair notice to
quit, and he persisted in holding on. He had no business to make a
contract with you. At that time he had been told to get out and warned
that he would not be able to play after a certain date. He had an idea
that the law would support him, and he attempted to fight me and the
majority of baseball people in town. We had to make it good and hot for
him. We began by driving visiting teams out of the place without giving
them a chance to play. We thought Gaddis would throw up the sponge when
he found he couldn’t get teams here. At last we were compelled to get
after Gaddis himself, and yesterday he tumbled and skipped.”

“All this explaining does not justify you in the least.”

“Perhaps not; but there you are. I’m ready to apologize, if that suits
you better.”

“Even an apology can’t square it,” asserted Hodge.

“I’m very sorry,” declared Cameron. “I’ve told the boys that you are to
be treated with the utmost courtesy during the rest of your stay in
town.”

“Which will be very brief,” said Frank. “We shall leave on the ten A.M.
train to-day.”

“I hope not. I am here to offer you inducements to play with my team
to-morrow. It will be the opening game, and I know we’ll turn out a mob
of people.”

“When it comes to nerve,” said Bart, “that is just about the full
limit!”

“If you’ll play,” Cameron went on, “I’ll give you a fixed sum, or I’ll
pay you two-thirds the net gate receipts, win or lose. Besides that I’ll
put you up at the Mansion House, and the best Cartersville affords shall
be yours. Can you ask for anything fairer?”

“It sounds very fine,” laughed Merry; “but what we have seen and heard
has taught us the folly of dealing with you and the class of people you
represent.”

“Then you refuse?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You’re afraid! That’s what’s the matter! You have made a great
reputation, and you’re afraid of being defeated.”

“That is the very least of my fears, sir. We opened in Los Angeles with
the Chicago Cubs, defeating them two out of three games. I hardly think
we would fear you after that.”

“Oh, I don’t know! If you had lost all three games to the Chicagos it
would have been no disgrace. After your triumphant career this season,
you might feel sore if you dropped a game to a new team here in
Cartersville.”

“As far as possible,” said Merry, “I seek to deal with gentlemen.”

Cameron flushed the least bit, and a wicked look came to his eyes.

“I don’t fancy the insinuation!” he exclaimed. “I have 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 are afraid. I have heard
of you, Mr. Merriwell. You have a reputation for nerve, but it seems
that you have very little real nerve. You are challenged to play my
team. You dare not play! You know I can defeat you. You’re a squealer!”

“All that sort of talk never drove me into anything I had decided not to
do, and never could,” said Frank.

Then, to his surprise, the mysterious woman, still wearing the heavy
veil, stepped quickly from the house and placed a hand on his arm.

“Accept the challenge, Mr. Merriwell,” exclaimed the lips hidden behind
the veil. “Play him for my sake—and defeat him! You can do it!”

“Do you realize, miss, the manner in which we shall be handicapped? We
are in a strange town, and a place where there is little chance that
we’ll be given a fair show. Even the umpire would be against us.”

“To satisfy you on that point,” cried Cameron, “I’ll permit 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 the
nerve.”

“Play him!” again urged the mysterious woman. “For my sake!”

“With the understanding that I am to furnish the umpire——” began Merry.

“It’s a go!” cried Cameron, in satisfaction. “With the team I shall put
onto the field, it will be an easy matter to defeat you. There’ll be no
need of anything but straight and legitimate baseball to do that.”

“Very well,” said Merry. “We’ll play you, Mr. Cameron.”

As Cameron departed the strange woman spoke excitedly to Frank.

“You will win!” she declared. “I feel it! I know it! He is confident
there is no need to resort to crooked methods to defeat you. He’ll try
to get bets on 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 I have certain scruples
about betting. I may have made wagers in the past, but I am sure I shall
never again do so, either with my own money or that of another.”

“Let her bet on us, if she wants to,” urged Hodge warmly. “I, too, feel
it in my bones that we’ll take a fall out of Cameron’s great
aggregation. I know every fellow 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 laid down for myself,” he
said. “Even if Cameron is confident of success, and begins a square
game, he may resort to treachery if he becomes alarmed before the
finish. He’ll not intend to lose the opening game with his team. That
would disgust the tough element that is backing him. He would lose
prestige at once.”

Frank was immovable on his point.

The boys were greatly surprised when Merry informed them of the
challenge and acceptance.

“Py Shimminy!” cried Dunnerwurst. “Ve vill gif them der greatest run
their money for that you efer saw. 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,” assured the hostess. “If you
defeat Cameron, I shall be more than repaid.”

“But we are going to pay you good, cold cash for what we have received.
That was the agreement.”

She began to demur, but Frank insisted that she had made that a part of
the agreement when she took them in, and at last she consented to accept
payment.

Having settled by compelling her to take twenty dollars, although she
was unwilling to the very last to accept more than ten, the boys picked
up and started off gayly for the hotel.

“I toldt you vot,” said Hans, as they descended the hill, “I vos glat to
got dot house oudt uf. No matteration vot you say, I vos postiveness I
seen a ghost last nighdt indo. Id scooted me by like a streak of vind,
und id gif me der shiverings all ofer your back. Dot blace been
haunted.”

Although they laughed at him, the Dutchman continued to insist that he
had seen a ghost.

As they marched into town they were observed with curiosity by the
people of the place. A mob of youngsters quickly gathered and followed
them along the street.

At the Mansion House they found Mat Madison and several of his
companions of the previous day standing on the steps. Apparently they
had been waiting for Frank and his team to appear.

Madison leered at Merry.

“Say,” he cried, “you won’t prance with your head so high in the air
after our team gits through with you to-morrow. We’ll take some of the
starch outer you.”

“Great blizzards!” exclaimed Badger. “Does that play on Cameron’s team?”

“You bet,” answered the bruiser. “Cameron signed me for my hittin’.
There ain’t no pitcher in the business that I can’t hit.”

“That should make you tremble, Frank,” laughed Morgan.

None of the young thugs offered to molest Merry or 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 you might 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 you I’d arrange it.
You’re to have the very best the house affords, and I’ll settle the
bills. I can afford to, considering the trimming we’re going to hand out
to you to-morrow.”

“You seem inclined to count your chickens before they 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, that means you dare not
bet.”

“It means just what I said—I never bet.”

“Oh, well, if any of your bunch feels like sporting a little I’ll be
open for business up to the time the umpire calls ‘Play!’ It adds
interest to any event to make a little wager on it. I’m not in baseball
for my health. We’re going to pay you the biggest part of the gate
money, and so I’ll have to catch some money somehow. Considering your
record, there ought to be some sports with nerve enough to take a chance
on you.”

Cameron’s manner was offensive, although it was not likely he meant it
to be.

The accommodations at the Mansion House were none too good, and the
place seemed poor enough after the plain comforts of the private house
they had just left. Nevertheless, they were inclined to make the best of
everything, kicking being in disfavor among them.

At the earliest opportunity Merry took occasion to seek information
concerning the mysterious woman who lived on the hill; but he soon
discovered that no one in the place knew much about her, save that she
had appeared some ten weeks before and leased the house for the summer.
The place was furnished, its owner 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 that she as occupying the house, together with a number
of servants, both male and female.

