The Merries were received with a hearty cheer. They hurried to their bench, lost no time in laying out their bats, pulling off their sweaters, adjusting gloves and preparing for practice. At a word from Frank they trotted briskly onto the field, and practice began. Merry warmed up with Stretcher as catcher, while Hodge and Starbright batted to the men practicing on the diamond and in the field. Frank was slow and deliberate in warming up. He did not use speed, but limbered his arm gradually. Toward the last he threw two or three fairly swift ones and let it go at that. The players, however, went at it in earnest from the very start, and both infield and outfield work was of a snappy and sensational order. At a quarter to three the local players, with Cameron leading them, appeared. Instantly there was a great uproar from the toughs of the town who had been supporting Cameron. They rose up and yelled like a lot of Indians. Not only that, but they insisted that every one else should yell and threatened those who did not. “Them’s our boys!” they cried. “Cheer, you duffers—cheer!” If any one declined to cheer he suddenly found himself beaten over the head by two or three of the toughs, who insisted that he must “open up,” and this came near causing a general riot. Not for at least five minutes after the arrival of the Cartersville team did the commotion cease. Even then there were symptoms of anger and resentment in a number of places amid the crowd, and it seemed as if a spark might fire the powder and bring about an explosion. Frank called his players from the field, and the home team went out for practice. Merry found an opportunity to speak with Cameron, but the local manager insisted on his privilege of choosing innings, declining to toss a coin for choice. “All right,” smiled Frank. “Take your choice.” Imagine his surprise when Cameron said: “We’ll go to bat first.” “Suit yourself,” nodded Frank, with pretended disappointment. Cameron had played into his hands without knowing it. The practice of the locals was soon over. Then big Dick Starbright was accepted as the umpire. The time for the game to begin had arrived. Merriwell gave the signal, and his players ran out onto the field, scattering to their different positions. Frank entered the pitcher’s box. “Play ball!” cried Starbright. At this point, to the astonishment of Frank, the mysterious veiled woman darted onto the diamond and grasped his arm with her gloved hand. “Win this game, Frank Merriwell!” she urged huskily. “My fortune—yes, my life—depends upon it!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XVII THE VEILED WOMAN’S SECRET. “I assure you, Miss Blake, that I shall do my best to win,” said Merriwell wonderingly; “but I can’t understand what you mean by the statement that your fortune and your life depend upon it.” “I am backing you.” “You are?” “Yes.”