“You’d better keep out of this, Merriwell,” Hawkins murmured in Frank’s ear. “I warned you. The kunnel means biz, and no mistake.”
“So do I,” Frank answered, with a flash of his dark eyes. “Keep your nerve,” he added, in a low tone to Darrel; “we’ve got a few cards of our own to play.”
“You are Frank Merriwell?” inquired Colonel Hawtrey, leveling his gaze at Frank.
“Yes, colonel.”
“The son of Frank Merriwell, of Bloomfield, and the T-Bar Ranch, in Wyoming?”
“Yes.”
“You are also seeking to befriend this misguided young man, here?”
“I am Darrel’s friend,” said Merry, with spirit, “right from the drop of the hat.”
“Then, my lad, your father will some time hear of it with regret. What Hawkins said is the truth. This fellow opened my safe and took from it a thousand dollars in cash night before last. I have the proof.”
“Pardon me, colonel,” returned Frank respectfully, “but inasmuch as I am Darrel’s friend, will you let me handle this case for him in my own way?”