“I assure you, Miss Blake, that I shall do my best to win,” said Merriwell wonderingly; “but I can’t understand what you mean by the statement that your fortune and your life depend upon it.”

“I am backing you.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“Why, I thought——”

“You know about the bet of ten thousand dollars on the result of this game?”

“Of course. A gentleman from Chicago, by the name of Doom, made that wager with Cameron.”

“Doom is my agent,” declared the woman.

“Impossible!”

“It is true. He wagered my money. It is all I have in the world. I also happen to know that ten thousand dollars is practically all Carey Cameron possesses. If I win he will be ruined. I must win.”

Frank was both perplexed and annoyed.

“I ask your pardon in advance for speaking plainly,” he said, “but I must tell you that I think you very foolish to take such a risk. You know all the chances are against us. If we win we must do so by strategy. I cannot understand why you should make such a venture.”

“I hate Carey Cameron!” she hissed. “I wish to ruin him—to strip him of his last dollar! He married my sister and treated her in the most brutal and inhuman manner until he forced her to give him all of her fortune, which he squandered in dissipation and gambling. After that he used her in the most inhuman manner, making her a prisoner in her own house. Her baby he starved and abused until the poor thing died. In the end my sister’s mind gave way, and he placed her in a madhouse.

“Why shouldn’t I hate him? Now you understand my reasons! I have sworn to ruin him, and for that purpose I am living here in Cartersville. He does not know me. He never saw my face, but I bear a strong resemblance to my sister as she looked when he married her, and I fear he might detect the resemblance should he behold me unveiled. For that reason I keep my face hidden constantly.

“You know my secret, Frank Merriwell. You are the first to whom I have revealed it since coming here. I hope to strike a blow at him to-day. If I fail—if you lose the game—my money will be gone, and I shall have no means of keeping up the struggle. What will there be for me then? I might as well be dead!”

At last Frank understood her secret, but that did not relieve him of his vexation on account of her folly, as he considered it. He saw that she was extremely impulsive. She had accepted this crude method of seeking revenge on Cameron, without sufficiently considering the danger that the result might be disastrous to herself; but now, as the struggle was about to begin, a full realization of the peril made her tremble and quake.

There was no rectifying her folly. The only way to save her was to win the game.

“Play ball! play ball!” howled the rough element of the crowed. “Put her off the field!”

“Merriwell has a mash!” shouted a man.

“Do your goo-gooing after the game,” advised another.

“Miss Blake,” said Frank earnestly, “you may rely on me to do my best; but I warn you in advance that the chances are strongly in favor of Cameron.”

“I have confidence in you,” she declared. “That is why I made that wager. I have had confidence in you from the moment when I first set eyes on you. Something tells me you are the sort of a man who triumphs. You will win—you must!”

“It would be a great misfortune for me to lose,” confessed Frank; “but you will be forced to bear uncertainty until the very end of the game, as we dare not take the lead too soon.”

Once more declaring her confidence in him, and seeming not to mind the cries of the crowd, she retired from the diamond and the game began.

Following was the line-up of each team:
CARTERSVILLE.     MERRIES.
Grady, cf.     Ready, 3d b.
Moran, ss.     Morgan, ss.
Johnson, 1st b.     Badger, lf.
Madison, rf.     Hodge, c.
Tonando, 3d b.     Merriwell, p.
Gibson, lf.     Gamp, cf.
Hickey, 2d b.     Browning, 1st b.
Collins, c.     Rattleton, 2d b.
Weaver, p.     Dunnerwurst, rf.

A yell of delight went up from the crowd as Grady met the first ball pitched and drove out a scorching single.

“We’re off! we’re off!” whooped Gibson, as he capered down to the coaching line back of first. “Keep it going, Moran!”

Moran responded by bunting and attempting to “beat it out.”

On the bunt Grady reached second, but Frank got the ball and threw Moran out at first.

“All right, chillun!” grinned Johnson, the colored player, as he ran out to hit. “Why, we’s gwine to make a hundred right heah.”

Frank gave him a swift inshoot.

“G’way dar, ma-a-an!” shouted Johnson. “Yo’ll sho’ hurt yo’ wing if yo’ tries to keep dat speed up.”

“One ball,” announced Starbright.

“Dat’s right, Mistah Umpiah,” commented the negro. “Make him git ’em ober de pan. If he do, I’s gwine to slam it right ober de fence.”

The next one was too far out.

“Two balls.”

“Come on, ma-a-an,” urged Johnson. “Yo’ll nebber fool dis chicken dat way.”

Merry tried a high ball, using lots of speed.

The batter hit it fairly and laced it on a line far into the field.

“Yah! yah! yah!” he whooped, as he scooted for first. “Dat pitcher was made fo’ me.”

Sitting on the bench, Carey Cameron saw Grady come home on the hit, while Johnson reached third base.

“This is going to be too easy,” said Cameron, to one of the substitutes. “It won’t do to run the score up too high and not give those poor dubs a show, for it will disgust the crowd and hurt baseball here for the rest of the season. I’ll have to hold the boys down the moment they get the game well in hand.”

The crowd began to ridicule Frank.

“Is that the great pitcher we’ve heard about?”

“He’s a fake!”

“That’s not the genuine Frank Merriwell!”

“Take him out!”

“Knock him out of the box!”

“Put him in the stable!”

Mat Madison was the next batter. The big bruiser made an insulting remark to Frank as he took his position at the plate.

“You’ll be a puddin’ for me,” he declared.

Instantly Merry resolved to strike Madison out. He gave Hodge a signal which Bart understood.

Frank began with the double shoot. Madison fancied the first ball pitched was just what he wanted and slashed at it with all his strength.

He missed.

“Strike one!” cried Starbright.

“Accident,” said Madison. “I’ll hit the next one I go after.”

Merry reversed the curve, and Madison missed again, much to his wonderment and disgust.

“Give me another just like that,” he urged.

“Here it is,” said Merry, and he actually pitched another of the same sort as the last.

“You’re out!” declared Starbright, as the bruiser missed the third time.

Madison was astounded and infuriated.

“Wait till my turn comes again!” he snarled, as he flung the bat down.

“Get-a ready to score, you ............