There was a chorus of approval of the Gold Hill chap’s words from the rest of his companions.
“You can prove he’s a fake, Jode!” said one.
“Give him a chance, anyhow!” cried another.
“It’s no more than a fair shake to run against him,” chimed in a third.
All the others had more or less to say in favor of Lenning’s accepting the challenge. Lenning, because of this, was placed in a most uncomfortable position. If he still refused to run, it would appear as though he was anxious not to do the fair thing; on the other hand, if the race was run, and Darrel came out ahead, this might convince the Gold Hillers that he was all he claimed to be.
Lenning stood for a moment, thinking the matter over; then, suddenly, his face cleared.
“All right, Bleeker,” said he to the fellow who had stepped in front of him. “I’m not afraid to run against the fellow. Even if he wins, and if he proves that he’s really Ellis Darrel, he’ll be sorry for it. My half brother disgraced himself, and was ordered by the colonel to clear out. If this chap wasn’t a fool, he’d prefer to drop the matter right here and make himself scarce, rather than to try to prove that he’s Darrel, the forger.”
“Then you accept the challenge, do you, Lenning?” inquired Merriwell.
“You heard me,” was the snarling response.
“What’s the distance, and when do you want to pull off the race?”