The short mile separating Ophir from the mine was quickly covered by the big car. There was little time for conversation during the ride, and what little talk the general manager indulged in had nothing to do with Lenning, but concerned Mexican Joe entirely.
“Burke got hold of Joe less than two weeks since,” remarked Mr. Bradlaugh. “The boy came here from a mine near Wickenburg, with the best recommendations I ever saw for a Mexican. He’s as strong as a horse and as spry as a wild cat; what’s more to the point, he knows his business, and is straight as a string. Just now, Merriwell, Joe is a comparative stranger. He flocks by himself pretty much, but he is well liked by those who have come to know him. Burke, the superintendent, can’t say too much in his favor.”
“How old is he?” Frank asked.
“Eighteen.”
A disappointment awaited the general manager and Merriwell when they stopped at the blacksmith shop for a few words with Mexican Joe. Joe had been given leave of absence by Burke to go to the bedside of a sick relative who lived near Gold Hill.
The superintendent, who saw the car at the blacksmith shop, strolled down from the little headquarters office to find out what the general manager wanted. His face lighted up when he heard about the forthcoming ball game.
“You’ve got to have Joe, Merriwell,” he declared. “Our
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 miners play ball a little, between shifts, and I’ve seen Joe behind the bat. He’s a wonder as a backstop.”
“But if he’s away,” Frank answered, intensely disappointed, “how can we possibly have him?”
“He’ll be back to-morrow morning, and I’ll arrange to have him go out to the clubhouse whenever you say.”
“Good! Make it to-morrow afternoon at two-thirty.”
“He’ll be there; and I can promise you that, on the day of the game, there’ll be a big attendance from these diggings. But don’t you let Gold Hill down you!”
“We’re going to do our best, Burke,” laughed Merriwell. “Where is Lenning?”
“Lenning?” the super echoed, giving Frank a quick glance, and then shifting his gaze to the general manager.
“Merriwell,” Mr. Bradlaugh explained passively, “has chosen Lenning for one of his players.”
It seemed, for a moment, as though Burke was going to voice a protest of his own against the availability of Lenning. He thought better of it, however.
“Lenning ought to be at the bunk house now,” said he. “He’s still the night watchman, you know, and doesn’t go on duty until seven-thirty.”
“You go over to the bunk house, Merriwell, and talk with him,” suggested Mr. Bradlaugh. “I’ll stay here with Burke.”
Frank was glad that he was to be alone when he talked with Lenning. In a private interview there would be less restraint, and a freer expression of views and motives, than could have been the case if the general manager or the superintendent had been present.
Lenning was found sitting on a bench in the shadow of the bunk-house wall. His back was against the wall and his eyes were turned upward, staring into vacancy.
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 Evidently he was in a thoughtful mood, and gave no heed to Frank when he came around the corner of the bunk house.
At a little distance, Frank halted. The friendly shout which was on his lips was smothered, and he stood silently at gaze for a few moments studying the form on the bench.
Lenning had a sinister face and eyes that showed a tendency to waver and shift about, looking anywhere but at the person with whom he happened to be talking. Neither face nor eyes, it must be admitted, were calculated to inspire confidence. And yet, as Merry knew well, such appearances are not to be taken as final in judging a person’s character.
Just at that moment, Lenning’s face wore an overwhelming expression of sadness, perhaps of contrition. He did not have to go far into his past to find abundant cause for self-reproach and regret.
Lenning, when he had posed as the favorite nephew of Colonel Hawtrey, had been allowed everything for his comfort that money could buy. His only work had been to act as his uncle’s secretary, and he had worn expensive clothes and had been supplied with more of the good things of life than often come the way of most boys.
Now, by contrast, he was an ordinary hand at the cyanide plant, and the serviceable corduroys in which he was clad were frayed and stained with oil and dust. From almost a drone, living on another’s bounty, Jode Lenning had become a worker, and was earning his own support.
Here was proof of Lenning’s resolve to be different from what he had been, and it was one of the things that had impelled Merriwell to befriend the fellow when all others had turned against him. With an odd feeling
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 of heightened respect for the lad on the bench, Frank moved forward with a cheery, “Hello, Jode!”
Lenning gave a start, lowered his eyes, and turned. The next moment he had started to his feet, a pleased smile wreathing his lips.
“Howdy, Merriwell?” he called, taking the newcomer’s outstretched hand. “What brings you over this way? Had a notion you’d left Arizona by this time.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Len,” answered Frank, “without coming around to say good-by. Can’t tell just how soon we’ll go,............