Rival Pitchers of Oakdale Part 12

Grant, taking Roger's signal, nodded and twisted the ball into the locking grip of two fingers and a thumb. His arm swung back and whipped forward, a white streak shooting with a twisting motion from those fingers. It seemed like another swift one, shoulder high, and, with confidence strong in his heart, the red-headed batter sought to meet it.

For the third time the ball took a most amazing shoot toward the ground, and again Copley did not even graze it. The umpire shouted, "You're out!" but the roar from Oakdale's side of the field drowned his voice.

CHAPTER XII.

WON IN THE NINTH.

The cheer captain was leading them with wildly waving arms. "Grant!"

they thundered. "Rah! rah! rah! Grant! Grant! Grant!"

"That sure was some lucky," said Rod, walking toward the bench.

"Lucky!" rejoiced Cooper, jogging at his side. "It was ball playing!

It was pitching!"

"You pulled me through by that catch and double play," said the young Texan modestly. "That put me on my pins. I'm sorry Phil got his."

Springer looked disconsolate enough as Rod took a seat beside him on the bench. "Don't worry, old partner," begged Rodney. "It happens to every pitcher sometimes. The best of them get it occasionally.

Perhaps I won't last."

"If you don't," returned Springer, "the game is a goner. There's no one else to put in. I gave it away when I lost my control. Queer I couldn't get the ball over."

"I saw that we couldn't keep you in any longer, Phil," said Eliot. "I had to take you out."

"Oh, that's all right," muttered the unhappy fellow. "That's baseball."

With the score tied, Barville showed a disposition to fight grimly for the game. Piper fell a victim to the wiles of Sanger; Nelson's scorching grounder was scooped by Roberts; and away out in left garden Dingley made a brilliant running catch of Barker's splendid long drive.

The sixth inning opened with the two teams on even terms and Grant pitching for Oakdale.

Rodney's most effective ball was his drop, but Eliot, knowing it would be poor judgment if the pitcher should use that particular ball too often, called for it only in emergencies. The emergency rose when, with only one man out, Sanger singled and stole second, Nelson dropping Roger's throw. With Sanger playing well off the sack, there was a chance for him to score if Cline banged out a long safety, so Eliot, consulting hastily with Grant, urged Rod to use the drop every time he put the ball over. Cline finally managed to hit one of those drops, but he simply rolled a weak grounder into the diamond, and gave up the ghost on his way to first, Sanger taking third on the throw.

Ready to bat, Len Roberts' gaze wandered toward the spectators back of the ropes near first base; but, if he hoped to receive any encouragement from Herbert Rackliff, he was disappointed, as Bunk Lander, true to his promise, was keeping within arms' length of the irritated and uneasy city youth. Rackliff, having surveyed Bunk's stocky figure from head to foot and taken a good look at the fellow's grim, homely mug, smoked cigarettes and uttered no sound save an occasional suppressed cough.

It would be hard to describe the feelings of Roy Hooker. He had been elated by Springer's misfortune and the success of Barville in tying the score, but the failure of the visitors to get a lead left him still worried and anxious. Especially was this true as he watched Rodney Grant pitch with surprising steadiness and hold the crimson players down.

"But he can't keep it up," thought Roy; "it's impossible. They'll fall on him the way they did on Springer."

Roberts, who had hitherto batted with an air of confidence, now fell into his old trick of waiting, the result being that two strikes were called on him before he removed the bat from his shoulder. Then he bit at a wide one, and was out.

Tuttle, hitting in Springer's place, was a snap for Sanger, who polished him off with three high, swift, straight ones. For the third time in the game, Stone showed his mettle and went to first on a safety. As one man was out, Eliot, thinking to test Copley's throwing, signaled for Ben to steal. There was nothing the matter with Copley's wing, for he nailed Stone fully five feet from the second sack.

Roger batted a sizzler to the left of Sanger, who shot out his gloved hand and deflected the ball straight into the waiting fingers of Larkins at first.

Grant pitched fairly well in the seventh, but it needed the errorless support he received to prevent the enemy from scoring, Barville pus.h.i.+ng a runner round to third before being forced to give up.

Sanger, working hard, disposed of Crane on strikes, forced Grant to pop to the infield, and led Cooper into lifting an easy foul for Copley.

The red-headed catcher continued to talk to the batters, but, warned by Eliot, they made no retort, and, seemingly, did not hear him. Since the affair with Piper he had not, however, again offered to deflect a bat.

