“I had some business, and I took this as the best time to do it when there would be no one to see me and get inquisitive.” They stood up to the bar and ordered whisky. There was only one bartender in the place, and, after serving them, he gave them no further attention, which permitted them to talk in low tones without fearing that they would be overheard. “I’m going to take no chances with this man Merriwell,” said Huntley. “I propose to make sure he’ll not win that trophy. I want it, and I’m going to have it.” “Don’t be afraid of Merriwell,” laughed Hollingsworth, with a significance that Huntley did not catch. “He won’t beat anything.” “You don’t seem to know what the fellow can do. He’s a wonder, and he wins at anything he tries if given a fair show.” “But how can he have a fair show with you when you know a short cut through Dead Timber Jungle and another over Ragged Hill? Seems to me you’re worrying too much about him.” “I tell you that you don’t know him. He’s out on the course now, and I’ll wager he’s looking for short cuts. It’s likely he’ll find the way over Ragged Hill, though he may not strike the one through the jungle. If he should discover both those cuts—well, unless something else stopped him, he’d surely carry off that trophy. I tell you I don’t intend to take any chances. He’ll never win. In order to make sure of that I decided not to cover the course to-day and came here. I’ve arranged it.” “How?” asked Hollingsworth. Huntley glanced toward the barkeeper, and then whispered: “I’ve engaged two ruffians to waylay and sandbag him.” The trainer whistled softly. “Oh, you have?” “Yes. I found the men for it. Twenty-five a piece I had to pay them.” “And wasted your money.” “No; they’ll do it. The only thing is to make sure they’ll get him at some point where he’ll be sure to pass. And they must get him alone, too. That’s the difficulty. I’m going to follow him close when he goes over the course to-morrow.” “You’ve wasted your money,” repeated Hollingsworth. “Not if they do the job.” “They won’t.” “Why not?” “They won’t have the chance.” “I don’t understand why.” “Because he won’t race.” Huntley looked at the trainer intently. “I don’t suppose——” he began, then stopped and gazed still more fixedly at Hollingsworth. “What are you doing here in town?” he suddenly asked. “You ought to be out with your men, chasing them over the country. I don’t understand it.” “I had some business to look after,” grinned the trainer. “Drink up, sir. Here’s success to you, and may you take pleasure displaying the Ashley Trophy when you have won it.” They drank; but Huntley now knew his companion had been up to something, and his curiosity was great. “What did you do here in town?” he repeated. “I made one hundred and ninety-five dollars,” was the answer. “Did you?” “Yes.” “In what manner?” “To begin with, I made a hundred dollars off you.” Huntley clutched the arm of the trainer.