CHAPTER XLIV.

THE COLONEL’S TIP.

The colonel, erect and soldierly, was pacing slowly back and forth at the trailside. It was a fair inference, from the way he bore himself, that there was something on his mind.

Since Frank had heard of the way the old colonel had been treating Jode Lenning, following Jode’s wretched conduct in the gulch, his estimate of the colonel had gone down several degrees. A man might be eccentric, Frank reasoned, without displaying such glaring partiality or such weak-kneed injustice.

“Good evening, colonel,” said Frank, coming to a halt near the trail.

The other, busy with his reflections, had not noticed the lad’s approach. “That you, Merriwell?” he asked, turning.

“Yes, sir. I was told that you want to talk with me.”

“So I do; I have come out here for that especial purpose. Suppose we walk a little way along the trail?”

Frank fell in at the colonel’s side and walked with him a stone’s throw up the road. When they halted, the colonel sat down on a bowlder and lighted a cigar. The flare of the match, falling over his rugged face, revealed a sternness and a settled purpose that rather startled the youngster at his side. Colonel Hawtrey, in spite of the way he was treating Jode, was no weakling.

“To-morrow, Merriwell,” went on Hawtrey, “is the day of the big game. Several hundred from Gold Hill will move on Ophir to root for the home team. I hope everybody keeps his temper and that there will be no disgraceful clashes. To-morrow afternoon, I sincerely trust, we are going to bury our animosities in friendly rivalry. The old feud between the two athletic organizations, let us hope, is going to be wiped out forever.”

“You will find, colonel,” said Frank, “that Ophir will do her full part.”

“Glad to hear that. I will personally stand sponsor for Gold Hill. The news comes to us that your team is in a bad way, and that last week Saturday the first game after your return to town from camp was a big disappointment to you. Handy, your captain, got rattled and began interfering with the quarter back, and Mayburn, your center, put up a miserable article of play. Is that right?”

The hot blood rushed into Merry’s face and he shot an indignant glance at the colonel. What was the use of the Gold Hill nabob coming out to Dolliver’s to talk such stuff to the Ophir coach?

“How did you get any information about that game, colonel?” he demanded. “No one was allowed on the grounds except our men. I can’t believe that our fellows would talk about what happened last Saturday afternoon.”

“Ordinary loyalty would keep them from doing that, eh?”

“Sure it would. Who told you all that, sir?”

“That’s immaterial, just now. I am not here to twit you about your team’s shortcomings, Merriwell. I have simply recited what came to me as facts, and I want you to say whether or not the facts are true. A good deal hangs upon that point—more than you even dream of.”

There was a depth of earnestness in the colonel’s voice which filled Frank with wonder. What in blazes was he trying to get at, anyhow?

“Why, yes,” said Frank, “Harry did interfere a little with the quarter, and Mayburn was off in his work.”

“Doolittle wasn’t very good, either, was he?”

“Not very.”

The colonel drew a long breath and puffed silently at his cigar for a few moments.

“Then what I heard was true,” he muttered finally. “This makes it certain, my lad, that Gold Hill had a spy at your secret game. How could anything be known about the game if that had not been the case? Such work is reprehensible. I am as indignant over the matter as you could possibly be. There is nothing sportsmanlike about it. I can congratulate myself on the fact, however, that the spy was not a Gold Hill man but a stranger—or almost a stranger. I am positive that it was Guffey, the coach.”

“You think, then, that Guffey was sneaking around when we played that game, last week?” the boy demanded.

“I’m sure of it. Guffey left Gold Hill in the forenoon of Saturday, and he did not return until Sunday forenoon. He was in Ophir—he must have been.”

“I knew he was in Ophir Saturday night,” said Frank, and told of what happened in the rear of the hotel on Sunday morning.

The colonel muttered angrily to himself.

“That’s the sort of gentleman we have for a coach,” he growled, “a fellow who uses a ‘hypoderm’ and who sleeps in a box in a back yard. He’s a hobo, and a pretty poor stick of a hobo at that. This thing is working out just as I thought it would. Good may come of it, however.”

“Where does this man Guffey hail from, colonel?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know the first thing about him. Jode knows him, and he’s the one who sent for him. Guffey’s a good coach, and our eleven is in better shape than it has ever been before. I’m sorry that Guffey’s a scoundrel, but it is going to be the happiest day of my life if he pans out the way I hope and believe.”

Once more the colonel had Frank wondering. How was he expecting Guffey to “pan out?” In one breath the colonel was sorry Guffey was a scoundrel, and in the next he was going to be happy if the scoundrel panned out to be as bad as he hoped and believed. Frank was all twisted to account for the colonel’s motives and feelings.

