nerves, everywhere around the ball field, were drawn to breaking tension. on merriwell alone depended the fortunes of the day for ophir.

it was the last half of the ninth inning. there were two out and two on bases. a hit by merriwell would certainly bring in the catcher, and, if the hit happened to be a two-bagger, a couple of scores might be put across the pan. this is as far as the wildest dreams of the ophirites allowed them to go.

ellis darrel was keyed up to the highest pitch of achievement. if he could strike out merriwell—something which he had not been able to do so far—the danger point would be safely passed. he made up his mind that he would fan him.

it was something which darrel hated to do. there was no one whom darrel thought more of, or to whom he owed a greater obligation, than frank merriwell, junior.

with face a little white and eyes gleaming restlessly darrel shot a ball across the plate. it was not the sort of a ball merry wanted, so he let it pass.

a discontented murmuring came from the wild-eyed ophirites as the umpire called the strike.

there was silence in the crowded grand stand, over the bleachers, and among the automobiles. all eyes were fixed, as by a weird fascination, on the trampled ball field, holding the players steadily under gaze, and keeping nervous track of the base runners and of the lithe, slender figure holding the bat.

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darrel let fly with another ball. it was wide. the third one delivered was also too far off to count. but the next one——

merriwell, with a terrific swing, met it squarely. with a smack that could be heard for half a mile in the quiet air, the bat started the ball skyward.

wild cheers broke from the crowd, and the hardest cheering was done by colonel hawtrey. what did he care how that magnificent hit might benefit ophir at the expense of gold hill? he had just witnessed the finest example of pluck in the face of overwhelming discouragement which it had ever been his lot to observe.

“go it, merriwell!” shouted the old colonel, hopping up and down and thrashing his arms in the air. “see how many bases you can tear off before the ball comes in.”

“there’s the greaser, spilling over the home plate!” howled a delirious voice.

“and here comes clancy! hoop-a-la! watch him go. that red head looks like a comet.”

blunt was standing up on the players’ bench, roaring at the top of his voice. what he said, however, was lost in the general hubbub.

while clancy was covering the ground as though it burned his feet, the fielders were scrambling to get the ball. farther and farther out they went, clear down into the distant oval of the cinder track.

clancy came home—the score was tied. still the ball was not coming back.

“come in, merry!” howled a hundred frantic voices. “come in! you’ve knocked out a home run!”

this was really the case. the voices of the coachers were drowned in merriwell’s ears, and he had to keep

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track of the ball himself. he was disposed to play safe. in the face of the general yell for him to get in the winning tally, however, he plunged for home with all the speed that was in him. by then the ball was coming, and those who had shouted for merry to finish his circle of the bases were beginning to feel sorry that their ardor had carried them away.

the ball was relayed from second by a beautiful throw. bleeker nabbed it and reached for merry. but, at that moment, merry’s feet were on the plate.

“safe!” bellowed the umpire.

that was the signal for bedlam to be turned loose. there was still a chance for ballard to bat, but the game was won, and what was the use of prolonging the agony?

spectators scrambled into the field and a rush was made for the panting and dusty merriwell. those who could not get near merry rushed at clancy, and those who failed to reach clancy made a set at the swarthy backstop.

it was remembered that honors were due equally to the three lads who had brought in the runs. it was the catcher who had started the batting rally, and had he not got a hit there would have been no chance for clancy and merriwell.

colonel hawtrey was one of those who had failed to come close to merry and clancy and had turned to the backstop.

“my boy,” said he, his voice a-thrill with excitement, “you started a bit of the finest and most sportsmanlike work i have ever seen pulled off on a ball ground. i wish to congratulate you, and——”

the colonel paused. the streams of sweat, which

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were pouring down the backstop’s face, were leaving little gutters of white in the swarthy hue of his cheeks.

“you’re not a mexican!” exclaimed the colonel.

“no,” agreed the youth, standing his ground. “i never said i was a mexican, colonel.”

“that voice!” gasped hawtrey, recoiling. “that——”

he suddenly ceased speaking. his face hardened and his eyes became two glowing points of white-hot steel.

“i know you!” went on the colonel savagely. “you couldn’t get into the game by fair means, and so you disguised yourself, smearing your face with some kind of stain to make you look like a mexican. you double-dealing scoundrel! you——”

just at this point darrel stepped to the front and thrust an arm affectionately through that of his half brother.

“don’t blame jode for it, colonel,” said darrel. “i’m the one who engineered the scheme.”

“and i’m the one who helped you,” said merry, moving up on lenning’s other side.

colonel hawtrey passed a dazed hand across his forehead.

“do you mean to say, ellis,” he muttered, “that you—you admit having deceived me?”

“i admit persuading jode to fix himself up as mexican joe,” answered darrel. “it was his only chance to get into the game, you see. he had to come in as merriwell’s substitute, although posing at the same time as mexican joe.”

“why did you want him in the game?” demanded the colonel.

“we wanted to see him do some good work and win back your friendship and that of a few of the lads who have turned against him.”

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“perhaps he has succeeded,” said the colonel coldly, “but it is a case of double-dealing which i will not countenance.”

hawtrey, elbowing the crowd aside, started toward the clubhouse.

“i say, colonel!” called mr. bradlaugh.

“i’m going to town, bradlaugh,” said the colonel, without looking back. “if you want to see me, it will have to be at the ophir house.”

“don’t fret, boys,” said mr. bradlaugh to merry, lenning, and darrel. “he’ll feel better after a while. i’ll see what i can do with him.”

with that mr. bradlaugh hurried after his irate friend.