CHAPTER XXV.

DICK’S TRIPLE PLAY.

“I’d enjoy being kicked with a number fourteen boot!” said Jack Ready, as he came in to the bench. “I was the cause of that bunch of disaster. I should have handled that grounder in time to get the man.”

“Don’t cry over spilled milk,” advised Frank. “The game is still on.”

“Let us hope so. I want a chance to redeem myself.”

“We must do some hitting,” growled Browning. “It’s the only way to win games.”

“If by hitting you mean slugging, it’s not the only way to win games,” said Frank.

“Why, I’ve heard you say yourself that a heavy-hitting team will beat a fast-fielding team in most cases.”

“I acknowledge that,” nodded Merry; “but in close games sacrifice-hitting and good base-running count.”

“Our sacrifice-hitting hasn’t counted much to-day.”

“It has given us two runs.”

“They have four.”

“Obtained mostly by sacrificing.”

“Well, I’d like to see us jump onto that pitcher’s neck and hit him out to beat the band.”

“So would I.”

“We can hit some.”

“When the streak is on.”

“Why not to-day?”

“We don’t seem to have a hitting streak, or this pitcher bothers us.”

“Anybody ought to hit him.”

“Still,” said Frank, “I fancy he is pretty good.”

Of a sudden, Ready uttered an exclamation.

“I know what ails us!” he palpitated.

“What is it?”

“Our mascot isn’t here!”

“Old Joe?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Ask Dick.”

Dick was appealed to, and he explained that Crowfoot had not felt like showing himself on the ball-ground, his experience in Philadelphia having aroused in him a desire to keep out of public view as much as possible.

“If we don’t have that old boy before the game is over it’s a gone case with us!” asserted Ready. “We’ve got to have him! Carker, you must hie yourself yonder and bring him hither.”

“He won’t come with me,” said Greg. “He doesn’t like me much.”

“You must bring him, if you have to do it with the aid of an officer. Lose no time, Gregory. Stop not on the way to listen for the rumble of the approaching earthquake. Grab Joseph by the collar and lead him unto us.”

“Tell him I want him to come,” urged Dick. “That will bring him if anything will.”

“Do you really wish me to go for him?”

“Sure thing, you sad-faced socialist,” said Ready. “Fly!”

“Give him this,” said Dick, passing to Greg a queer-looking stone. “Tell him I sent it and asked that he come to me without delay.”

“Where is he?”

“He is pretty sure to be at the hotel.”

“Take a cab,” instructed Merry. “I’ll pay for it.”

While Frank did not take much stock in mascots, he felt that the appearance of the old Indian might serve to arouse the players at a time when it would be possible to win the game. So Greg hastened away, leaving the ball-ground.

The game continued. The professionals had no trouble in holding their lead up to the close of the eighth inning.

Frank’s team came to the bat in the beginning of the ninth with Ready up as a starter.

“Here is where we must do it!” exclaimed Frank. “It takes two to tie and three to win. Let’s get right into the game and make the runs.”

Jack felt his nerves quiver as he walked out to the plate, but he refused to go after the first high one Nesbitt sent over.

Then the pitcher gave Ready a drop, which he failed to touch. The third one looked good, and Jack hit it. It went bounding merrily down the line toward first, and Hayward gathered it in, touching the bag. One man was out.

“Only two more, Nes!” cried the players on the field.

“Where is Crowfoot?” groaned Ready, as he returned to the bench.

“Carker couldn’t find him, I presume,” said Browning.

Berlin Carson walked out to the plate, like a lamb to the sacrifice.

“Another victim!” cried the players.

Carson set his teeth.

“We’ll see!” he muttered, and then he smashed out a long drive, which Webster dragged down.

Two men were out.

Rattleton began to pull on a sweater.

“Stop that!” ordered Frank sharply. “This game isn’t over. Sit still until it is!”

“It’s just the same as over,” muttered Harry. “We’re beaten in good shape.”

Hodge got up and advanced to the plate, his face looking drawn and grim. Nesbitt laughed at him.

“Where will you have ’em?” he inquired. “Just name the place, and I’ll put ’em right there.”

“Then put them over!” exclaimed Bart. “That’s all I ask.”

“Here you go!”

The pitcher gave Hodge a drop, and Bart fouled it. Then followed a rise, which Hodge did not touch, and a strike was called.

“How easy, how easy!” cried the players.

Spectators were rising and preparing to leave the field. Nesbitt put over another bender, and Bart missed that. It was the second strike.

At this moment a strangely thrilling sound pealed across the field. It was a wild, weird cry, and all eyes were turned toward its source, which proved to be an old Indian who had just come out through a gate, accompanied by a youth in the uniform of Merriwell’s players.

Nesbitt had swung his arm to deliver the ball when that cry sounded. He seemed to hesitate the least bit, and then he sent the sphere in.

