The Rover Boys on Sunset Trail; or, The old miner's mysterious message

“Some baseball game, if you ask me!” exclaimed Andy Rover, as he threw his cap high into the air in satisfaction.

“Jack had the whole bunch from Longley guessing from the start,” added Andy’s twin brother, Randy Rover.

“What got me was the way Tommy Flanders was batted out of the box in that fatal sixth inning,” put in Captain Fred Rover. “It was worse than the time we batted him out before,” and he grinned broadly.

“You mustn’t give me too much credit for winning that game,” came modestly from Major Rover, as he smiled at his cousins and the other cadets of Colby Hall who were with him, all togged out in their natty baseball uniforms. “Remember, I made only one of the eleven runs we got. Fred made two and so did Dan, while Gif brought in three.”

“Of course we all helped, Jack,” returned Gif Garrison, the captain of the Colby Hall nine. “But what counts big with us is that you held Longley down to a sum total of one big goose egg. Wow! that’s enough to keep them off the diamond for a year or two.”

“And I hope it does,” came from Spouter Powell, who had gone with the team as a substitute. “Remember, our team has got to be thoroughly reorganized next season, with Jack and Fred and Gif dropping out.”

“It’s a good thing that Colonel Colby didn’t enforce that rule he was going to put through of keeping officers out of athletic contests. If he had done that, we’d have been minus Jack and Fred for this game.”

“Gosh! how I’m going to miss old Colby Hall,” sighed Fred Rover. “At first I thought graduating and getting away was going to be fine. But when I think of what we’re going to miss in baseball and football and in the gymnasium and on the campus――well, I’m not so sure,” and his face clouded.

“Oh, well, we can’t be cadets and schoolboys all our lives,” consoled his cousin Jack. “Just the same, I’ll hate to give up baseball, and I’ll hate to give up being major of the school battalion, too.”

“How the Longley Academy fellows hated to see that silver trophy going to us,” put in Phil Franklin, who had gone along as scorer. “Some of the fellows looked as black as a thundercloud when the committee wrapped it up in that cloth and turned it over to Gif.”

“Well, I guess the fellows from Hixley High and Columbus Academy felt just as bad,” came from Spouter Powell. For the trophy was one which had been fought for by four of the schools on and in the vicinity of the lake.

“We’ve got the goods! We’ve got the goods! Because we played good ball. No matter what we try to do, Old Colby’s got the call!”

chanted Andy Rover gayly. “I don’t see why Colonel Colby can’t add a Chair of Baseball to the curriculum,” he added, with a grin. “We’d have a whole lot of professors to fill it.”

The cadets from Colby Hall were on their way to the boat-landing, where they intended to embark on several motor boats which were to take them across Clearwater Lake to where the military academy they attended was located. Behind them came a motley collection of other cadets and spectators in general, including not a few girls from Clearwater Hall. Two of the members of the ball team――the second baseman and the right fielder――carried between them an object carefully wrapped in a bit of dark cloth. This object was a tall silver vase beautifully engraved. It had been put up as a prize by the owners of the rival institutions of learning on the lake, and now, having been won three times by the Colby Hall nine, had become the permanent property of that organization.

“What will we do with the vase, now we’ve won it?” questioned Fred.

“Better melt it up and make souvenirs of it,” suggested Randy Rover, with a smile. “Each cadet might get a medal the size of a quarter, stamped, ‘In Memory of the Time that We Licked Longley out of Its Boots,’” and at this there was a general laugh.

“I guess we’ll have to put it in that glass case in the gymnasium along with the other Hall trophies,” said Gif. “It doesn’t belong to any one in particular, you know. It belongs to the whole school.”

When the cadets reached the lake front they began to separate because the various motor boats were tied up at different landings. As the four Rover boys went forward they heard a girlish cry behind them and, turning, saw four young ladies hurrying toward them.

“Oh, Jack! Wait a minute!” cried Ruth Stevenson, a tall and exceedingly good-looking girl, as she came up and extended her hand. “I want to congratulate you on your splendid victory. It was simply great!”

She caught the young major’s hand and squeezed it warmly.

“Oh, Fred, to think you really won that trophy!” burst out May Powell, another of the girls. “Oh, I could just have hugged somebody when I heard the good news!”

“Dad will be awfully glad to hear of this new victory of yours, Jack,” said Martha Rover.

“I’m going to write a long letter home to-night,” added Fred’s sister Mary quickly. “I’m just going to let them know what real heroes you two boys are.”

“Oh, say, Mary! don’t pile it on so thick,” interrupted her brother. “Remember, a baseball game is only a baseball game, after all.”

“All aboard!” shouted one of the cadets from a motor boat near by. “Remember, fellows, it’s getting late and we’ve got quite a trip before us.”

“Yes, and remember that we’ve got to get ready for the celebration to-night,” added another cadet.

“Oh, I wish we could see the celebration!” cried Ruth Stevenson.

“You don’t wish it any more than I do,” answered Jack quickly. “But I don’t see how it can be done.” And then, after a few words more, the boys and girls separated and the four Rovers boarded one of the Colby Hall motor boats, along with Gif, Phil Franklin, and half a dozen others.

“Who’s got the silver trophy? Where is the silver trophy?” came from others on the boat-landings.

“We’ve got it safe and sound,” sang out Phil Franklin.

“Well, take good care of it,” came from another cadet. “That trophy is worth just about a million dollars to Colby Hall.”

“Make it nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, and I’ll believe you,” answered Andy Rover loudly, and this produced a general chuckle. Then, one after another, the motor boats bound for Colby Hall set off across Clearwater Lake.

It was an ideal day in late June, with bright sunshine and just sufficient breeze to make the air bracing. There had been a good attendance at the ball game, and now the surface of the lake was alive with all manner of craft carrying spectators to various points on the water front. There were canoes and rowboats, motor boats and steam yachts, as well as catboats and several small sloops. From the shore, where a road ran up and down the lake front, could be heard the sounds from numerous automobiles and motorcycles.

“I’ll bet the hole in a button against the hole in a doughnut that there won’t be much of a celebration at Longley to-night,” remarked Randy Rover, as the motor boat, under the guidance of Pud Hicks, one of the school employees, proceeded cautiously out from among the mass of craft near by.

“You’ll be able to cut the gloom with a knife,” answered his twin.

“And the gloomiest boy of the bunch will be Tommy Flanders,” put in Fred.

“I hope it takes some of the conceit out of him,” answered Jack. “I haven’t forgotten how he treated us when we were in camp up at Big Bear Lake,” he went on, referring to some happenings which have already been related in detail in another volume.

“I wonder if Tommy Flanders and his bunch will be at Longley next season,” mused Fred.

“I heard so,” returned Spouter Powell. “Tommy and his cronies didn’t pass some of the examinations last year, so they have got to hold over another term.”

“Gee! I hope we pass in our final examinations,” said Andy wistfully. “I’d hate awfully to flunk at the last minute, wouldn’t you?”