The short mile separating Ophir from the mine was quickly covered by the big car. There was little time for conversation during the ride, and what little talk the general manager indulged in had nothing to do with Lenning, but concerned Mexican Joe entirely.
“Burke got hold of Joe less than two weeks since,” remarked Mr. Bradlaugh. “The boy came here from a mine near Wickenburg, with the best recommendations I ever saw for a Mexican. He’s as strong as a horse and as spry as a wild cat; what’s more to the point, he knows his business, and is straight as a string. Just now, Merriwell, Joe is a comparative stranger. He flocks by himself pretty much, but he is well liked by those who have come to know him. Burke, the superintendent, can’t say too much in his favor.”
“How old is he?” Frank asked.
“Eighteen.”
A disappointment awaited the general manager and Merriwell when they stopped at the blacksmith shop for a few words with Mexican Joe. Joe had been given leave of absence by Burke to go to the bedside of a sick relative who lived near Gold Hill.
The superintendent, who saw the car at the blacksmith shop, strolled down from the little headquarters office to find out what the general manager wanted. His face lighted up when he heard about the forthcoming ball game.
“You’ve got to have Joe, Merriwell,” he declared. “Our miners play ball a little, between shifts, and I’ve seen Joe behind the bat. He’s a wonder as a backstop.”
“But if he’s away,” Frank answered, intensely disappointed, “how can we possibly have him?”
“He’ll be back to-morrow morning, and I’ll arrange to have him go out to the clubhouse whenever you say.”
“Good! Make it to-morrow afternoon at two-thirty.”