These revelations came to Darrel like a blow. He felt, and perhaps he was right, that Merriwell’s friendship for him had made an enemy of Jode.
“What do you think of that, Dolliver?” asked Darrel, appealing to the rancher.
“Why,” was the answer, “I opine that half brother o’ yourn is about as onnery as they make ’em.”
“I’m the one who is at the bottom of Merriwell’s trouble with Jode.”
“You can’t help it if ye are. Better hit the hay, son. I reckon you’ve been up a heap too long as it is.”
Darrel went to bed that night pondering the subject of Merriwell’s failure to inspire a friendly spirit in the dealings between the two athletic clubs.
“He could have succeeded,” was Darrel’s bitter conclusion, “if it hadn’t been for his friendship for me. What will Jode be trying next, I wonder? Where is that fiendish temper of his going to land him, if something isn’t done to curb it?”
Long into the night Darrel canvassed the unpleasant problem in his mind. As a consequence, he went to sleep about midnight and woke up with the sun at least two hours’ high.
“Has my uncle passed on his way to Camp Hawtrey, Dolliver?” were his first words when he found the rancher.
“All of an hour ago,” was the reply.