“No one could be found who had ever seen her without her heavy veil. She
had discouraged all efforts at familiarity or friendliness on the part
of the villagers. It appeared to be a matter of wonder that Merriwell
and his friends had been admitted to the house, as they were the only
ones outside the members of her household to cross the threshold since
she took possession. One old woman gossip of the town had made repeated
attempts to get in on one pretext or another, but had been rebuffed each
time. The townspeople were not only piqued and mystified by the woman,
they were not a little offended, and the rougher element had threatened
to tear the veil from her face in order to see what she looked like.”

All this was interesting but unsatisfactory. Merry felt that he would
sincerely regret to leave Cartersville without solving the mystery of
the veiled woman.

                              CHAPTER XVI

                          AN ASTOUNDING WAGER.

The expected members of the new local team arrived before noon that day.
In the afternoon Cameron had them out for practice.

They were, indeed, for the most part, well-known players, seven of them,
at least, being professionals with records. Several were league men who
had been blacklisted for one offense or another. Taken all together,
they were a tough set and just the aggregation to win a game by
bulldozing when other methods failed. They made a team that was certain
to be heartily approved by the local toughs.

These players, the most of them, also stopped at the Mansion House. They
looked Frank’s team over, with no effort to conceal their merriment and
disdain. To them Merry’s players were a lot of stripplings.

“We’ll eat ’em up,” said Big Hickey, the Indianapolis man. “Why, dey
won’t last t’ree innin’s.”

“Sho’ not,” chuckled Wash Johnson, the colored player from the Chicago
Giants. “Dey is a lot o’ college fellers. Nebber seen none o’ dem
college fellers dat could play de game wid professionals. No, sar.”

“They ain’t got-a da nerve,” observed Tony Tonando, the Italian from
Kansas City. “Sometimes they play one-a, two or three-a inning first-a
rate; but they no keep-a it up.”

“Easy frightened, easy frightened,” grunted Wally Weaver, the Indian.
“When they play too well, then jump in and scare them. That’s easy.”

“Look here, you chaps,” said Tunk Moran, who had made a great reputation
on the Springfield, Illinois, team, but had been fired for drinking, “I
happen to know something about Frank Merriwell, and you’re off your
trolley if you think you’re going to win from him by scaring him. If you
beat that chap you’ll have to play baseball, and don’t you forget it.”

The others laughed at this and ridiculed Moran.

“All right,” he growled. “Just you wait until after the game and see if
you don’t agree with me.”

The appearance of Cameron’s team in suits when they left the hotel to
march to the ball ground was the signal for a great demonstration on the
part of the youngsters of Cartersville, who were waiting to escort them.
The cheering brought a number of the Merries to windows to look out, and
they saw their opponents-to-be set off down the street, followed by the
admiring crowd.

“Behold the gladiators whom we are to meet in the arena!” cried Jack
Ready.

“They’re a hot bunch of old-stagers,” grunted Browning.

“It will keep us busy to cool them off,” said Frank. “Don’t get the idea
that they are has beens. Half of them could play on fast league teams if
they were not crooked and rebellious. They will go after us savage, with
the idea of taking the sand out of us at the very start.”

“On the other hand,” said Rattleton, “if we get a start on them early in
the game all the hoodlums will be against us and we’ll be in danger of
the mob.”

“I have thought about that,” declared Frank. “I have a plan. Come,
fellows, and we’ll talk it over.”

They gathered in one room, and Merry explained his plan, speaking as
follows:

“Rattleton is right in fancying it will not do to get a big lead on
those fellows at an early stage in the game. Of course, we might not be
able to do so, even if we tried; but should the opportunity offer, we
must still refrain from it and take chances on our ability to pull out
toward the end. Cameron has no idea of permitting us to take the game
under any circumstances. If we started off like winners the hoodlums
would be set on us. I’ve had more than one experience with hoodlums.
They can make it hot for any team by crowding down to the base lines,
insulting the players, stoning them and doing a hundred things to rattle
them. I am confident that, as long as the crowd has a belief that the
local team is sure to win it will behave in a fairly decent manner.
Cameron will make an effort to hold the toughs in check. Therefore, we
must resort to the stratagem of keeping close to the enemy all through
the game, with the hope of winning at the very finish by an unexpected
spurt that will take them by 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. “If you could fix it with
Cameron so that we may have our last turn at bat, there is a possible
show for us.”

“I’ll do what I can,” assured Merriwell, “although it 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 the best we can. But I wish you all to keep in
mind the scheme I have proposed, and play from the start with the idea
of holding them down and keeping close to them, so that we may have a
chance at the finish.”

To this they agreed readily enough.

During the remainder of the day they saw nothing of the strange woman
who had befriended them.

The following morning, directly after breakfast, a stranger appeared at
the Mansion House.

He was a quiet, smooth-faced young man, and he registered as “Warren
Doom, Chicago.”

Doom betrayed interest at once when he learned there was to be a
baseball game in town that afternoon, and when he was told that the
locals were to meet Frank Merriwell’s team, his interest became genuine
enthusiasm. He was purchasing a cigar at the counter 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 seen Merriwell pitch once, and he’s a wonder.
I’ve always longed to see him again. Your team hasn’t a chance against
him.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed the man behind the counter disdainfully. “I
reckon you don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve got a team right
here in this town that can skin anything outside the two big leagues.
Our players are professionals and crackajacks. This Merriwell bunch
looks like a lot of boys. They’re amateurs, and Cartersville will bury
them up this afternoon.”

“Oh, come, come!” smiled Doom. “It’s plain you are the one who doesn’t
know what he’s talking about. I don’t care how many professionals you
have, Merriwell will 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 Carey Cameron, puffing
at a cigarette, came sauntering up. “The cocksure gentleman never saw
ten thousand dollars.”

Doom turned with his freshly lighted cigar in his mouth and his hands in
his pockets, surveying Cameron critically.

“Who are you?” he inquired. “Why are you so sudden to chip into this?”

“I’m the manager of the Cartersville baseball team, and my name is
Cameron. I happened to hear you making a lot of bluff betting talk,
which I am positive you can’t back up.”

“How positive are you?”

“Positive enough to stake ten thousand dollars against a similar sum
that Cartersville will win to-day. Put up—or shut up!”

“I don’t happen to have ten thousand dollars in cash on my person.”

“Of course not!” cried Cameron sneeringly. “Bluffers never 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 thousand dollars, and I
believe the cashier at your bank will recognize it as good. If you are
not running a bluff I’ll step out to the bank with you and deposit my
check in the hands of one of the bank officials, with the understanding
that I am backing Frank Merriwell and you are to put up a similar sum to
back your own team. Now you put up—or shut up!”

Cameron was somewhat surprised, but he recovered quickly, still
confident that Doom was still bluffing.

“Come on!” he almost shouted. “Come out to the bank! I can raise ten
thousand dollars if your old check is good. I’ll do it, too! It will be
like finding a small fortune.”

The man from Chicago was ready to go.

“But wait a moment,” said the manager of the local team. “I want to tell
you something. I hate to be fooled, and it makes me very disagreeable.
In case I accompany you to the bank and find this is what I believe it
to be—a bluff—you’ll be very sorry. I warn you that you’ll leave
Cartersville in such a condition that you’ll require medical attention
for some time to come.”

“Come on, man,” said Doom, with curling lips. “You are wasting your
breath. You’ll find I am in earnest, although I fancy you are the one
who will squeal.”

Together they left the hotel and started for the bank.

The man who had sold Doom a cigar and overheard this conversation ran
out after them and told what had happened to a number of loiterers who
were in front of the hotel. Immediately these loiterers hustled away
after Cameron and Doom, greatly excited over what they had heard.

