BURT L. STANDISH Ultimate Collection: 24 Action Thrillers in One Volume (Illustrated). Burt L. Standish
"If we'd let you gone it alone you'd had Merriwell on his guard, and that would have ruined everything."
"It strikes me that Merriwell is on his guard now," observed Harris. "He acts as if he knew there was something in the wind."
"Well, he doesn't know what."
"I don't know about that, either. He guards that horse as if the animal was worth its weight in dollar bills."
"Which comes entirely from the fact that Hogan here tried to knock the horse out once," declared Harlow.
"I don't know about that, either," said Hartwick. "But I want to say one thing here and now: If there's any one of this party who is playing double and carrying information to Merriwell, he'd better order his own coffin without delay, for he is bound to be found out, and we'll throw him cold in a minute."
He looked at Ditson in a most significant manner as he said this, but Roll showed no signs of guilt.
"Well, what's yer plan of war, boss?" asked Hogan, impatiently.
"Don't get in too much of a hurry," scowled Hartwick.
"We know Merriwell intends to enter Nemo in the Mystic Park races, at Bethany."
"Yes."
"That is the time to get at him."
"How?"
"He has money to burn. Get him to back Nemo for large sums for any of the first three positions. Give him all sorts of odds, if necessary; but get him to chuck up the dough, and then beat him out."
"That's all right," growled Hogan; "but where's the dough comin' from what is shoved up against his good stuff?"
"Let me alone for that," said Hartwick, significantly. "I know a way to get it, and we'll have it. I wish we might get Merriwell to stake his entire fortune on that horse. We'd end his career at Yale."
Harris laughed.
"I'd like to know how you are going to get so much money, Hart?" he cried. "Why, I had to lend you twenty as capital the last game of poker you entered."
"Don't let anything worry you if you don't know all about it, Sport," advised Hartwick. "You've got your twenty back, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, you can't kick."
"All right; but I'm afraid your scheme won't work out very well."
"It will, just as hard, if we can depend on Mike here to make sure Merriwell's horse does not win."
"Watcher want me ter do?" asked Mike.
"Doctor the animal at the last moment, if you can't buy off the jockey."
"That's easy! But where does my share of ther profits come in?"
"You shall have your share, don't you worry. We'll have that all arranged in advance."
"Then that goes! I am with yer, gents."
"What are the rest of us to do?" asked Harris.
"There will be something for all of us to do. Ditson must continue to play the spy on Merriwell."
"And that's the most dangerous job of all!" cried Roll. "You know what came near happening to me the night I found out Merriwell intended to put Nemo in the Mystic Park races. I was nearly chewed up by Diamond's dog."
"But you escaped with your life," said Harris.
"Because I took that cane with the loaded end. If it hadn't been for that the infernal dog would have eaten me. I hit him an awful blow. It would have killed any other dog."
"Well," said Harlow, "we'll strike a different kind of a blow directly—one that will do more than lay out a dog."
CHAPTER VIII.
TAKING CHANCES.
It was the day of the spring races at Mystic Park, and Bethany was filled with strangers. Horsemen, sporting men, sightseers, touts, race-track gamblers, women in gay attire, and all the different kinds of persons usually seen at a country horse race in the State of Connecticut were on hand.
A number of Yale lads had come up to Bethany to attend the races. The most of them were friends of Frank Merriwell. Some of his enemies were there, also.
Frank had brought Nemo up himself, and he scarcely slept the night before the races. He felt that there was danger in the air.
Nemo had been entered in the "free for all," and his name was on the bills. Frank had been informed that he would be given odds that his horse did not take a purse. He had received an anonymous letter ridiculing him for thinking of entering such a horse. He had been taunted and told that he dared not stake money on Nemo.
Merriwell knew well enough that there was a plot afloat, and it seemed that the scheme was to make him lose money on his horse. If he had been timid he would have hesitated about backing Nemo for anything; but the ones who had been taunting him had reckoned well on his mettle, and they had succeeded in pricking his pride and arousing him.
Frank had seen Nemo work on a track with Toots in the saddle. He had timed the horse repeatedly, and he felt confident that Nemo could not fail to take a position if he were in proper form when he entered the race.
Frank sent for money. He demanded it. His guardian did not feel like refusing, as he remembered that his last effort to suppress Frank had resulted in a most painful train of incidents, the culmination being his arrest for kidnaping a baby. He sent Frank a check for the sum desired.
When Bethany was reached Merriwell was approached by a tall, thin man, who wore a Prince Albert coat and looked like a parson. This man introduced himself as John Baldwin, and he proved to be very "smooth."
Frank knew in a moment that the stranger was trying to catch him for a sucker. He felt like knocking the man down, but, instead of that, he bet three hundred and fifty dollars against a thousand dollars that Nemo would take a purse in the "free for all."
John Baldwin departed, apparently looking for other bloods who wished to take flyers. But Frank was to see Baldwin again. The man came back and in the most sneering manner possible, offered to let him out of his bet for fifty dollars. He told Frank that Nemo was a "dead one" and could not even crawl. The result was that Merriwell bet the man five hundred even that Nemo would take a purse, and there were but three purses in the "free for all."
After Baldwin departed the second time Frank regretted that he had not booted the insolent fellow.
"Never mind," thought the lad. "I'll win his cash all right."
In the morning there was a row in the stable where Nemo was kept. Toots was found vigorously punishing a flashily dressed negro.
"Tek dat, yo' dirty brack nigger!" shouted Toots, as he smashed the other fellow on the nose. "Yo' cayn't com' 'roun' dis chile wid none ob yere 'swinuations an' yore offers ob money to throw de race! I'll kick part ob yore panjaloons clean out frough de top of yore hade, yo' brack son ob a gun!"
The colored boy fought like a furious tiger, and the other fellow, after trying to strike back a few times, took to his heels, leaving a smashed silk hat behind him.
"What's the matter, Toots?" asked Frank, who had rushed to the scene of the conflict, accompanied by others.
"Mattah, sar?" cried Toots, fiercely. "Why, dat brack whelp come call me out ob de stall har, an' he says to me, says he, 'If yo' pulls Nemo so he don' take a purse it am wuff two hundred dollars to yo'.' An' he flashes his roll ob bills in mah face. I didn't wait fo' no mo' conwersashun, sar, but I jes' soaked him a dandy under der ear."
"Good boy, Toots!" laughed Frank. "You're all right!"
"Well, w'en dey fools 'roun' dis chile dey strikes hot stuff," grinned the boy.
Frank