“And Jack Diamond is playing at the table with Jim Welch? Well, this is a surprise! I can hardly believe it.” “I’ll show you.” Hodge was not saying anything now, but he did not miss a word. He was no less astonished than Merriwell to learn that Jack was playing with Welch. “Vait!” gurgled Hans, who was getting out of breath. “You can’t kept oop mit me uf I hurry so, can I?” “You had better keep back, anyway,” said Bruce. “They will hear you if you come lumbering up to the cottage they are in.” “Who toldt you so?” squawked the Dutch boy. “How vos id I knew so much apout your pusiness? You make me haf dot tired veelings, Misder Prowning!” “Bruce is right,” said Frank. “You had better keep back, Hans. There may be a fight, and you will get in the way.” “A vight!” gasped Hans. “Oxcuse me! I vos nod a scrappers! I vill sot down und vait dill you got pack here.” Then he proceeded to sit down at the foot of a tree, leaning against it. The others hurried on. They left Camp Benson and continued up the shore to a small cove. “There is the cottage,” said Bruce, pointing out one that stood back by itself amid the trees. “It looks deserted,” observed Frank. “That is because they have closed the door, and put the shutters to the windows.” “But how are we to look in?” “I know a way. Come.” They followed him round behind the cottage, and then approached it with great caution, stepping lightly, so that they would not be heard. As they came near, they could hear a humming of voices within. They crept up to the back of the cottage, which was not shingled on that end, and Browning applied his eye to a knot hole. After a moment he drew back, showing astonishment. “You can’t guess who is trying to get into the game now?” he whispered. Frank shook his head. “Look and see,” said Bruce. Merry did so. Applying his eye to the knot hole, he was able to look into the cottage. He also could hear the talk of the men around the table. Six of them were seated, Diamond and Welch being two of the party. Another man, evidently a late comer, was standing. He it was who was trying to get into the game. It was Bill Bunker! “Why can’t I come in?” he was demanding, in a half-drunken manner. “Mr. Welch will speak for me.” “Yes,” said Welch, “he is a friend of mine, and he is all right, gentlemen. I will speak for him.” “It makes too many players at one table,” said one, who seemed to be something of a stranger to the others. “We have enough here now.” “He isn’t one of the gang,” thought Frank, immediately. “He and Jack are the birds they are plucking.” “Do the others object?” demanded Bunker, aggressively. “Look here; I’ve got money to burn, and I’m looking for an open grate to burn it in.” Then he took out a roll of bills with one hand and jingled some bright yellow pieces with the other. “Gold!” exclaimed a player. “Where did you get so much of that stuff? Gold isn’t plenty in these parts.”