“That’s the way I feel about it,” said Frank; “but I regret that you still thirst for my blood. I came here to find out if there is anything I can do for you.” “I wouldn’t take a favor from you for worlds. I know I’m in the wrong, but that makes me hate you none the less. Go now. But expect to face me again some day and fight for your life.” And thus they parted, still deadly enemies, much to Frank’s regret, for, in spite of Darleton’s dishonesty, there was a certain something in the make-up of the man that had won for him a feeling of sympathy in Merry’s heart. More than that, the courage displayed by Darleton in the duel caused Frank to think of him in a light of mingled admiration and regret. Although a scoundrel, not all the elements of his nature were unworthy. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XI THE RECEPTION AT CARTERSVILLE. The town of Cartersville is situated in the southern part of the State of Iowa. This was the first stop Frank and his party made after leaving Omaha. Their first view of the town was not particularly inviting, as the railway station, after the disagreeable habit of nearly all railway stations, was situated in the most unsightly and forbidding portion of the place. In the immediate vicinity were unpainted, ramshackle buildings, saloons, cheap stores and hovel-like houses. In front of the saloons and stores lounged a few slovenly, ambition-lacking loafers, while slatternly women and dirty children were seen in the doorways or leaning from the open windows of the wretched houses. On the station platform had gathered the usual crowd, including those who came to the train from necessity and those drawn thither by curiosity. There was also a surprisingly large gathering of boys of various ages, from six to eighteen. Frank walked briskly along to the baggage car and noted that the baggage belonging to his party was put off there. Then he glanced around, as if in search of some one. “I wonder where Mr. Gaddis is?” he said. “He was to meet us at the station.” A big, hulking six-footer, with ham-like hands and a thick neck, stepped forward from the van of a mixed crowd of about twenty tough-looking young fellows who had flocked down the platform behind Merry and his party. “Are you Frank Merriwell?” asked the huge chap, who was about twenty years old, as he held the butt of a half-smoked cheroot in the corner of his capacious mouth. “Yes, sir,” answered Merry promptly. “Do you represent Joseph Gaddis?” “I should say not!” was the retort. “Not by a blame sight.” “I thought not,” said Frank. “Oh, ye did? What made ye think not, hey?” “You are not just the sort of man I expected to meet. Do you know Mr. Gaddis?” “Do I? Some!” “Isn’t he here?” “I reckon not.” “Where is he?” “Ask me!” Although the manner of the big fellow was openly insolent, Merry did not seem to notice it.