With his hand on the knob, he paused and looked back. Brad had not stirred. With a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes, he sat in a listless attitude, apparently quite unconscious of his surroundings or wrapped in deep thought. “Come on, Buckhart!” impatiently cried Dick. Still the other did not move. Merriwell turned back and stepped quickly to his friend’s side, seizing him by the shoulder and giving him a shake. “Come out of that trance! What’s the matter with you?” Apparently with an effort, the Texan pulled himself together. “What is it?” he inquired. “Was I asleep? Great horn spoon, I feel queer! Kind of numb all over!” “Are you numb?” said Dick. “I should hate to see you go into a game in this condition. Brace up!” Thus adjured, Buckhart rose with a great effort to his feet. He brushed a hand across his eyes, as if trying to wipe away a blurring mist. “All right,” he said grimly. “Go ahead, partner. I’m with you.” Although Dick flung the door open and stepped outside for his friend to follow, Buckhart made a strange miscalculation and ran full against the edge of the door, which caused him to recoil and very nearly upset him. “Well, of all things!” gasped Merriwell, as he sprang back into the room and seized his companion by the arm. “Can’t you see?” “Sure,” answered Brad; “but that door moved just as I arrived at it. It certain did, pard?” “Have you been drinking?” inquired Dick. “Hold on, Richard Merriwell!” growled the Texan resentfully. “You know I reside on the sprinkler. I never lap up ardent liquors.” “Well, this is the first time I ever saw a sober man in your condition.” Weakly Brad pushed Dick off. “I am all right,” he muttered grimly, evidently bracing up as much as possible. “I’ll prove I’m all right.” He then walked out of the room, and Dick followed, closing and locking the door. Once while descending the stairs the Texan stumbled and Dick caught hold of him, fearing he would lose his footing. The boys were waiting below, and together the whole team left hurriedly. In front of the hotel stood Tom Fernald, smoking a cigarette. He watched them as they came out, and his eyes surveyed Buckhart keenly. He noted Brad’s pallor and faltering step. He also observed that Dick had hold of Buckhart’s arm. “All right,” muttered Fernald to himself. “Ripley did the job. He told me he saw Buckhart drinking the glass of water into which the powder had been dropped, but I thought he might be lying. That wild and woolly young Texan is doped for fair. With him in that condition Fairhaven stands no show of winning.” Not one of the boys gave Fernald a glance. They started down the street, but paused at the first corner, for coming up another street that led to the water front was a large excursion party, headed by Brick McLane, of Fairhaven, who shouted at them and waved his hand.