“I do, colonel,” Frank answered.
The colonel reached for his hand, shook it warmly, and then, without speaking further, turned and retraced his way to his horse. Frank, standing to one side, watched while he swung into the saddle.
“Good-by, my lad, and good luck,” called the colonel.
“Good-by, sir,” Frank answered.
The next moment Colonel Hawtrey had galloped off along the trail and was lost in the wavering shadows. He left behind him, perhaps as puzzled a boy as there was in all Arizona.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” Merriwell muttered, as he turned back toward the house. “The colonel’s all right, but I wish to thunder that I knew what he’s trying to get at. Going it blind never made much of a hit with me.”
CHAPTER XLV.
THE PLUGGED “HALF.”
The noon meal at Dolliver’s was a light one, for Frank did not believe in football on a full stomach. The three big cars came along, promptly on time, and the lads crowded into them with their suit cases. They were a nervous lot of boys in spite of their efforts to be cool and confident.