“Well, we can take care of him easily enough,” announced Colonel Carson, with great complacence. “Your goin’ to Orton will come in jest right, too.” “Me? Not on your life!” exclaimed Bully fervently. “You don’t get me mixed in no more doings with that kid, Merriwell, pop. Not much! I’m done.” “Oh, no you’re not!” said the other easily. “I’ll get over to Fardale for that game, and I’ll get a good bunch o’ money down on Franklin. That cussed fool Merriwell done me out o’ the McQuade mortgage, and I’m goin’ to make him and his kid sweat for it, you bet!” “I guess he wasn’t so much of a fool if he did you out o’ anything,” muttered Bully, under his breath. “Yep, it’s a good scheme, a mighty good scheme,” mused his father reflectively. “I’ll give you a rake-off on them bets, Bully. Ain’t the kid got an uncle named Dick Merriwell?” “Sure. What’s the idea?” Bully began to take a keener interest in the subject. He knew that the wily Colonel Carson was rarely bested at such an encounter as this, and hope sprang anew that his father could succeed where he himself had failed. “You wait, son. I ain’t got the precise details figgered out, but they’re a-comin’. Yes, they’re on the way, all right.” Colonel Carson fell to tugging thoughtfully at his goatee. An instant later there came a soft whistle below the windows. “There’s Ironton now,” exclaimed Bully. He crossed to the nearest window, and flung up the sash. “That you, Bully?” came the voice of Ironton. “Sure, it’s me. What’d you find out?” There was a trace of anxiety in his tones. He still half feared that Merriwell would arrest him for that night’s work. “It’s all right, Bully. I heard ’em talking. They ain’t goin’ to do nothin’ about it, but figure on goin’ home to-morrow.” “Ask where Merriwell is,” spoke up Colonel Carson hastily. Bully repeated the question. “He and the red-headed guy went up to the Morton House,” answered Ironton. “How’s the eye?” “Black,” said Bully, with a curse. “I’m goin’ to skip out o’ town fer a few days. Much obliged, Ironton. See you later.” He closed the window. Colonel Carson had risen, and was reflectively fingering a telegraph blank he had extracted from his pocket. “I’m glad to get that information, Bully. I guess I can fix Mr. Chip Merriwell without much trouble!” “I’d like to know how,” growled Bully. “You will, as soon as you get your car out. I want you to do an errand over at Orton, and I guess there won’t be any chance to go wrong this time. Get ready, and when the car’s out come to my room.” And Colonel Carson made his exit, whistling softly to himself. CHAPTER XX. LURED AWAY. “No use--I can’t sleep a morning like this!” Chip Merriwell jumped out of bed and went to the window. It was early Sunday morning, and from the room at the hotel which he and Clancy occupied he had a clear view of the village green, the streets leading on down toward the river, and the green opposite slope of the valley beyond.