It was a great game to watch, a game in which those high school boys, keyed to a keen tension, were really outdoing themselves, performing more than once feats which would have been creditable to professionals.

It was the kind of baseball that makes the blood tingle, the heart throb, and leaves many an enthusiastic spectator husky from howling.

The strain was so great that it seemed an a.s.sured thing that something must give way. Oakdale had saved herself temporarily by changing pitchers, but shortly after the opening of the eighth inning it began to look as if the fatal downfall of the home team had simply been delayed.

Larkins led off by batting a dust scorcher against Cooper's s.h.i.+ns, and once more Chipper marred his record by booting the ball and throwing wild to first when he finally got hold of it. This let the runner romp easily to second.

Copley was seen to whisper something in Sanger's ear as the Barville captain rose from the bench, bat in hand. Then Lee walked into the box and bunted beautifully along the line toward first. He was thrown out by Grant, but his purpose had been accomplished, and Larkins was on third, with only one man down.

Fearing an attempted squeeze play, Eliot signaled for Rod to keep the ball high and close on Cline. Roger had made no mistake in judgment, and, despite the Texan's effort to baffle the hitter, Cline managed to b.u.mp a roller into the diamond. Cooper, charging in, scooped the sphere and snapped it underhand to Eliot; for Larkins, having started to dig gravel with the first motion of Grant's arm, was doing his utmost to score.

"Slide!" shrieked the coachers.

Larkins obeyed, and there might have been some dispute over the umpire's decision had not the ball slipped out of Roger's fingers just as he poked it onto the prostrate fellow.

"Safe!" announced the umpire, with a downward motion of his outspread hand.

The coachers capered wildly, while Copley, leaping forward, met Larkins, who had risen, and ostentatiously a.s.sisted in brus.h.i.+ng some of the dirt from his clothes. The Barville crowd behaved like a bunch from a lunatic asylum. Roy Hooker told himself that Grant must surely go to pieces now. "If Eliot had given me a show," he whispered to himself, "I might go in there now and stop the slaughter."

Apparently the Texan was confused, seeing which, Cline attempted to purloin the sack behind his back, only to be caught easily when Rod turned and snapped the ball to Nelson.

This cheered the sympathizers with the home team, who were heartened still more as, a few moments later, the amazingly calm Texan took the crooked-nosed Roberts in hand and struck him out.

"Now, let's play ball and hold this lead, fellows," shouted Copley.

"It's easy enough. We've got the game nailed."

Sanger had no trouble in fanning Piper, and again Oakdale's hope ebbed, as Nelson, who had not made a safety for the day, was sent by the whiff route to join Sleuth on the mourners' bench.

With two gone, Berlin Barker got his first hit. There rose a groan, however, when it was seen that roly-poly Chub Tuttle was the next sticker. Tuttle justified the hopeless ones by popping a d.i.n.ky little fly into Sanger's hands.

"It's all off! It's all over!" crowed Copley, tossing the catching mask spinning aside. "You've only got to get three more, cap. The way you're pitching, it'll be like picking ripe fruit."

"But let's get some more tallies if we can," urged Sanger.

This, however, was not possible; for Grant gave his prettiest exhibition in the ninth, striking out three fellows in succession with that perplexing drop, which apparently he had mastered.

"This is our last chance, boys," said Eliot, as the locals gathered at the bench. "One run is a small margin, and no game is lost until it's won."

Ben Stone, his face as grim as that of a graven image, stood forth and waited. Two b.a.l.l.s he ignored, one of which was called a strike; and then, seeming to get one to his liking, he planted the club against the leather with a sharp, snapping swing. As in practice on the day Hooker had pitched to him, Stone laced the ball straight over the center-field fence for a home run, and pandemonium broke loose and continued while he jogged slowly over the bases.

The score was again tied.

Roy Hooker had not been fully at ease, and his face turned almost ashen as he saw the ball disappearing beyond the fence. He took no part in the crazy demonstration of his schoolmates, declining even when some one caught him by the shoulders and shouted in his ear, asking why he did not cheer.

At the bench Stone was surrounded and congratulated by his delighted teammates. Even the disconsolate Springer aroused himself enough to speak a word of praise.

"We want another one--only one more," said Eliot, as he found a bat and turned toward the plate.

Without seeking to "kill" Sanger's speed, Roger did his best to poke out a safety, and would have succeeded only for a surprising one-handed stop by Roberts, who got the ball to first for an unquestioned put-out.