“Ten thousand dollars!” exclaimed one. “Cameron will make a fortune off
this first game!”

“I don’t believe it!” declared another. “Nobody is fool enough to bet
Cameron ten thousand dollars.”

“The man is joking,” was the opinion expressed by a third.

“Then it will be a mighty poor joke for him when Carey Cameron is done
with him,” said the first.

Outside the bank they lingered and waited. Cameron and Doom were inside
a full quarter hour, but finally they appeared. Immediately the crowd
besieged the manager of the local team to know if such a bet had really
been made.

“Sure thing,” nodded Cameron, with a smile of confidence. “This
gentleman had a certified check that was good, and I covered it. There
is a wager of ten thousand dollars on the result of the game to-day.”

The report spread like wildfire. In less than an hour, it seemed, every
man, woman, and child over six years of age in Cartersville knew of the
amazing wager that had been made. The report was wired to surrounding
towns and carried into the country in various ways.

By midday people from out of town began to appear in Cartersville. At
first they straggled in, but as the time passed they came faster and
thicker. They came from the country in conveyances of all sorts, while
the 12.48 P.M. train brought at least a hundred. The streets took on a
surprising appearance of life. Men gathered in groups and discussed the
wonderful bet that had been made. Some were skeptical and pronounced it
an advertising dodge on the part of Cameron. Others there were who knew
the stakeholder, or knew those who did know him, and they protested that
the wager was on the level.

At any rate, never had so much excitement over a game of baseball been
aroused in such a brief time in the whole State of Iowa.

A later train brought a still larger number of visitors, and the influx
from the country continued up to the hour for the game to begin.

No sooner were the gates opened at the ball ground than the great crowd
waiting outside made a push to get in and secure seats. It required the
united efforts of a number of local officers, who had been summoned by
Cameron for that purpose, to hold the eager people back.

In the meantime Merriwell and his friends had learned of the wager. At
first all were inclined to laugh over it, thinking, like many others,
that it was an advertising scheme. After a while, however, they began to
have reasons to believe there was something of truth in the report.

“By Jove!” cried Morgan. “We’ll be playing for a fortune 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 Cameron is the sort to lose
that amount of money. He’ll fix 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. “Cameron is no fool.”

“I am certain that he depends mainly on the skill of his players,” said
Frank. “He cannot believe it possible that a lot of amateurs stand a
show of downing those professionals. There will be nothing crooked as
long as it appears to him that his players have the best chance to take
the game. We must fool them, fellows.”

“We’ll do our best, Frank,” was the assurance they gave him.

Never had there been such a wonderful outpouring to witness a baseball
game in all that region. When Frank and his players entered the
inclosure they found the stand packed, the bleachers black with people,
and a great gathering held back by ropes stretched on both sides of the
field. Besides that, the officers employed by Cameron were kept busy
chasing spectators out of the outfield.

Not only did it seem that all Cartersville was there, but more than a
like number of people had come in from outside the town.

The Merries were received with a hearty cheer. They hurried to their
bench, lost no time in laying out their bats, pulling off their
sweaters, adjusting gloves and preparing for practice. At a word from
Frank they trotted briskly onto the field, and practice began.

Merry warmed up with Stretcher as catcher, while Hodge and Starbright
batted to the men practicing on the diamond and in the field.

Frank was slow and deliberate in warming up. He did not use speed, but
limbered his arm gradually. Toward the last he threw two or three fairly
swift ones and let it go at that.

The players, however, went at it in earnest from the very start, and
both infield and outfield work was of a snappy and sensational order.

At a quarter to three the local players, with Cameron leading them,
appeared. Instantly there was a great uproar from the toughs of the town
who had been supporting Cameron. They rose up and yelled like a lot of
Indians. Not only that, but they insisted that every one else should
yell and threatened those who did not.

“Them’s our boys!” they cried. “Cheer, you duffers—cheer!”

If any one declined to cheer he suddenly found himself beaten over the
head by two or three of the toughs, who insisted that he must “open up,”
and this came near causing a general riot.

Not for at least five minutes after the arrival of the Cartersville team
did the commotion cease. Even then there were symptoms of anger and
resentment in a number of places amid the crowd, and it seemed as if a
spark might fire the powder and bring about an explosion.

Frank called his players from the field, and the home team went out for
practice.

Merry found an opportunity to speak with Cameron, but the local manager
insisted on his privilege of choosing 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 knowing it.

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 out onto 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 mysterious veiled woman
darted onto the diamond and grasped his arm with her gloved hand.

“Win this game, Frank Merriwell!” she urged huskily. “My fortune—yes, my
life—depends upon it!”

                              CHAPTER XVII

                       THE VEILED WOMAN’S SECRET.

“I assure you, Miss Blake, that I shall do my best to win,” said
Merriwell wonderingly; “but I can’t understand what you mean by the
statement that your fortune 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 on the result of this
game?”

“Of course. A gentleman from Chicago, by the name 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 have in the world. I also
happen to know that ten thousand dollars 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 very foolish to take such a risk. You
know all the chances are against us. If we win we must do so by
strategy. I cannot understand why you should make such a venture.”

“I hate Carey Cameron!” she hissed. “I wish to ruin him—to strip him of
his last dollar! He married my sister and treated her in the most brutal
and inhuman manner until he forced her to give him all of her fortune,
which he squandered in dissipation and gambling. After that he used her
in the most inhuman manner, making her a prisoner in her own house. Her
baby he starved and abused until the poor thing died. In the end my
sister’s mind gave way, and he placed her in a madhouse.

“Why shouldn’t I hate him? Now you understand my reasons! I have sworn
to ruin him, and for that purpose I am living here in Cartersville. He
does not know me. He never saw my face, but I bear a strong resemblance
to my sister as she looked when he married her, and I fear he might
detect the resemblance should he behold me unveiled. For that reason I
keep my face hidden constantly.

“You know my secret, Frank Merriwell. You are the first to whom I have
revealed it since coming here. I hope to strike a blow at him to-day. If
I fail—if you lose the game—my money will be gone, and I shall have no
means of keeping up the struggle. What will there be for me then? I
might as well be dead!”

At last Frank understood her secret, but that did not relieve him of his
vexation on account of her folly, as he considered it. He saw that she
was extremely impulsive. She had accepted this crude method of seeking
revenge on Cameron, without sufficiently considering the danger that the
result might be disastrous to herself; but now, as the struggle was
about to begin, a full realization of the peril made her tremble and
quake.

There was no rectifying her folly. The only way to save her was to win
the game.

“Play ball! play ball!” howled the rough element of the 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 rely on me to do my best;
but I warn you in advance that the chances are strongly in favor of
Cameron.”

“I have confidence in you,” she declared. “That is why I made that
wager. I have had confidence in you from the moment when I first set
eyes on you. Something tells 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 uncertainty until the very end of the game,
as we dare not take the lead too soon.”

Once more declaring her confidence in him, and seeming not to mind the
cries of the crowd, she retired from the diamond and the game began.

Following was the line-up of each team:

                CARTERSVILLE.       MERRIES.
               Grady, cf.           Ready, 3d b.
               Moran, ss.           Morgan, ss.
               Johnson, 1st b.      Badger, lf.
               Madison, rf.         Hodge, c.
               Tonando, 3d b.       Merriwell, p.
               Gibson, lf.          Gamp, cf.
               Hickey, 2d b.        Browning, 1st b.
               Collins, c.          Rattleton, 2d b.
               Weaver, p.           Dunnerwurst, rf.

