An hour after Merry and Brad had left the office of the general manager of the Ophir Mining Company, Merry was sitting alone on the veranda of the Ophir House, waiting for his chums to arrive from the camp in the gulch. He was wondering, a little dubiously, whether he had done right by setting his judgment against the colonel’s in the matter of Jode Lenning.
In matters of sentiment, and quite apart from ordinary business, Merriwell knew that Colonel Hawtrey was far from infallible. The colonel himself had mentioned the fact that he had been wrong and Merriwell right in affairs connected with Ellis Darrel. The same sort of a “hunch” that had led Merry to befriend Darrel was now spurring him on to help Lenning. If it was right in one case, he felt in his bones it must be right in the other.
And then, too, Lenning was absolutely friendless. In this sorry plight, he had smothered his pride and appealed for aid to a fellow whom he considered an enemy. This touched Merry, as he might have expressed it, pretty close “to where he lived.” Lenning had asked for help, and Merry would have felt like a cur if he had turned him down.
The lad on the veranda was unable to find any fault with himself for his generous action. He did not mix any hard-headed logic in his reasoning, but considered the affair almost entirely from the standpoint of doing the right thing by a chap who was down and had every man’s hand against him.
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“I say, Merriwell!”
Frank started at the sound of the voice. Looking up, he saw a lad leaning over the veranda rail not more than a couple of yards away. His face was haggard, and his clothes, although of good quality, were dusty and rumpled. A pair of eyes, by nature of the shifty sort, were fixed with some steadiness upon Merry’s face.
“Oh, hello, Lenning,” said Frank, with a certain amount of constraint in his voice and manner. “I thought you were out at the mine.”
“I was there,” came the answer, “until I heard a little while ago that I was to have a job as night watchman, and that I owed the job to you. That sent me to town. Can you give me a little of your time? I—I’ve got something I want to say to you.”
“Sure! Come up here and take a chair. We’ll palaver as long as you please.”
“I’d rather not do my talking here. If you’re agreeable, suppose we walk out along the road to the mine. I’ll feel more like loosening up if I knew there’s no one around to overhear.”
“That suits me,” and Frank left the veranda and started south with Lenning, through the ragged outskirts of the town.
Lenning did not travel the main street, but avoided it, finally leading Frank out on the trail to the mine by a roundabout course. A short mile lay between the settlement and the Ophir “workings,” and Lenning did not speak until the last house in the town had been left behind. If he had much to say, Frank thought, he would have to talk fast if he got through before they reached the mine.
But Lenning did not propose to walk while he was easing his mind. He found a place at the trailside where
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 they could sit down, and after they had made themselves comfortable, he began:
“I reckon you think I had a good deal of nerve to drag you into this,” said he, “but I knew if you wouldn’t give me a good word no one else would, and the jig would be up. I’m obliged to you. I hadn’t a notion you’d help me, but I took the only chance I had. You’ve acted white, and I want you to know that I appreciate it and that I’m going to make good—if it’s possible.”
“I don’t know why it isn’t possible,” said Merriwell, “so long as you keep away from Shoup.”
A scowl crossed the other’s haggard face. Instinctively his hand went to the back of his head, where the paddle had left its mark.
“You can bet all you’re worth I’ll keep away from that crazy dub. He had a lot to do with getting me into trouble. The responsibility isn’t all his, by a long shot, for I was born with an inclination to be crooked—and you can’t get away from what’s bred in the bone.”
“Who pounded that into you, Lenning? Was it Shoup?”
“I don’t know. He was always harping on that idea, and maybe I got a little of it from him.”
“Well, it’s the wrong idea, I don’t care where you got it. Cut it out. Don’t hamper yourself with any such foolishness. You’ve got a hard fight on your hands, and if you go into it without any confidence in yourself, you’re going to lose out.”
Lenning stared at Merriwell blankly.
“Don’t you believe that some traits are handed down to a fellow?” he asked.
“They may be handed down, but that’s no sign a fellow’s got to let them get a strangle hold on him,” Frank answered, with spirit. “Some fellows,” he added, “take
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 all the credit if they make a show in the world; but, if they go wrong, they put all the blame onto some one else. You’re responsible for what you do, or don’t do. A fellow’s a pup if he can’t take all the responsibility for his own actions, or——”
Frank broke off with a laugh.
“Hang it!” he grunted, “I don’t know what license I’ve got to preach. What I’ve said is the truth, though, so we’ll let it pass and go on to something else.”
“I don’t want to go on to anything else,” said Lenning, “at least, not just yet. This is a mighty important matter, to me. I’ve got a yellow streak—in some things, I’m a plain coward&............