One night Harris, Hartwick, Harlow, Ditson and Mike Hogan met in the saloon where they had first formed a combine against Merriwell. They were there by appointment, called together by Hartwick, who seemed to have assumed the leadership.
Hartwick was taking no chances on any thin partitions, and so he secured a little back room in the place, where it seemed that nothing could be overheard by any one who might chance to be watching them.
Drinks were ordered, and when they were brought and the waiter had departed Hartwick said:
"Gentlemen, we may as well get down to business at
once. I have called you together to make arrangements for striking a blow at our common enemy."
"Well, I think it's erbout time!" growled Mike Hogan. "I've been wantin' ter do something fer a long while, but you have kept holdin' me back."
"You have been too much on the jump, my friend," said Hartwick, scowling. "If we'd let you gone it alone you'd had Merriwell on his guard, and that would have ruined everything."
"It strikes me that Merriwell is on his guard now," observed Harris. "He acts as if he knew there was something in the wind."
"Well, he doesn't know what."
"I don't know about that, either. He guards that horse as if the animal was worth its weight in dollar bills."