A yell of delight went up from the crowd as Grady met the first ball
pitched and drove out a scorching single.

“We’re off! we’re off!” whooped Gibson, as he capered down to the
coaching line back of first. “Keep it going, Moran!”

Moran responded by bunting and attempting to “beat it out.”

On the bunt Grady reached second, but Frank got the ball and threw Moran
out at first.

“All right, chillun!” grinned Johnson, the colored player, as he ran out
to hit. “Why, we’s gwine to make a hundred right heah.”

Frank gave him a swift inshoot.

“G’way dar, ma-a-an!” shouted Johnson. “Yo’ll sho’ 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’s gwine 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 nebber fool dis chicken dat
way.”

Merry tried a high ball, using lots of speed.

The batter hit it fairly and laced it on a line far into the field.

“Yah! yah! yah!” he whooped, as he scooted for first. “Dat pitcher was
made fo’ me.”

Sitting on the bench, Carey Cameron saw Grady come home on the hit,
while Johnson reached third base.

“This is going to be too easy,” said Cameron, to one of the substitutes.
“It won’t do to run the score up too high and not give those poor dubs a
show, for it will disgust the crowd and hurt baseball here for the rest
of the season. I’ll have to hold the boys down the 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 bruiser made an insulting
remark to Frank as he took his position at the plate.

“You’ll be a puddin’ for me,” he declared.

Instantly Merry resolved to strike Madison out. He gave Hodge a signal
which Bart understood.

Frank began with the double shoot. Madison fancied the first ball
pitched was just what he wanted and slashed at it with all his strength.

He missed.

“Strike one!” cried Starbright.

“Accident,” said Madison. “I’ll hit the next one I go after.”

Merry reversed the curve, and Madison missed again, much to his
wonderment and disgust.

“Give me another just like that,” he urged.

“Here it is,” said Merry, and he actually pitched another of the same
sort as the last.

“You’re out!” declared Starbright, as the bruiser missed the third time.

Madison was astounded and infuriated.

“Wait till my turn comes again!” he snarled, as he flung the bat down.

“Get-a ready to score, you black-a rascal,” cried Tonando to Johnson, as
he danced out to the plate.

“I’s waitin’, ma-a-an,” retorted Johnson, dancing off third and back
again. “Just yo’ git any kind of a hit an’ see me cleave de air.”

Tonando let one pass and then met the next, getting a safe single on a
fast grounder that Rattleton failed to touch.

“Just as e-e-easy, chillun!” laughed Johnson, as he came home. “Why, dis
is a cinch!”

The crowd now redoubled its ridicule of Merriwell.

Gibson prepared to hit, being overconfident. To his surprise, he missed
twice. Then he put up an easy infield 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 have obtained many more with ease.

Without letting them secure too many runs, Merry had placed them in a
frame of mind that would enable him to deceive them for a while, at
least, before they awoke to their mistake.

The first three batters for the visitors fanned the air, seeming utterly
bewildered by the curves and speed of 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, although it seemed more by
bungling good fortune than anything else that the Merries held their
opponents down.

The fact was that Cameron had warned his players not to get too long a
lead. He was perfectly at his ease, fully believing his team quite
outclassed the visitors and could win the game by heavy batting in a
single inning, if necessary.

In this manner the game slipped along with neither side making further
runs until the sixth inning.

In the last of the sixth the visitors sprang a surprise on Cameron’s
men. Morgan led off with a hit, Badger sacrificed him to second. Hodge
sacrificed him to third, and Frank brought him home with a slashing
two-bagger.

That made the spectators sit up and take notice.

It also aroused Carey Cameron, causing him to realize the possible
danger that the amateurs might make a spurt when such a thing was least
expected. He was relieved when Weaver struck Gamp out.

“We must have some more runs, boys,” said Cameron, as his players
gathered about him. “Jump right in now and make them. Not too many, but
enough to have the game safely in hand.”

They responded by getting a single score, and it seemed that pure
accident prevented the piling up of several more.

In the last of the seventh the Merries did not make a run, Weaver
seeming to have them at his mercy.

Again in the eighth, although Cartersville got two men onto the sacks,
no scores were made on either side.

The ninth inning opened with the score three to one in favor of the
locals.

“That’s really lead enough,” said Cameron; “but one or two more runs
will not spoil the game. I want you to 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 just help me circle
the bags.”

He was positive he could get a hit then, but some of his conceit
evaporated when he fanned twice and was fooled both times.

There had not been much complaint against Starbright’s work as umpire,
for Cartersville was holding the lead and fancied that lead could be
increased any time. Just now Moran was unable to kick, as he was
swinging at the balls.

Apparently Merriwell put the next ball just where the batter wanted it.

But again Moran missed, greatly to his dismay.

“Oh, you’re a mark!” sneered Madison. “Wait till I git at him! I ain’t
got no hits to-day, but I’ve been waitin’ for this chance.”

Johnson was in position to strike.

“Look out fo’ me, ma-a-an,” he grinned. “Dis time I puts it ober de
fence. Allus does it once in a game.”

He tried hard—too hard, in fact. Like Moran, he fell an easy victim to
Merriwell’s arts.

Frank was now pitching in his best form, having thrown off all attempt
at deception.

Madison swore he would get a hit. He realized that his reputation as a
heavy batter had suffered that day.

The crowd yelled and hooted at Frank, seeking to rattle him, but his
face was perfectly grave and he seemed deaf to the uproar. In the stand
he saw a veiled woman, who sat silent and rigid, her gloved hands
clasped. He knew she was watching him, her heart heavy with despair, for
it seemed that the locals had won.

At the beginning of the game Merry had resolved not to let Madison get a
hit. Now, as the fellow came up for the last time, Frank pitched with
bewildering speed, his curves being sharp and baffling.

Although every ball pitched was a strike, Starbright had confidence in
Merry and declared two, at which the batter did not offer, to be
“balls.”

Then Merry wound up with his surprising slow ball, which seemed to hang
in the air, and Madison struck 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 for Weaver. The game is ours.”

Frank spoke to his players in low tones as they gathered around him at
the bench.

“We must go after it now,” he said. “There must be 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 to the plate. He let the
first ball pass, but hit the second and lined it out.

Hickey made a jump to one side, struck out his glove and caught the
ball. It was a handsome catch of what had looked like a safe two-bagger.

Bart’s head dropped a moment as he turned back toward the bench, but it
came up at once, and he spoke to Frank, making himself heard above the
uproar, for the crowd was yelling like madmen:

“You can do it just the same, Frank. That was a case of horseshoes.”

Merry did not try for a long hit. One run would do no good. He attempted
to place a safe single, and drove a liner into an opening in right
field.

Gamp followed, but the hopes of the visitors sank when Joe fanned out in
the most dismal manner.

The only chance now seemed for Browning to make a long, safe hit, and
the big fellow tried for it. Instead of hitting as he expected, he sent
a slow one rolling toward Moran.

Never in all his life did Bruce cover ground as he did 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 that pitching!”

Weaver flashed over a speedy one.

Harry did not move.

“One strike!” declared Starbright, his honesty compelling him to declare
it.

Weaver sent in another one.

Rattleton swung.

Crack!

Bart Hodge leaped into the air with a yell of astonishment and joy.