Bart swung at it.

Crack!--the bat met the ball.

Again that wild cry pealed across the field, and down to first shot Bart Hodge, while the fielders tried in vain to reach his safe hit.

“Ye gods!” cried Jack Ready. “Our luck has come! Did you see how the wind changed?”

“I’m afraid it changed too late,” came from Rattleton.

But Frank saw in this fortunate hit a possible chance to win out, and he hurried down to first, where he began coaching.

Browning came up to the plate, a flush in his cheeks. He turned to look at Old Joe Crowfoot, and then mentally exclaimed:

“Hang me if I don’t believe he is good luck to us! I am going to hit it!”

He did. He did not try to drive it far out, and for that very reason he hit it handsomely, dropping it over the infield and enabling him to reach first, while Bart took second.

The crowd began to shout, for this unexpected turn of affairs was enough to awaken their dormant interest. Gamp stepped out, his teeth set and his eyes flashing.

“It’s my tut-tut-tut-turn, by gum!” he said.

Nesbitt showed nervousness. His first one was over, and Joe sent it skimming along the ground to the short-stop. It was too hot for Robinson to handle cleanly, and the bags were filled.

Frank rushed down to the bench, speaking to Swiftwing, who stepped out with a bat.

“Don’t hit at a ball,” commanded Merry. “Let him put them right over, but don’t swing at one of them. He will give you a pass to first.”

Nesbitt looked at Merry, who returned that glance with interest, and something seemed to unnerve the pitcher then and there.

Although he longed to strike at the ball, Swiftwing obeyed Frank. Nesbitt tried to put the first one over, but it was a ball, and a ball was called.

That made the pitcher more nervous than ever. He took the utmost pains about the next one. It was a strike.

“Drive it out!” shouted the crowd.

Swiftwing looked at Frank, but Merry shook his head. Then, knowing the batter would not strike, Nesbitt again took pains to put the ball over.

“Two strikes!”

Once more Swiftwing looked appealingly at Frank, and once more Frank shook his head. The next one was a ball, but still Nesbitt had plenty of time.

However, he failed to get the following one over, and three balls were called.

Swiftwing gathered himself, gripping the bat as if determined to hit the next one when it came over.

Frank rose and spoke quickly in a low tone.

“I tell you not to strike!” he said. “If the ball comes right over, let it pass.”

Nesbitt was resolved to put it over, and he took his time in making the delivery. As soon as the ball was thrown, however, almost everybody saw it was not good.

A roar that drowned the voice of the umpire went up. The umpire motioned for Swiftwing to take his base, and thus a run was forced in.

Frank Merriwell was the next hitter. As he stepped up to the plate he received an ovation that might have rattled the nerve of a more excitable fellow.

“He’ll do it!” shouted many voices. “He’ll bring in the winning runs!”

Nesbitt was frightened at last, and he could not find the plate with the first two pitched. Then he sent in a dead straight one that was right over.

Frank did not swing hard, but with all the skill at his command he placed the ball in right field.

That hit did the work, for Browning and Gamp came home, and the great crowd rose up and yelled its delight.

Rattleton was nearly beside himself with joy, his feelings having changed from deepest despair. He rushed out with his bat, unheeding anything, and swiped away at the very first ball. He fouled it, and the catcher got under it.

Three men were out, but the Merries had the lead.

“Our mascot did it!” cried Jack Ready. “He came just in time! Old Joe shall have a new plug of tobacco to-night, or I’m a lobster!”

The game was not finished, however, for the heavy hitters of the Athletics were next in order, and they had their batting togs on. The first one was Webster, and he tapped out a little single. Robinson followed with a scratch hit, and once more the excitement was feverish.

No one was out. Maloney came out from the bench swinging his favorite stick.

“Slug it, old boy!” cried somebody. “Merriwell’s arm is gone. You can hit it a mile!”

Frank was cautious, but again shook his head when Bart called for the double-shoot. He tried an out drop, but Maloney let it pass.

“One ball!”

Then Merry tried an in shoot.

“Two balls!”

Frank ventured to put one straight over the inside corner.

Maloney hit it hard, and the ball went whistling like a bullet through the air.

Like a flash, Dick Merriwell leaped high from the ground and caught it with both hands. It was an amazing catch, but what followed was more surprising.

The moment the boy’s feet touched the ground again he sprang toward second, which Rattleton had not covered.

The runner had started off second at the crack of the ball and bat, while Robinson had raced down from first.

In vain the runner tried to stop and get back. The boy went past him and tagged the bag, thus putting Webster out.

Astounded beyond expression, Robinson had stopped and turned about to get back to first.

Instead of throwing the ball to first, the swift-footed lad ran Robinson down the base-line and tagged him with the ball, thus completing a triple play unassisted.

The score was 5 to 4 in favor of the Merries.