Merriwell was not disposed to be at all considerate of Jode Lenning. Into Merry’s mind, again, came those ugly suspicions of the favorite nephew.
It was conceivable that Lenning, jealous of his half brother, had plotted to have him cast off and set adrift, just as he had, Merriwell felt sure, engineered that robbery plot against him. What had caused the accident on the cliff still remained a mystery; yet, terrible as that accident had been, if the result of a plot, then the plot was less heinous than the one by which it had been made to appear that Ellis Darrel was a forger. Through the first, life might have been lost; but, through the second, honor, which men of integrity hold dearer than life, hung in the balance.
The blood ran hot through Merriwell’s veins as all these thoughts trooped through his mind. Here was a chance to do something for Darrel, was the idea that filled him, to the exclusion of anything and everything else.
Taking his place on the field, opposite Lenning, Merriwell strove to note the exact place where the note from Bleeker had been stowed. His eyes, peering hawklike from either side of the rubber nose guard, sought the lacings of the other guard’s jacket. Between two of the crossed thongs he believed he caught a flash, the merest flash, of something white. Then, while Merriwell’s brain was still lashed with those ugly suspicions of Lenning, the playing began.
Ophir ran the kick-off back a bare seven yards. Line plunges, during which Merry sought in vain for a chanceat that scrap of white, netted another gain of four yards. Then, as in some weird dream, Merriwell found himself crouching in the middle of the line, staring into the face of Lenning, with its shifty eyes and its overtopping mop of black hair. The swaying lines locked and clashed as the ball flew out of the scramble and into the arms of the Gold Hill half back.
Merry plunged forward in an attempt to break through. Lenning threw out a leg to trip him. Merry’s hands pawed at the jacket as he went down, but he was up again in a flash with something clutched in his fist.
“You’re not so much!” snarled Lenning.
Merriwell laughed. He could afford to. The evidence was in his possession now.
The playing went on, and gradually Merriwell began to take more interest in the battle and less in the scrap of evidence which had come into his hands.
Ophir had the ball and was going down the field with it, five yards through tackle, five more stolen through the guard, and then five more around the end. A tackle run netted ten yards, and a forward pass twenty, Brad grabbing the ball on a perfect throw.
Gold Hill’s confidence was oozing away steadily. Her men were rattled, and Clancy and Dunn and Ballard were doing their utmost from the side lines to make their confusion more complete. Before Ophir’s attack, the Gold Hill line slumped and gave way.
And then, when close to Gold Hill’s goal, Mayburn lost the ball on a distressing fumble. That nearly broke the center’s heart. Hawtrey hung over the scramble as the players disentangled themselves, and it was discovered that a Gold Hill man had the ball.
“Somebody kick me!” wailed Mayburn.“Oh, what a bobble!”
Gold Hill had no use for a scrimmage at that stage of the game, and immediately lifted the pigskin into safer quarters. Both sides were still without a score when, a few minutes later, the quarter ended.
Merriwell had smothered his desire to do his best. Ophir, he knew, had outplayed Gold Hill, and it was better for all concerned that there should be no scoring. On the face of it, the teams might be called evenly matched. As for the rest of it, the game Merriwell had played within the game had been entirely successful.
The best of good feeling prevailed. It was much easier for the right spirit to manifest itself over a scoreless game than if one side or the other had made a touchdown or had kicked a goal.
Led by the colonel, the Gold Hill fellows collected in a group and cheered the Ophir team, while Ophir, with Handy and Merriwell leading, returned the compliment for their opponents.
“This,” beamed the colonel, taking Merriwell and Handy off to one side, “starts our series of friendly competitions, and leaves nothing to be desired. I have enjoyed myself this afternoon, and it has been a pleasure to me to notice the utter absence of anything like ill feeling. Keep up the good work, boys. I’ll have to leave you now, for I want to get on my horse and ride over to the other camp. Jode and his teammates will make the trip ’cross country.”
Merriwell and Handy walked with the colonel to the camp. As he was about to mount his horse for the ride to Camp Hawtrey, the colonel turned and gave Merry his hand.
“I wish that some day you might come to town with Jode and have dinner with me,” said he.“I should esteem it a great pleasure, Merriwell.”
“Thank you, colonel,” Frank answered, “but I’m afraid I shall be too busy here to accept many social invitations.”
“You won’t forget to take the Ophir boys over to the other camp?”
“They can look for us over there almost any day.”
“Good!”
He swung into his saddle, waved his hand, and started at a gallop down the gulch.
“We could have scored,” mourned Handy, “we ought to have scored. Mayburn——”
“I’m glad he fumbled,” interrupted Frank. “As I told the boys before they went on the field, I wasn’t eager to have them win, but I was more than eager to have them keep Gold Hill from winning. We outplayed them, and that’s enough.”
“You got into it yourself in order to study the other team at close quarters?”
“That wasn’t my idea exactly,” Frank answered, “although the experience will probably be a help. Come on,” he added, suddenly shifting the subject, “and let’s take our plunge in the pool.”
Ballard and Bradlaugh were feverishly eager to have a few words in private with Merriwell. The opportunity did not offer until some time after Merriwell had had his swim and had got into his clothes; then, as he walked toward the camp, Ballard and Bradlaugh and Clancy joined him. Already Ballard had confided to Clancy, Merriwell’s real reason for getting actively into the football game.
“Did you win out, Chip?” asked Bradlaugh.
Merriwell nodded, and slapped his pocket.
“What’s the evidence?” queried Ballard.“Does it clear Darrel?”
“Haven’t looked at it yet,” was the reply.
Astonished exclamations came from the other three.
“Don’t mean to say you haven’t had time?” Clancy asked.
“I’ve had the time, Clan, but not the inclination. We’ll let Darrel look at the note first. Maybe,” and Merry grew thoughtful, “I jumped into this thing too quick. Suppose Hotchkiss was wrong? Suppose there’s no evidence in the note about the forgery? If that’s the case, I’ve done a measly trick.”
“You were justified in getting that note, Chip,” declared Ballard, “just on the strength of what I told you.”
“I hope so,” said Frank, “but that’s a thing we’ll leave to Darrel. Shall we ride down the cañon this afternoon?”
“I’ve got to go back,” returned Ballard, “and you fellows might as well go with me.”
Without delay, they started to get their horses ready. Half an hour later they were speeding along the narrow cañon trail in single file, Merriwell hardly knowing whether he ought to feel elated or depressed over his exploit on the football field.
The high ideas of honor, inculcated by his father, would not have pardoned his afternoon’s work unless it set right the great wrong that had been done Ellis Darrel. Merriwell felt that, in his eagerness to help his new chum, he might have committed a deed which he would later regret. He had acted on the impulse of the moment, and with implicit faith in what Ballard had repeated as coming from Hotchkiss.
A fine point of ethics was involved, and Merriwell believed that no eyes save Darrel’s should read the note unless it was really found to have an important bearing on Darrel’s affairs.