Frank Merriwells Races | Page 6

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"Hartwick's companion is somebody I know. I did not obtain a fair look at him, but--great Scott! it was the card sharp, Rolf Harlow!"
Harlow was a fellow who had entered Harvard, but had not completed his second year there, leaving suddenly for reasons not generally known.
A Yale man by the name of Harris, familiarly known as "Sport," because of his gambling inclinations, had known Harlow, and had introduced him to a number of Yale students.
Harris and Harlow were both poker players, but they claimed that they played the game "merely for amusement."
A number of Harris' acquaintances had been induced to enter into the game, and there had been some very "hot sittings."
No one seemed to suspect that Harlow was crooked, for he almost always lost, although he never lost large sums.
Harris won almost continually. He seemed to be the luckiest fellow in the world in drawing cards. He would hold up one ace on a large jackpot and catch two more aces and a small pair. It seemed the greatest kind of "bull luck."
Harry Rattleton, Merriwell's roommate, was following the game. Frank tried to induce him to keep away, but it was without avail.
Then Frank seemed to take an interest in the game, and it was not long before he proved that Harlow was a card manipulator, and caught him at one of his tricks.
That finished Harlow's career at plucking Yale "fruit," and the fellow left New Haven suddenly.
Harris had remained under a cloud of suspicion since that time, as there seemed very little doubt but he had been in league with Harlow, and they had divided the plunder between them.
The proof had not been sufficient to incriminate Harris, but it had been enough to make him unpopular and cause him to be shunned.
He had seemed to take this very meekly, but some of Merriwell's friends declared that Harris had not forgotten or forgiven, and that he would strike back at Frank if the opportunity ever presented.
Now Harlow was back in New Haven, and Hartwick, who had been forced to leave college to escape expulsion, was also there.
That meant something.
"Hartwick, Harlow and Harris--the three hard tickets. They are birds of a feather. All they need is Ditson to make a most delectable quartet!"
So muttered Frank Merriwell, as he gazed at the receding cloud of dust.
Frank began to realize that there was more trouble in store for him.
"I shall not deal gently with that gang this time," he declared, with a hard-set face. "This little adventure has put me on my guard, and I don't propose to let them have much fun with me. Those two fools were just full enough to drive right into me with the hope of doing me an injury, without a thought of their own necks. They might have been thrown out and killed, but they did not hesitate because of that. The one thought was to do me some way--any way. Hartwick always was a desperate fellow, but I did not fancy Harlow could be such a chap. However, he was driving that horse, and the way he drove was proof enough that he is careless of life and limb at times."
For some time Frank paid very little attention to Nemo, but the lameness of the horse became so pronounced at last that he could not help observing it once more.
"That worries me, old fellow," he admitted, with a troubled face. "It is something I can't understand."
He rode slowly back to the stable.
It was growing dark when he arrived at the stable. A strange man was standing outside as Frank rode up. The man looked keenly at the boy and the horse, and then, as the doors rolled open, followed into the stable.
"Horse is lame, eh?" he said, questioningly. "I didn't notice that when he went out. He wasn't lame then, was he?"
Frank paid not the least attention to this question. The man was a stranger, and the boy did not care to talk with him.
"I spotted that horse when yer rode out, young man," the stranger persisted. "Fine lookin' critter--just the kind I've been wantin' some time for a saddle horse. Whose critter is it?"
"Grody," said Frank, utterly ignoring the man, "I want you to see if you can tell what ails Nemo. He is lame in one of his hind feet. He was taken that way after I had been out a while. I think it possible there is something the matter with the way he is shod. Will you look after him without delay?"
"To be sure, sir--I'll not fail, sir," said Grody.
"Then the horse belongs ter you, does it?" asked the strange man, coming forward and addressing Frank in a point-blank manner. "I am a horseman, and I know all about critters. If there's anything the matter--and there seems to be--I can