“He says he won’t have a thing to do with it.”
“Then how about Hawkins, the deputy sheriff?”
“Suits Lenning to a t, y, ty. Lenning would like to have Beman for starter.”
Merriwell was expecting this, and yet it came to him with something like surprise. It pointed to crookedness on the part of Lenning—and after that fine talk the colonel had given his fellows that morning, too!
“Let Beman act as starter, then,” assented Frank, keeping to the plan broached by Darrel.
Bleeker hurried away to inform Hawkins and Beman of the work laid out for them; and a few minutes later Darrel and Lenning, in sprinting costumes, came trotting up from the camp.
Merriwell watched Darrel and the colonel. As the old soldier fixed his eyes on his discredited nephew, a queer play of emotions showed in his face. In Darrel’s look was a wistfulness and affection which caused his uncle to turn abruptly and gaze in another direction.
Beman, a round-shouldered, lanky chap, stepped out back of the starting line, pistol in hand.
“All ready, you two?” he called.
Darrel and Lenning answered by stepping to the line. Not a sound of approval or disapproval went up from the gathered throng. Silence reigned on the mesa.