heem thees minute."

Looking up in astonishment, the trio in the boat beheld the Mexican
standing on the brink of the cliff. His clothes were somewhat wrinkled
and soiled, seeming to need cleansing and pressing. But the man was
there in the flesh, grinning at them in a malicious, triumphant manner.

Greg Carker smothered an exclamation of amazement.

"Evidently you were mistaken in thinking the man drowned," said Frank
quietly. "We've had all this trouble for nothing."

"Oh, eet ees not so easee to keel Jose Murillo!" sneered the rascal.
"Where he fall in the lake the water ees not so deep. He stand up, with
hees head out. He walk to the shore. He see Carkaire look for heem, and
he keep steel. Now he look for Carkaire. Better have a care, gringo, for
Jose Murillo weel find the time to strike you yet! _Adios!_ He weel see
you lataire!"

The man turned and hurried away.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A LIVELY GAME.

When the Farnham Hall baseball team came out for practice that afternoon
they found another team on the field. This team was dressed in blue
suits, and on the breast of each shirt was a large white letter M.

Frank Merriwell had found these old suits stored away and brought them
forth. At sight of them his friends were seized with the old-time
enthusiasm for the great American game, and it did not take them long to
get into the suits and onto the field.

"What's this?" cried Dale Sparkfair, as he surveyed Merry's team. "We
seem to have intruders here. We'll have to put them off the field, boys.
We'll have to do them up."

Hans Dunnerwurst paused, with his hands on his hips, and stared at Dale.
Half a dozen persons shouted at the Dutchman, but he failed to heed
their warning, and a ball thrown at him struck him on the head, bounding
off.

"Hey!" squawked Hans. "Who threw me at dot brick? Vos dot der vay you
vill dood us upness? Py Chiminy! You fellers vant to vade right in und
let it try you. I pelief ve can play paseball all aroundt yoursellufs.
You vos challenched to meet us a game into. Yah! Vill you exception dot
challench?"

"Where's the interpreter?" asked Spark.

"Der vot?"

"The interpreter."

"Vot you vant py him?"

"You need some one to interpret your conversation, my Irish friend."

"Irish? Irish?" yelled Hans, in exasperation. "Don'd you callt
mineselluf Irish! Parney Mulloy vos der only Irishman der party into,
und he vos der greenest pogtrotter dot efer come der Emerald Isle oudt