“Now that you know Guffey’s a scoundrel,” Frank remarked, “are you going to let him come to Ophir with the Gold Hill fellows?”

“I am,” was the reply, “and while he’s in your bailiwick, Merriwell, I want you to do one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Watch the fellow. You’re a friend of my nephew, Ellis, aren’t you?”

“Right from the top of the hat,” said Frank, with spirit.

“Well, keep a keen eye on Guffey. By doing that, you may help Darrel more than you can realize now. You’re very much concerned, I suppose, because I have treated Jode, since that affair in the gulch, with the same consideration that I did before. You don’t understand why I have left him on the football team, or why I have anything further to do with him. Is that correct?”

“Well, yes,” admitted Frank.

“And neither can you understand why I tolerate such a scoundrel as Guffey.”

“No, colonel, I can’t.”

“I am manipulating things, Merriwell. I may be wrong, but I don’t think so. If you will coöperate with me, I’m pretty sure this whole affair is going to come around in fine shape.”

“Just what do you expect me to do?” Frank queried. “How will keeping an eye on Guffey enable me to coöperate with you?”

“Why, as to that, everything depends on your shrewdness. Take up a position close to Guffey from the time he arrives on the field; then watch him like a hawk. If anything develops that excites your suspicion, follow it up with vigor.”

“What do you think will develop?”

“I haven’t the least notion what form developments will take, but I am sure something will come. I have done my part by tolerating Jode and helping to get Guffey here. Now the rest of it is up to you—and you are a good friend of Darrel’s.”

Frank was nonplused. It had been made clear to him, however, that the colonel had let Jode off easy, after that affair in the gulch, for a purpose; and, for the same purpose, he had allowed Jode to have his way about Guffey. Here the wily old colonel was playing a deep game. And at the back of his head was the desire that Darrel might profit by it. While this much was clear; to Merry, all the rest was steeped in the deepest kind of mystery.

“Are you going to take my tip, Merriwell, and act upon it?” asked the colonel.

“Bank on that, sir!” was the prompt response.

“Good!” said the colonel, in a tone of deep satisfaction. “If I’ve got hold of the right end of this, I can trust you to work out the rest of the problem.”

“Will Guffey get actively into the game?” inquired Frank.

“No,” was the decided answer. “It’s bad enough to have such a fellow coach our boys without coming actually into contact with them on the field. As soon as this game is over, I can promise you that Gold Hill will see the last of him. Darrel, I hear, is not at Dolliver’s?” the colonel went on, shifting the subject.

“No,” said Frank.

“Is he in Ophir?”

“Dolliver tells me that he went to Gold Hill Thursday morning.”

“Jove! I haven’t seen him in Gold Hill, and I haven’t heard of his being there. You are sure Dolliver——”

“Darrel won’t go looking for you, colonel,” said Frank, with a touch of pride, “until he’s able to give you his hand. I believe he went to the Hill to try and clear up that forgery matter.”

“Ah!” There was a certain grimness in the colonel’s voice which did not escape Frank. “I don’t believe he can do that, Merriwell. He hadn’t ought to be roaming around, anyhow, until that broken arm of his is entirely well. He’ll be at Ophir for the game?”

“He said he would, at the time we broke camp and pulled out for home.”

The colonel got up and stepped closer to Frank. His voice sank low and throbbed with feeling as he laid a hand on Frank’s shoulder and went on:

“If you see him, Merriwell, tell him not to draw any wrong conclusions from the way I am conducting myself. Tell him that, when he knows all, he will see that I am acting for the best interests of all concerned. You’ll do that?”

“Certainly.”

“I’ve been an old fool in a good many ways, and when an old fool sees the light he ought to be wise in getting to the bottom of things and in passing justice around. I’m trying to show a little wisdom, Merriwell. Until you know all, you can at least give me credit for that.”

“I do, colonel,” Frank answered.

The colonel reached for his hand, shook it warmly, and then, without speaking further, turned and retraced his way to his horse. Frank, standing to one side, watched while he swung into the saddle.

“Good-by, my lad, and good luck,” called the colonel.

“Good-by, sir,” Frank answered.

The next moment Colonel Hawtrey had galloped off along the trail and was lost in the wavering shadows. He left behind him, perhaps as puzzled a boy as there was in all Arizona.

“Well, I’ll be hanged!” Merriwell muttered, as he turned back toward the house. “The colonel’s all right, but I wish to thunder that I knew what he’s trying to get at. Going it blind never made much of a hit with me.”