Merry took the note and read as follows:
“Lenning: I know about your cutting the rope and dropping Darrel down the cliff. There are some things I won’t stand for, and that’s one of them. If you try any dirty work during the football game, I’ll blow the whole measly business to Merriwell.
Bleeker.”
Merriwell gasped. There was no further doubt about that supposed accident on the cliff. It was no accident at all, but the result of a fiendish design. It seemed hardly possible that Lenning, if in his right senses, could have attempted such a villainous deed.
Without a word, Frank handed the note to Clancy, and it went from one to the other until all had read it. No one spoke. The crumpled paper came back to Darrel again, and he held it thoughtfully in his trembling fingers.
Distant voices were heard outside the house. Through a window beside his bed Darrel could look into the mouth of the cañon.
Two horsemen had ridden out of the ragged entrance of the gulch and had halted, their mounts pulled close together. One of the riders was Colonel Hawtrey and the other was Lenning.
The colonel, it was evident, was on his way back to Gold Hill after visiting the camp of the Gold Hill Athletic Club. Lenning, it was equally evident, had ridden part way with him, and was now about to face the other way and return to the camp.
Through the window, all the boys in the ranch house looked at the horsemen. The colonel was smiling and happy. On his face could be seen a look of affection for the lad at his side. Taking Jode’s hand, he pressed it warmly, then used his spurs and rode off along the trail toward home.
Jode watched him for a few moments, shouted a last farewell, waved his hat, and then vanished at a gallop between the rugged cañon walls. A mist arose in the eyes of Ellis Darrel. He began tearing the paper to pieces, using his teeth and the one hand which was still serviceable.
“What are you doing that for, Darrel?” demanded Ballard.