It was the hit of Rattleton’s whole career in baseball. Clean over the
most distant portion of centre-field fence 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.

                             CHAPTER XVIII

                       IN THE CLUB CONSERVATORY.

Their experience with the sporting element of Cartersville had been so
unpleasant that Frank and his friends had no desire to remain longer in
the town. Greatly to their surprise they were not molested in any way by
the friends of Carey Cameron, who seemed to have received a knockout
blow, and the Merries left the town by the first train for the East.

Their objective point was Ashport, where a gentleman by the name of
Robert Ashley had offered a magnificent trophy to be contested for by
all legitimate amateurs who wished to enter a cross-country running
contest. It was not that Frank, or any of his team, intended to enter
the contest that had influenced Merry to take in Ashport on his journey
to the East, but he had heard much about the man who was promoting the
event, and what he had heard had been favorable.

Ashley was an Englishman, and shortly after graduating from Oxford he
had found himself, at the death of his father, left with but a small
portion of the fortune he had been led to believe he should inherit.
Quickly realizing that the income of this reduced fortune would not
support him in the style he desired, he put aside family and caste
prejudice against “trade” and formed an unfortunate business alliance
with a shrewd rascal, who quickly succeeded by crooked methods in
robbing him of what he had left, and then threw him over to face the
world.

By the sale of personal effects, Ashley raised something like three
hundred pounds, and with this in his pocket he bade farewell to England
and turned his face toward America.

There is no need to recount his career in this country, but let it
suffice to say that, after many hardships and severe struggles, he
“struck it rich” in Colorado. For him “the mining game” was a successful
one, and within five years after fortune turned, he retired from the
struggle, many times a millionaire. His success in the face of
disappointment and hard luck he attributed to his persistence,
endurance, and staying power; and many a time he averred that these
qualities—to some extent hereditary—had been cultivated, developed, and
brought to perfection by such school-day and college sports as
cross-country running and hare and hounds.

Ashley had conceived a great admiration and love for the country in
which he had retrieved his fallen fortunes. After a visit to his former
home in the old country, he returned to the United States and finally
settled near Ashport, on the Ohio River. Whether or not he was attracted
by the name of the town it is impossible to say; but there he found
precisely the sort of country he admired and his fortune permitted him
to purchase a large estate.

He soon became actively concerned in many charitable works and he took a
great interest in all sorts of healthy outdoor sports, participating in
such as were adapted to his years and encouraging those in which he
could not longer indulge. He founded the Ashport Amateur Athletic
Association, which, although located in the country, was within easy
range of many thriving towns and two large and prosperous cities; and,
in the two years of its existence, it had made such rapid advancement in
membership and achievement that it was regarded as one of the leading
organizations of the sort in the country.

Among the members of the club were several former college men of note in
athletics, not the least of whom was Carl Prince, who became known as
the “Georgetown Wonder” when he had twice broken the American college
record in the quarter-mile run.

Other ex-college men who had accomplished things on the track and the
cinder path and later joined Ashport were Clifford Clyde, of Yale, and
Hugh Sheldon, Michigan’s remarkable hurdler and steeplechaser.

Mr. Ashley had a theory that distance running was neglected in America,
and he sought to arouse interest in it. For this purpose he had offered
a prize to be contested for at Ashport on a certain date, by any and all
legitimate amateurs of America who wished to enter the cross-country
running contest.

The sporting columns of the newspapers had thoroughly advertised the
coming event, and had commented much on the beauty and costliness of the
trophy. Having seen these articles in the papers, Frank Merriwell
planned to reach Ashport on the trip East with his athletic team in time
to witness the contest.

It happened, however, that Paul Proctor, the president of the Ashport A.
A., a Harvard grad, knew Merry well and took pains to extend him an
invitation to participate in the contest.

Although Frank had not given any thought to a participation in the
events, he had gladly accepted Proctor’s invitation, and on the day of
the tryouts he watched them from the observatory of the clubhouse which
was located at the shoulder of an oval mile track that had been
constructed for all sorts of foot races. From this observatory could be
obtained a clear and complete view of the track and grounds of the
Ashport Athletic Association.

Back of the clubhouse and to the east lay Ashport, a thriving,
up-to-date village. The river swept in a horseshoe-like curve to the
south. To the north was the estate of Robert Ashley, comprising hundreds
of acres of green fields, broad meadows, hills, valleys, and wild
woodland. On one of the hillsides, surrounded by splendid old trees,
stood Ash Hall. In order to build a home to suit himself, Mr. Ashley had
razed a house that formerly stood on the same spot.

“Who is the pacemaker?” asked Merry, as he watched the runners through a
pair of field glasses.

“That is Carl Prince, of Batavia,” answered Paul Proctor.

“Not Prince, the Georgetown Wonder?”

“The same fellow. He’s just as fast to-day as he was at college, when he
became known as the Georgetown Wonder.”

“He was a great quarter-miler,” nodded Frank, having lowered the glasses
for a moment; “but I don’t recall that he ever made a reputation as a
long-distance man.”

“Not at college,” admitted Proctor. “He didn’t go in for long-distance
work then. He has since becoming a member of the Ashport A. A.”

“I am inclined to fancy he has not changed his methods to any great
extent, and you know long-distance work is much different from sprinting
and dashes. True it is running, but runners are divided into three
classes—the sprinters, the middle-distance men, and the long-distance or
cross-country men. Those adapted for the second class named, or who have
won records or events in that class, find it more easy to become
cross-country men than do those of the first class.”

“What makes you think Prince has not changed his methods?”

“His stride, his carriage, and his tenseness. Sprinters are under strain
from start to finish in a race, and their muscles are taut. They are
liable to tie up in long runs. They forget to relax, and their muscles
become overstrained. When a man ties up in a long run he’s liable not to
finish at all. He finds himself run out at a time and point when he
should be at his very best.”

“Hollingsworth has considerable confidence in Prince.”

“Who is Hollingsworth?”

“Our trainer. He’s an Englishman, and he knows his business. He was
formerly the champion of the Middlesex Cross Country Club, in England.
We were lucky to get hold of him here.”

“Long-distance and cross-country running seems to be a fad with your
club, Proctor.”

“Naturally,” smiled the president of the club. “Mr. Robert Ashley, who
founded the club, gave us our field and track and built this handsome
clubhouse for us, is a crank on that sort of sport. In his day, he was
the greatest cross-country and hare-and-hounds man in Oxford.”

“He is an Englishman?”

“Yes. That is, he was. He’s a naturalized American now. Made a fortune
in mining and settled here. That splendid house you can see on the hill
yonder is where he lives. It is modeled after the old English country
mansion, and he calls it Ash Hall. Mr. Ashley claims that cross-country
running is the finest sport in the world to develop staying power and
endurance in a young man, and he says staying power is what the modern
young man needs to make him successful in business. He thinks there are
too many sprinters in business, who make a hot dash for a while, 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 wisdom and generosity,” he
said. “The runners are coming down the straight course to the stand. We
can get a better view of them now.”

He again lifted the glasses to his eyes, an example followed by several
other persons.

                              CHAPTER XIX

                        CONFIDENTIAL CRITICISM.

As the runners came nearer, Frank lowered the glasses and watched them
with the naked eye.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I’m afraid Prince will tie up in a long run. He is
inclined to carry his chin a bit too 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 work out the bunch.”

“Who is that second fellow—the one with the mop of light hair?”

“That’s Tom Bramwell.”

