The whole of Saturday, Frank and his chums had planned to devote to that contest with Gold Hill. Morning dawned bright and cloudless; but that is not saying much, for bright and cloudless mornings prevail in southern Arizona for three hundred and sixty days out of every year.
This was a land in which summer sports were to be enjoyed the whole year round. For those who liked that sort of thing the climate had its appeal, but Merriwell and his friends were beginning to think that the rigor of frost and snow, at the usual time, would form a pleasant change in that monotonous round of balmy weather.
Saturday was free from the grind which, for five days in the week, the professor insisted on during the hours from eight to twelve. Nearly the whole forenoon, therefore, Merriwell was free to spend on the clubhouse grounds.
All his players had presented themselves, with the exception of Mexican Joe. It was around Joe that the plot which concerned Lenning was to revolve, and the absence of the catcher caused Frank some apprehension.
There was a little practice on the diamond, but not enough to tire the players, and some time before noon Merry, Clancy, and Ballard were back at the hotel. Already people were beginning to arrive in town for the game. They came afoot, on horseback, and in buckboards and mountain wagons.
There were miners and ranchers, Indians, Mexicans,
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 and Chinamen. The Bar Z Ranch, where Blunt worked, sent a big delegation of cowboys—and they were all there to root for Barzy.
News of the game had traveled like wildfire over the cattle ranges and the mining districts. Young Merriwell had been pretty much in everybody’s eye during the time he had sojourned in Arizona, and much of the outpouring was due to a desire to see the lad who had proved himself such a worthy chip off the old block.
As a sporting event, the baseball game promised to be Merry’s farewell performance. This, in itself, was a powerful lure in gathering the crowds.
As early as one o’clock the movement set in from Ophir toward the clubhouse and the athletic field. The game was not called until three, but the eagerness of the people to secure good seats led them to make an early start for the grounds.
“There’ll be some crowd on hand to see us land on the Gold Hillers, Chip,” remarked Clancy, as they stood on the hotel veranda and watched the flow of people along the main street of the town.
“Or to see the Gold Hillers land on us,” Frank laughed.
“Not at all, not at all,” insisted the red-headed chap. “It would be too awful if we got stung at this athletic game just before we shook the Arizona dust from our brogans for good. Here, where we have been consistently victorious, we must wind up our activities with a success that will eclipse all the others. Victory shall perch on the Ophir banners, to the end that finis coronat opus may be justly exemplified. I repeat, friends and fellow citizens, that——”
“Choke off that old windjammer, Chip!” begged Ballard, coming out on the veranda at that moment with his
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 suit case. “He’s got a notion that he’s making a public speech.”
“I’ve got other notions, Pink, if it comes to that,” said Clancy, giving his chum a look of intense disapproval. “One of them is that you’re little Billy Buttinski, and spoil many a good thing because you’re jealous.”
“Jealous—of you? Why, you red-headed snipe——”
“Tut, tut!” interposed Clancy, waving his hand restrainingly, “men have been shot for less than that. But don’t push me too far, Pink, don’t push me too far.”
Ballard was about to reply, keeping up his end of the good-natured give and take, when he caught sight of some one hurrying toward the hotel along the sidewalk.
“Here’s our prize greaser, fellows!” he announced. “Wonder why he wasn’t around this morning?”
“Knows he didn’t need the practice, I guess,” answered Clancy. “If the rest of us can measure up to the standard set by him and Chip, Gold Hill won’t get a score across the pan.”
Frank got his eyes on the approaching backstop and watched him keenly and critically. The appearance of the lad was the first intimation he had had of the success of Darrel in carrying out the plot of the preceding evening. Now, as his eyes followed the catcher along the sidewalk and to the steps of the veranda, Merriwell experienced a thrill of profound satisfaction. Darrel, it was evident at a glance, had done his work wonderfully well.
Clancy and Ballard had not been taken into Merry’s confidence regarding that note which had arrived from Burke. Had they been with Frank at the time of its receipt, very likely they would have been given the whole disturbing message. Later, after his talk with Darrel, Frank was glad that his chums were in ignorance of
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 Burke’s note. Now he was purposely keeping them in the dark.
“Howdy, Joe!” shouted Clancy. “You’re looking as husky as a keg of nails.”
The other’s swarthy face parted in a genial smile; but, true to his taciturn disposition, he had nothing to say in reply.
“Think we’re going to win, Joe?” queried Ballard, by way of testing the catcher’s confidence.
The other ducked his head emphatically.
“That’s right, Joe,” grinned Clancy, “I wouldn’t talk if it’s painful. If you’d only learn ............