“This Guffey,” Frank proceeded, “seems to be a stranger to nearly every one but Jode Lenning. Jode, it seems, got scared at the brand of football we put up during the game at Tinaja Wells, and he begged the colonel to send for Guffey. After that incident in the gulch, when the blast came so near going off and killing Hawtrey, Guffey was sent for. They say he has done marvels with that Gold Hill squad.”
“Let me get this business straight in my mind, Chip,” said Ballard. “You’ve opened up a few leads that I can’t understand. Is Jode Lenning still hand-and-glove with the colonel?”
“Seems to be.”
Clancy and Ballard turned startled, uncomprehending looks at Merry.
“Thunder!” exclaimed the red-headed chap. “I can’t understand that, at all.”
“Nor I, Clan,” said Frank. “The colonel’s a queer one, and that’s the least you can say. Jode wanted Guffey. Guffey proves to be a dope fiend, but a brilliant coach. He’s a young fellow, too, and a horrible example for any other young fellow who feels like tagging him over such a course. From what I know of Colonel Hawtrey I can’t begin to understand why he will have anything to do with such a man as Guffey. Hawtrey is a stickler for clean living and sportsmanlike conduct, and this Guffey isn’t the sort to appeal to him a little bit.”
“The clouds continue to gather on Ophir’s football horizon,” observed Ballard, with an effort. “If that game is lost next Saturday——” He finished with a look that expressed his meaning better than words.
“We’re not going to lose it,” declared Merry.
“That’s the spirit, old man!” approved Clancy. “Still,” he added doubtfully, “you’ve got a man’s job on your hands if you succeed in pounding the club team into winning form. Since we came in from Tinaja Wells the eleven appears to have gone all to pieces.”
“They’re not reliable, those fellows,” growled Ballard. “Remember how they made a farce of their practice work along at the first when they were out to show Chip what they could do?”