CHAPTER XVIIITHICKENING CLOUDS
If up to this time Joe had entertained any lingering doubts that an attempt was afoot to put him out of the game for good, the receipt of the false telegram at a critical moment served effectually to dispel them. In addition, it was now evident that his enemies were willing to stoop to any means to achieve their ends.
Joe was one not to be easily alarmed, but he realized the gravity of the situation and knew that it could not be solved by hiding his head in the sand like an ostrich and ignoring it.
“The matter is getting worse and worse, Jim,” he remarked, when they were discussing the affair in their room on the evening of the last game. “It is not simply a personal matter against me that may be the thing that they are aiming at. I have noticed lately that they are playing bad ball not only when I am in the box, but when the other fellows are, too. It is a matter that involves not only our personal fortunes,but those of the Giant team and possibly of the whole league. They may have confederates elsewhere in the league, and I guess it’s up to you and me to see what we can do toward putting a spoke in their wheel. It’s bad enough when they confine their attentions to us, but when they go to mixing up our families in it they’re going a bit too far.”
“A whole lot too far,” agreed Jim grimly. “It’s a shame that there should be such players in the game. But in they are, and the only thing for us to do is show them up and get them thrown out as soon as possible.”
“I only hope that I have a hand in the throwing,” remarked his friend. “Baseball is such a fine, naturally clean game that I hate to see a crooked bunch like that horning in. It wouldn’t take many of them to queer the whole outfit with the fans. There are always a lot of them that try to argue that baseball is crooked, even when it’s absolutely on the level.”
“Yes, I’ve heard plenty of that breed, too,” agreed Jim. “I imagine they know in their hearts that they’d take dirty money if they got the chance, and it’s hard for them to believe that everybody else wouldn’t. But this bunch we’ve got on the team now are sure to make big trouble for us and for the whole league if we don’t manage to show them up in some way.”
“Give them enough rope, and they’ll hang themselves,” quoted Joe. “It’s plain enough to me what they’re up to, but we’ve got to have proof. They and the gamblers who are backing them bet against our team, and then they do their level best to lose the game for us.”
“There’s not much encouragement in playing under those conditions.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of their game, never fear,” declared Joe. “In the meantime, Jim, it’s up to the rest of the team to play such a high-grade brand of baseball that we’ll win in spite of the crooks.”
“That’s right,” agreed his friend, a grin lighting up his erstwhile gloomy countenance. “The other teams can’t win unless they make runs, no matter what McCarney, Hupft, Lemblow and Company does. And you and I are in a position to see that they don’t make the runs.”
“Shake on that, old pal!” exclaimed Joe, and the two friends clasped hands. “We’re out after the pennant, and it’s going to take a powerful aggregation to stop us.”
“It looks as though you and I would have to turn detectives for a while, and get to the root of this mystery,” said Jim. “I know we don’t have much time for that sort of thing, but some day when we’re neither of us slated to pitch, wecan try our hands at the sleuth game, if you think it would do any good.”
“Sure thing,” grinned Joe. “But the way things are going now, we won’t have many days when one or the other of us isn’t going to pitch. The boss is up against it for twirlers, and no mistake.”
McRae was “up against it” in more ways than one. He knew well enough that there was something wrong with his new players. Any man might make a mistake at times, and fumble a ball or muff an easy fly, but when a man is good enough to get into a big league team he is not supposed to do these things often. And Hupft and McCarney had developed a trick of making such blunders at the most crucial periods of the game—at times when an error meant a run or two for the opposing team. He had many anxious conferences with Robson, but no substitutes were available, and while they suspected the center-fielder and third baseman of underhand work, they could not be quite sure.
Had it not been for the sterling work of the other members of the team, the Giants would have been slipping steadily downward instead of holding their place among the leaders. They all played like demons, backing up their pitchers in a manner that brought joy and applause from the fans. In spite of costly mistakes on the partof the new players, the team climbed steadily toward the coveted first position.
