"If I don' win dat race, I done hope I nebber dror annodder bref, sar!" cried the darky boy, excitedly. "Dat'll show yo' what yo' kin do at de Coney Islan' races. If yo's gwan ter gamble on dat hawse, yo's a dead sho' winnar, sar!" "I am not much of a gambler, Toots, but I may back Nemo for a little something." "Yo'll win, Marser Frank. If dis darky ebber knowed what he wus talking about yo'll win!" Frank's enemies seemed remarkably quiet, but something told him that every move he made was watched. This was true, and they soon knew exactly what races he intended to enter Nemo for, and that the darky was going to ride the horse. One night Harris, Hartwick, Harlow, Ditson and Mike Hogan met in the saloon where they had first formed a combine against Merriwell. They were there by appointment, called together by Hartwick, who seemed to have assumed the leadership. Hartwick was taking no chances on any thin partitions, and so he secured a little back room in the place, where it seemed that nothing could be overheard by any one who might chance to be watching them. Drinks were ordered, and when they were brought and the waiter had departed Hartwick said: "Gentlemen, we may as well get down to business at once. I have called you together to make arrangements for striking a blow at our common enemy." "Well, I think it's erbout time!" growled Mike Hogan. "I've been wantin' ter do something fer a long while, but you have kept holdin' me back." "You have been too much on the jump, my friend," said Hartwick, scowling. "If we'd let you gone it alone you'd had Merriwell on his guard, and that would have ruined everything." "It strikes me that Merriwell is on his guard now," observed Harris. "He acts as if he knew there was something in the wind." "Well, he doesn't know what." "I don't know about that, either. He guards that horse as if the animal was worth its weight in dollar bills." "Which comes entirely from the fact that Hogan here tried to knock the horse out once," declared Harlow. "I don't know about that, either," said Hartwick. "But I want to say one thing here and now: If there's any one of this party who is playing double and carrying information to Merriwell, he'd better order his own coffin without delay, for he is bound to be found out, and we'll throw him cold in a minute." He looked at Ditson in a most significant manner as he said this, but Roll showed no signs of guilt. "Well, what's yer plan of war, boss?" asked Hogan, impatiently. "Don't get in too much of a hurry," scowled Hartwick. "We know Merriwell intends to enter Nemo in the Mystic Park races, at Bethany." "Yes." "That is the time to get at him." "How?" "He has money to burn. Get him to back Nemo for large sums for any of the first three positions. Give him all sorts of odds, if necessary; but get him to chuck up the dough, and then beat him out." "That's all right," growled Hogan; "but where's the dough comin' from what is shoved up against his good stuff?"