“His form is better than that of Prince; but he hasn’t the range, and
I’m afraid he’s a bit too heavy.”

“Oh, Bramwell never did anything brilliant in his life. Nobody counts on
him.”

“He’s just the man who’s liable to surprise everybody in a match of this
sort. There is a pretty runner to the left of him—the slender little
chap.”

“That’s Clifford Clyde, a Yale man.”

“Grad?”

“No; he was suspended in his sophomore year and never tried to get
back.”

“He runs easy, but lifts his feet just a little too high. The man behind
him is the best runner in the lot, if he didn’t have one bad fault.”

“That’s Hugh Sheldon, the University of Michigan hurdler. What’s the
fault?”

“The way he carries his arms. He swings them across his body, and thus
fails to get the proper lift of a direct forward swing. There is lost
motion in that swing.”

“There seems to be something the matter with them all,” muttered
Proctor, with a disappointed air.

“It is seldom you see a runner without faults,” smiled Frank. “And some
mighty good men have bad habits in running. Many wonderfully good
English long-distance runners have the fault of swinging their arms
across their bodies, yet, for all of this, they generally defeat
Americans in cross-country running and in other things which demand
endurance.”

“That’s what Mr. Ashley says, except he has made no mention of the bad
arm action of the English. If Americans run in better form, why don’t
they defeat the 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 for all men?”

“Not at all. I have arrived at a point in life when I firmly believe the
old saw: ‘What’s one man’s meat is another man’s poison.’ You can’t put
a bunch of men in training and force them all to conform to set and
rigid rules with the best result. Above everything else, a runner must
have some love for his work and a great ambition to excel. Then he
should study himself and find out just the sort of work that agrees with
him in training. He should not shirk. He should take all he can stand
without injury. He should consult with his trainer, and the trainer must
have discernment and sense enough not to underwork or overwork that man.
It requires a trainer of mighty keen discernment to determine just what
is best for a bunch of five or six men with different natures, different
habits, and varying ability. It’s likely you have done well in engaging
an English trainer, as the English excel in this style of running. How
often has he sent the men cross country?”

“Only twice thus far. He says he can get the best out of them by working
them on the track where he can watch them. He’s a good runner himself,
but in going cross country he cannot watch all the men, you know.”

Merriwell looked mildly surprised, opened his mouth to speak, then
closed his lips and remained silent.

Hodge also betrayed surprise, but maintained the silent demeanor that
had made him non-conspicuous since entering the observatory.

Proctor was too shrewd not to note Frank’s action.

“What were you thinking of saying, Merriwell?” he asked.

“Oh, not much,” answered Frank.

The runners had now turned the shoulder near the clubhouse, and all
leaned over the rail to watch them as they passed the long, low
bathhouse, which was also the residence of the track master.

After a moment, Proctor said:

“I wish you would tell me what you started to say a bit ago, Merriwell.”

“I don’t think I had better.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not the thing for me to come here and criticise the methods of
your trainer.”

“You may do so privately to me.”

Still Frank was disinclined, seeking to divert Proctor from this inquiry
by calling his attention to the fact that Bramwell had a beautiful
stride and no lost motion.

“If he had more range,” said Merry, “he would be the 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’s disposition and doesn’t
wish the fellow to get too good an opinion of himself. You know that
spoils a runner occasionally.”

Proctor slipped over close to Frank. The two men 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 absorbed in thought.

“What were you going to say about Hollingsworth’s methods a short time
ago, Merriwell?” persisted the president of the club.

“It is now three days before the great match?”

“Yes.”

“Already contestants are coming in. If you will take the pains to look
yonder and watch the woods on the side of that hill away there, using
the glass, you will soon see three runners emerge and descend the hill.
They are some of the men who are going to compete, and they are getting
practical cross-country work.”

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 came up here. There are two more chaps hidden in
that valley yonder, while still a third, a solitary fellow, is skirting
the bend of the river down yonder. It’s likely I have not seen all the
men who are out getting practical cross-country work to-day, for we know
that 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 running long ago. For the past two weeks they
should have run cross country at least five times a week, directed by
the trainer. One day out of every six in the last two weeks could have
been given to work here on the track, where Hollingsworth would be able
to watch the men and note their peculiarities and progress. Has Mr.
Ashley taken special note of Hollingsworth’s methods?”

“No; but he has confidence in Hollingsworth.”

“Well, I’m not infallible,” laughed Frank. “I’m only giving my ideas;
but I have received those ideas from 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. “You are recognized in this
country as authority on most amateur sports.”

“But I have never tried for a record in cross-country running.”

“Why don’t you try in this contest? The champions of the United States
will take part. Look at these entries: Harvey Neil, New York Athletic
Club; Philip Pope, Bay State A. A., Boston; Arthur Huntley, Bison A. A.,
Buffalo; Farwell Lyons, of the Chicago Clippers, and many others, among
whom are several college grads and ex-collegians of note. It would be a
great thing for us to have Frank Merriwell in the contest. Come on, old
man! The course has been laid off and will be announced to-morrow.
You’re in time to go over it with the men before the race.”

“But, my dear fellow,” smiled Merry, “you seem to forget that I ought to
put in two or three weeks of consistent training for such a contest if I
meant to enter.”

Unheard and unobserved, a red-faced chap in a sweater had mounted the
steps to the observatory. He had a Scotch cap pushed back on his head,
and he paused with his hands on his hips, surveying Merriwell’s back
with a look of disapproval, while he listened to the words of Frank and
Paul.

“But I have heard it claimed that you keep yourself constantly in
training, and you are now finishing a tour with your own athletic team.
If you remain here and do not enter, it will be fancied that you were
afraid. People will ask why you were present and failed 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 member of this club. If I did enter, I’d go
after it in earnest as it is my rule never to do a thing unless I do my
level best.”

“But, according to your criticism, Carl Prince has no chance of winning,
our men are being coached wrong, and all of them have faults. We have no
real chance 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. It is endurance and heart
that count in a contest of this sort, providing the runner has had
something like correct training. You pressed me for my idea of your
trainer’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, continuing to listen, an
expression of mingled anger and craft on his unpleasant face.

“Of course if you will not enter that settles it,” said Proctor; “but I
don’t believe Bramwell can defeat Pope, 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 that trophy, Proctor. I
don’t want it.”

The fellow in the sweater laughed rather harshly and sarcastically,
causing every one in the observatory to turn quickly and look at him.

“Hollingsworth!” exclaimed Proctor.

“Mr. Merriwell is very generous,” observed the laughing man cuttingly.
“It’s an easy thing for ’im to be generous in such a manner, and no one
will hever suspect ’im of timidness. He can travel on his record. I
think he is hextremely wise in keeping hout of this race.”

It was Hollingsworth, the English trainer, who betrayed his origin
whenever excited in the least by the misuse of the letter “h” in his
speech. In ordinary conversation he seldom did this.

Proctor knew at once that the trainer had overheard some of their talk,
which threw him into confusion.

Merriwell did not seem disturbed. He surveyed Hollingsworth with quiet
interest.

Proctor hastened to introduce them.

Hollingsworth did not remove his hands from his hips, but gave a little
jerk of his bullet head in acknowledgment of the introduction.

“I knew it was Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “No one helse would think of
being so hextremely generous.”

These words were meant to be very cutting.

“Besides,” continued the Englishman, as Frank did not speak at once, “no
one helse is so wonderfully wise.”