As the weather settled down to steady summer heat, Markwith rounded into better form and pitched several steady games, winning three out of five. He was really entitled to that fifth game, but was robbed of it by a bad misplay on the part of McCarney. In the ninth inning the score was 1 to 0 in favor of the Giants, with the opposing team at bat for the last half of the ninth inning. Markwith struck out the first man to face him, but the second one singled between first and second base, and on the next pitched ball stole second.
Markwith watched the runner out of the corner of his eye and saw that he was getting ready to make a dash for third base. Accordingly, instead of throwing the ball to the batter, he suddenly whirled and threw to McCarney at third. By this time the runner was well on his way to third and McCarney should have had an easy put-out. But as the ball smacked into his glove he fumbled it and it dropped to the ground several feet from the base. He made a dash for it, but as he leaned down to lift it he struck the ball with the toe of his shoe, kicking it fifteen feet away.
It looked like an accident, but whether or no, the runner instantly seized his chance and raced for home. Even then McCarney by quick workmight have thrown him out at the plate, but his recovery of the sphere was slow, and when he finally did get it and threw it to the bag, the runner had arrived well ahead of it.
This tied the score, and while Markwith held the opposing team down for the rest of the inning without any further runs, the game had to go into extra innings. Finally, in the eleventh, the other team manged to score one more run, which lost the game to the Giants when it should have been won.
Joe and Jim had narrowly watched every move of this game, especially the actions of the players whom they suspected of crooked dealing. When McCarney fumbled the ball in that crucial ninth inning, Joe clenched his fists and muttered various uncomplimentary things about the baseman.
“That settles it!” he exploded at last, when the opposing player crossed the plate with the tying run. “McCarney’s a good actor, Jim, but he was just a bit too clumsy in that play to be natural. He can play good enough ball when he wants to, and it isn’t easy for him to be quite as clumsy as all that. I could see him purposely drop that ball after he had really caught it. Didn’t it look the same way to you, Jim?”
His friend nodded.
“No doubt of it,” he agreed. “I’d like to keep track of McCarney after he leaves the clubhouseand see where he goes, but I’ve got an appointment with Curry and I don’t see how I can. Why don’t you shadow him, Joe, and see if you can find out anything? I’ll take my turn at it to-morrow.”
“All right, I will!” exclaimed Joe. “I’ll beat it for the clubhouse right after the game is over, and I’ll be ready to leave as soon as he is. I may not find out a thing, but it will be worth the chance, anyway.”
In accordance with this plan, Joe was one of the first under the showers and was in his street clothes before McCarney had finished dressing.
The latter was surly and resentful of the criticism directed at him by his team mates. They were not sparing of this, and did not hesitate to tell him what they thought of such bungling. Every big league player knows that mistakes are unavoidable at times, but McCarney and Hupft had begun to get on their nerves. In almost every game lately it seemed that one or the other was sure to make a bad play at a crucial time.
“We could pick half a dozen fans out of the bleachers who could hold on to a baseball tighter than you can, Mac,” growled Mylert, the burly catcher. “You must have grease on your fingers, the way that ball slides through them. Why don’t you see if you can hold on to it once in a while?”
“Shure, and I’ll bet if the ball wuz a twinty dollar gold piece he’d kape holt of it, all right, all right,” chirped up Larry Barrett.
A shout of appreciative laughter followed this sally, and McCarney glared around at the circle of derisive faces.
“I suppose you fellows are too blamed good to ever make a mistake, ain’t you?” he growled. “If Markwith hadn’t shot the pill at me so doggone fast I wouldn’t have dropped it. There wasn’t any need of putting so much smoke on it.”
“Aw, get out of here before we throw you out,” snapped Mylert disgustedly. “Be a man and admit you made a punk play without trying to blame it on some one else.”
McCarney seemed tempted to throw himself at the big catcher, but then thought better of it and flung out of the clubhouse, slamming the door behind him. A minute later Joe slipped quietly out and glanced quickly about to locate the renegade ball player. McCarney was only half a block away, and Joe set out to follow him.