BURT L. STANDISH Ultimate Collection: 24 Action Thrillers in One Volume (Illustrated). Burt L. Standish
now that there was a "job" to knife him in the race. Rattleton and Diamond were on hand, and they took turns in helping Toots keep guard over Nemo.
Merriwell was angry. He went out looking for John Baldwin. When he found Baldwin he offered to bet all the money he had about him that Nemo would take either the first or the second purse. Baldwin snapped at the bet in a manner that showed he believed he had a "soft thing."
"You'll go back to Yale broke," he sneered.
"Don't let that worry you," returned Frank, coolly. "It strikes me that the fellow who is furnishing you with cash stands a chance of dropping something."
"You say that very mildly. You're scared now."
"If I had more money about my clothes I'd put it all up."
"That shows what an easy thing you are. I'll take your paper against my good money, and now you don't dare do a thing."
"How much do you want to risk that way?"
"Any sum you like."
"I'll go you for five hundred."
"Done."
Frank had made the original selection of stakeholder, and he had chosen a man who was interested in the track, but was known to be perfectly square. This choice had proved satisfactory to Baldwin.
Once more this man was hunted up, and he felt it his duty to caution Frank. The boy simply smiled.
"Don't lose any sleep about me, Mr. Davis," said Frank, quietly. "It isn't necessary."
Twenty minutes after this bet was made John Baldwin informed Evan Hartwick.
"Good!" cried Hartwick, fiercely. "If I get hold of that piece of paper I'll use it to ruin Frank Merriwell at Yale. I can do it! Nemo must be fixed for fair!"
Then he rushed away.
"Oh, well!" said Baldwin, with a satisfied smile; "I don't care which way the wind blows now. I have made my commission on this work to-day, and I have nothing to lose. If those fellows slip up in their plans it won't be my funeral."
Then he lighted a cigar and strolled away.
Rattleton and Diamond watched Nemo closely, permitting Toots to get an hour's sleep. Then the colored boy came out feeling first rate, and Merriwell showed up to take his friends to have something to eat.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, with a happy laugh. "One of you fellows will have to loan me the money to settle for the feed. I've staked every cent on Nemo, and I haven't enough left to purchase a sandwich."
"Whew!" whistled Diamond. "Haven't you been plunging pretty steep, old man?"
"Oh, I don't know!" smiled Frank. "We'll have money to start a conflagration with when we return to New Haven."
"I think so," agreed Jack; "but there are slips."
"Now, Toots," said Frank, "we are going to leave Nemo in your care for a short time. You know what I expect of you."
"Yes, sar, an' you may 'pend on me, sar."
"All right, my boy. Come on, fellows."
Away the three went, arm in arm, laughing and joking, like the light-hearted fellows they were.
Ten minutes after they left Toots decided to give Nemo some water. He stepped out of the stall for a bucket. As he picked it up he fancied he heard a suspicious sound inside the stall, and he hurried back.
When the colored boy stepped into the stall he saw a tough-looking young man in a plaid suit offering Nemo an apple. It was Mike Hogan.
"G'wan frum dat hawse, man!" shouted Toots, as he flung the bucket straight at Mike's head.
The bucket struck Hogan, knocked him down, and he lay stunned almost beneath the feet of Frank Merriwell's racer.
An hour later the starter's flag had fallen and the "free for all" at Mystic Park had begun.
Among the spectators were three lads who were excitedly watching the beginning of the race.
They were Hartwick, Harlow and Harris.
"If that horse is doctored I'm a fool!" declared Harlow, his eyes fastened on Frank Merriwell's Nemo.
"He must be—he must be!" palpitated Hartwick, whose eyes were bloodshot and whose face was flushed so that it betrayed he had been drinking heavily.
"Nemo starts all right," said Harris, in an agitated voice. "I should not wonder if Harlow were right, Hartwick, my boy."
"Then Hogan has betrayed me!" came gratingly from Hartwick. "If he has I'll have his life!"
"Where is the fellow?" asked Harlow. "He should be on hand."
"That's right, where is he?" echoed Harris. "He has not reported."
"But he was sure he would not fail," said Hartwick. "He had everything fixed with one of the stablemen, and he said he knew he could get into Nemo's stall."
"All the same I'll wager that Frank Merriwell will come out on top again," fluttered Harris. "It is just his luck. Perhaps he has outwitted us in some way."
"No! no!" exclaimed Hartwick, with sudden satisfaction. "See—see there! Already Nemo is dropping behind Black Boy. Pawnee is in the lead, Fanny D. is second, Lightfoot is third, and now Black Boy has pushed ahead of Nemo! Ha! ha! ha! Everything is all right! Hogan has done his work, and the stuff is beginning to tell on Merriwell's racer at just the right time. We'll send the fellow back to Yale penniless, and then I will jump on him with his paper. I'll expose him as a race-track gambler, a fraud, a swindler! I'll ruin his college career, as he ruined mine! But I'll not be satisfied then. I'll hound him till he is weary of his life! I'll make him remember the day he dared lift his hand against Evan Hartwick! I can feel his blow now! It left a mark on my cheek. That mark is not there now, but the scar is on my heart! Nothing can cure it but full and absolute reprisal! This is my first triumph!"
Hartwick almost frothed at the mouth, and his reddish eyes glared as if there were a glowing furnace within his passionate soul.
Evan's companions looked at him with awe, and Harris shivered a bit, drawing a little away.
The passions of the revengeful lad had been wonderfully aroused by the liquor he had taken, and he showed at his very worst just then.
"Toots does not seem to be pushing Nemo as he might," muttered Harlow. "The boy is taking it easy. If I did not know the attempt had failed I should think he had been bought off."
"Pawnee can't hold the lead," declared Harris. "I am willing to bet all I have that he will not take the race."
"Hang Pawnee!" snarled Hartwick. "I do not care which horses secure the purses, if Merriwell's animal is not one of them."
"Well, it begins to look as if you were safe," came with some satisfaction from Harlow. "Black Boy is the favorite and he is crawling now. Already he is neck and neck with Lightfoot."
Hartwick's hand shook as he adjusted the field glasses he held and brought them to bear on the racing horses.
"It's all right. I know it's all right!" he muttered, hoarsely. "Lightfoot is holding the lead on Nemo. Frank Merriwell's horse is fifth, and the animal will not hold out to get around the track. I believe Nemo is swaying now. The horses behind are gaining! Ha! ha! How it will wring Merriwell's heart to see his beauty come in last!"
"This is early," cautioned Harris. "They have just reached the quarter now. Wait till they pass us before you begin to count your chickens, old man."
The spectators grew excited as the racing horses swung around the half-mile track and came flying down toward the judges' stand on their first round. Men waved their hats and cheered, the white handkerchiefs of women were fluttering.
"Black Boy! Black Boy! He is the winner for a thousand!" roared a big man in the grand stand.
"Fanny D.! Fanny D.!" shouted another. "She is taking the lead!"
This