Bart Hodge was frowning blackly. He had taken an instant dislike to
Hollingsworth. He afterward confessed a desire to punch the fellow on
sight.

Proctor sought to mediate and pour oil on the waters.

“Mr. Merriwell was speaking in strict confidence to me,” he declared.
“He did not intend that any one should overhear.”

“And,” said Frank, “I had no thought that any one would come up behind
us with such pantherish steps that we could not know he was listening to
conversation not intended for his ears.”

The red face of Hollingsworth took on a deeper tinge.

“I ’ave seen these gents who go round offering secret criticisms!” he
exclaimed warmly. “They think to do more ’arm that way than by speaking
hout with courage; but hoften it is the case that they hinjure no one,
as they seldom know what they are talking habout.”

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 glance of warning.

Merriwell was the guest of the Ashport A. A., and he wished no encounter
with the trainer.

“I have not the least desire to say anything to injure you, Mr.
Hollingsworth,” he declared calmly. “On the contrary, I am inclined to
give you Englishmen all the credit you deserve in long-distance and
cross-country work, and that is a great deal, for you stand at the
head.”

This seemed to quiet the trainer a little, although it did not wholly
satisfy him.

“But you have no call to come here and discuss me with the president of
the club,” he asserted. “I know my business, sir. If you don’t think so,
look into the records of Overby and Hare, of the Middlesex Cross Country
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.
Already he 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 never produced a man like ’im
before, and you never will hagain!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” returned Frank, with slightly uplifted
eyebrows. “We’re just getting into such work in earnest over here. You
have been training men for it a long, long time. Generation after
generation of long-distance men have followed each other at your
colleges. We’re beginning to press you hard. Twenty or thirty years from
now you’ll find yourselves following in our lead.”

“Never!” snapped the Englishman. “You Hamericans are conceited, that’s
what’s the matter with you! Heven in this race I wouldn’t be surprised
to see an Englishman take the trophy.”

“But you have no English runner in this club who is formidable.”

“No.”

“Then it seems you do not expect one of your own runners to win.”

“I ’ope one of them will,” said Hollingsworth hastily. “I ’ave done my
best, but a man can’t make champions hout of poor material.”

“Occasionally he can,” denied Frank.

“Oh, I suppose you might, you ’ave a way of haccomplishing such wonders!
Better get hup your courage and henter. I don’t think it would be so
’ard for 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 better than third.”

“Just to show you I can finish second, at least,” Frank laughed, “I may
reconsider my determination and 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, I fear 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. Will you wait for me here, or come over to the
baths?”

“I’ll see you downstairs, Hollingsworth.”

The Englishman nodded to Proctor and the two gentlemen at the west side
of the observatory, who had listened to the talk, but had offered to
take no part in it, 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’ve encountered in a whole year! I simply
ached to hit him, but, of course, I wouldn’t pick up a quarrel with him
here.”

“I hope you refrain from picking a quarrel with him anywhere as long as
we remain in Ashport.”

“But he was so confounded insolent!”

“Which is the manner of some Englishmen of a certain grade. They
entertain a contempt for Americans and are unable to conceal it. The
better class, like Mr. Ashley, for instance, have come to understand and
respect us.”

“You seem to be a rather broad-minded young man,” said one of the
gentlemen. “I observed that you held yourself in perfect restraint
throughout that talk with Hollingsworth just now.”

“Too much restraint is as bad as none,” muttered Hodge.

“That depends on what you consider too much,” said Frank, who had caught
the words.

“I tell you,” said Proctor, speaking to Merry and Bart, “I’m inclined to
believe Hollingsworth has not worked our men out properly. He’ll have to
give them some cross-country work now.”

“But it’s pretty late,” reminded Merriwell. “They must not be
overworked. There is danger of overworking them at this stage. Don’t let
him push them until they go stale on the eve of the contest.”

“If one of our men does not win,” said Paul, “I hope you get that
trophy, Merriwell.”

“Thank you. I have decided to try for it, but I still think it should go
to a member of this club. Who is the Englishman entered, and where is he
from? Hollingsworth said he’d not be a bit surprised to see an
Englishman walk off with the trophy.”

“He must have been thinking of Arthur Huntley, of Buffalo.”

“Is he English?”

“I believe so. I think, though, he is now a naturalized American.”

“We’ll have to take a little interest in Huntley, Bart,” said Frank. “I
wish to know why Hollingsworth fancies he may win the trophy.”

“Simply because the fellow is an Englishman,” said Hodge.

But Merry shook his head.

“Hollingsworth is not a fool, and he knows there will be other good
cross-country men in the race. No doubt he sympathizes with Huntley, but
Huntley must be unusual in order to lead this man to believe he will
win.”

At this moment one of the gentlemen called attention to a carriage that
was approaching the clubhouse. Immediately Proctor announced that Mr.
Ashley was one of the two gentlemen in the carriage.

“He is bringing the trophy!” cried the president of the club, in great
eagerness. “He stated he would show it here this afternoon. Come down,
gentlemen—come down and see it!”

They descended from the observatory and went down to the parlor, where
they found Mr. Ashley had already arrived, the carriage being outside
the door.

The gentleman who accompanied Mr. Ashley carried in his hand a leather
bag, which seemed quite heavy.

“That bag contains the trophy, I think,” said Frank to Bart, as Proctor
hastened to speak to Ashley.

The founder of the club was a man of slender, wiry build, an Englishman
of the higher grade, who had not acquired that ponderous solemnity most
Americans expect to see in Britishers of middle age and of his standing.
In many respects he was more like an American than a typical Englishman.
His hair and mustache contained a liberal sprinkling of gray. He was
plainly dressed in brown.

Mr. Ashley had been expected, and there was a large gathering of members
in the parlor. He greeted them in 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,” he said. “They are in the
bathhouse. It will be thirty or forty minutes before they can be here.”

“We will wait until they can come before showing the trophy,” said
Ashley. “How are our boys showing up?”

“Splendidly, sir. Prince and Clyde are in the pink of 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 which they approached and were
introduced to Mr. Ashley, who shook hands warmly with both of them.

“Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “I am particularly glad to meet you. Are you
going to enter?”

“Well,” smiled Frank, giving Hollingsworth a glance, “I have been
persuaded to do so, although I did not contemplate it when I came here.”

“I persuaded him, sir,” the trainer hastened to declare. “To me it
seemed an opportune time to demonstrate that Mr. Merriwell is not the
only one in his class.”

Ashley was quick to catch something amiss in the manner of
Hollingsworth.

“This contest has been advertised as open for all registered amateurs in
this country,” he said, at once. “Every one is welcome to compete, and
may the best man win.”

                               CHAPTER XX

                           THE GOLDEN TROPHY.

The parlor of the clubhouse was well filled when Robert Ashley exposed
the trophy, which had been placed on the table in the centre of the room
and covered with a flag.

First Mr. Ashley made a short speech, in which he explained his object
in offering such an award. In substance it was for the purpose of
arousing greater interest in cross-country races and thus to develop in
American athletes that stamina and endurance essential in the modern man
of business.

“American runners are better known for flashing brilliancy than for
dogged determination,” he said. “In the great race of life, endurance
wins far more often than brilliancy, which is not infrequently allied
with weakness. But the runner must have a strong heart, else he may
become discouraged by the apparent success of some competitor who
flashes past him at the start. If he persists doggedly, determinedly,
gauging himself properly and making the best of his powers, he may have
the satisfaction of passing the brilliant starter, leaving him winded
and spent and floundering helplessly in some morass of business or
thicket of commerce.”

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 burst of applause.

It was a statue, the lifelike and natural representation of a
diminutive, lithe-limbed runner, being about eight inches in height and
molded from a fine quality of gold. The base on which it stood was also
of gold.

But the admiration of the beholders was aroused not merely on account of
the material from which the trophy had been made and its evident great
value; the figure was splendidly and scientifically molded, being so
natural in its every pose, resting on the toes of the right foot, with
the left leg thrown forward in a fine stride, the knee bent, the naked
left arm swung backward on a line and the right arm forward, the hands
closed, the head setting perfectly on a slender yet full neck, the face
firm and determined, every line from toe to topknot denoting vigorous
and easy action—so natural was it that it must have created a sensation
even though formed of lead.

Those present crowded about the table. After a little they began to
comment wonderingly, not so much on the costliness of the trophy, as on
its value as a work of art. There was no one present who did not realize
that it must have cost a great sum of money, and was something that the
fortunate winner could display throughout the remainder of his life with
the utmost pride.

After they had discussed it for a time, Mr. Ashley spoke:

“Gentlemen,” he said, “it may seem strange to you that I have not up to
the present time made known the exact nature of the trophy I intended to
offer. I will explain. It is my belief that the cleanest and most
commendable sports are those in which the contestants participate
without covetousness or hope of reward other than the glory that comes
to the victor. In the glorious days of Greece the victor was rewarded
with a wreath of laurel. I believed it was possible to bring together
for this event the leading long-distance runners of this country,
without arousing their greed by advertising the real worth of the
trophy, and the result has justified my judgment. Only those who have
already entered or to-day announce their intention to enter and make
proper application will be accepted. Already the leading amateurs of the
United States, with one or two exceptions, are entered. There is no
longer a chance that greed will bring others into the contest. 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
applause than the first had aroused. The astonishing generosity of Mr.
Ashley was commented upon quietly by little groups, and it was
universally agreed that the winner of the contest might properly lay
claim to the title of cross-country champion of America.

Two young men entered and advanced to view the trophy. One of them
attracted attention right away. Among those who hastened to speak to him
was Herbert Hollingsworth.

“Jove, Merry!” exclaimed Hodge softly; “did you catch that chap’s name?”

“What chap?”

“The one who just came in with the fellow in the blue 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. He saw a slender,
graceful young man of twenty-four or five, who had rather long legs, and
who, in spite of his grace and suppleness, had about him a suggestion of
strength and reserve power. His chin denoted pugnacity, his mouth
determination and his nose command. His eyes were the only questionable
features he possessed. Although they were not shifty and they looked at
one squarely, to Frank they somehow suggested a nature not
over-scrupulous—one who would sacrifice friendship or anything else for
selfish gain and glory.

Proctor now discovered the newcomer and made some haste to shake hands
with him, after which, taking his 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 dangerous rivals for the golden trophy. He is the champion
long-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 from Buffalo.

“The pleasure is mutual,” assured Huntley. “Even before coming to
America I heard a great deal of you. Your career attracted the attention
of Oxford and Cambridge men. I believe you are the only all-round
athlete who has also excelled in competing with the champions who have
made a specialty of many different sports. Usually an all-round man is
in truth a jack of all trades and master of none. So you have entered
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 flush of annoyance, but
he concealed it perfectly.

“As Proctor can affirm, my intention was announced before the trophy was
shown. Your friend, Hollingsworth, who seems to have great confidence in
you, bantered me into it.”

A slight cloud fell on Huntley’s face.

“Mr. Hollingsworth is a mere acquaintance,” he hastened to explain. “I
was not aware that he had so much confidence in me.”

Back of this Frank seemed to read the speaker’s thoughts, and he was
satisfied that Huntley was inwardly cursing Hollingsworth.

“I was led to believe him a friend and to think he had great confidence
in you through some talk he made.”

“Well, whatever Mr. Hollingsworth’s opinion of me, I am certain he would
rejoice to see me defeated by one or more of the youngsters he has
developed here. It would be a feather in his cap to bring out a
champion, you know.”

“It would, indeed; and I should be pleased to see a member of this club
secure the trophy.”

“What, and you in the race?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, then, were you to find yourself matched against an Ashport man
toward the finish, with it settled that one of you two must come in
first, you would give the other fellow the race?”

“I have not said so, nor would I do anything of the sort.”

“I thought not!” said Huntley, with the slightest curl to his lips.

“Whenever I enter any contest I do so with the full determination to
win, if such a thing lies within my power. Were I confident an Ashport
man would win I would not enter at all.”

“Your generosity is really surprising!” cried the Buffalo man
laughingly. “Under any circumstances, I’ll guarantee you’ll enter and do
your best to secure the runner of gold. In spite of your past
reputation, however, I think you will find it no simple matter to obtain
the trophy.”

“Were it a simple matter,” said Frank, “it would not be worth trying
for.”

“That is handsomely said, Mr. Merriwell; but I hardly fancy you could be
deterred from trying under any conditions.”

Having said this, Huntley again expressed his satisfaction over the
meeting with Frank and bowed himself away.

“You touched him, Frank,” said Hodge. “He didn’t like it when you
mentioned his friendship for Hollingsworth and the confidence the latter
had in him.”

“No, he didn’t like it at all,” agreed Frank. “The fact 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, and he was rewarded,
after a time, by seeing a slight signal pass between the representative
of the Bison A. A. and the Ashport trainer.

Five or ten minutes later Huntley sauntered out of the clubhouse. He
stood a few moments on the veranda, surveying the track. Finally he
crossed the track and walked out onto the field, seemingly highly
interested in looking over the fine grounds of the club.

Still watching, Hodge observed that Hollingsworth left the club by the
door opposite the track, and passed round to the bathhouse, where he met
the trackmaster, with whom he conversed for a few moments. Finally the
trainer and the trackmaster started along the oval track, the former
indicating by his gestures that he was criticising something that did
not suit his fancy.

By this time Huntley was far down at the lower end of the field. He
crossed the track down there and disappeared amid some trees.

At the western side of the baseball diamond and just inside the track
were seats for spectators and a small covered grand stand for ladies.

Hollingsworth and the trackmaster paused just before reaching the stand.
The trainer appeared to be pointing out something near that point which
caused him dissatisfaction.

Hodge caught a glimpse of a man amid the trees, beyond the track, far
down at the southwestern extremity of the field. The man was sauntering
northward.

“Behind the grand stand!” decided Bart. “That’s where they are going to
meet!”

He was palpitating with eagerness, but for the time he seemed baffled
and unable to make a move.

Finally Hollingsworth and the trackmaster parted, the latter turning
back, while the Englishman sauntered on slowly, his head down. Twice he
looked round toward the clubhouse, as if fancying he might be watched.
Finally he disappeared behind the stand.

In a twinkling Hodge was outside the house and trotting away briskly
along the track. He was taking chances. If seen, he hoped he might be
thought a runner seeking to sweat off a few pounds or an enthusiast who
had been spurred to try the track through seeing others at it.

As he ran, he watched for the men amid the trees, and also kept his eyes
open for Hollingsworth. In case the latter reappeared beyond the stand,
Hodge felt that it would be useless to make any further attempt to
follow him.

At first Bart hugged the outside of the track. When he approached the
turn at the shoulder of the oval, he crossed and pressed close to the