CHAPTER XLIVTHE LEADING RUN
Brennan’s reason for not doing at once the thing which was inevitable was not quite apparent. He had an obstinate streak in his make-up, and no doubt it went very much against the grain to see the man he had depended on and boasted about fall down so disastrously, though ordinarily that would have made no difference.
At any rate, he held his hand, and it cost him another run. Rufe Hyland landed on the second ball pitched, and sent out a long fly to right field. The moment Johnny Burns caught the ball Daly darted for the plate.
There was a momentary lull in the excitement as Burns made a great throw to Buck Fargo. Then the racket broke loose again as Daly slid over the dish in the nick of time; for Fargo had made a fruitless sweep of the hand to tag him.
With the score tied and Locke on third, the visiting fans yelled without interruption as Pink Dalton came to the plate. Fargo again tried tobrace Elgin up, but with poor success; and it was no credit to the pitcher that Red Pollock scooped up a red-hot grounder and lined it, sizzling, to the sack in time to end the inning and prevent further scoring.
A storm of hoots and catcalls greeted Elgin as he walked slowly and dejectedly toward the bench. Brennan said nothing, but the look he cast at the twirler was more expressive than many spoken words could have been. Elgin, his face as flaming now as it had been pale, hurried past him, and slunk thankfully to the obscurity of the bench.
When Lefty took his place on the slab, a roar of applause greeted him. He shot a glance at that upper box, and was even further heartened by the wave he received in return. His form was so perfect, and the support of his backers so full of new life and snap, that he retired the Hornets without letting a man reach second.
A lull followed. Cy Russell, in splendid shape and aching to retrieve the blunders made by his predecessor, easily disposed of the batters who faced him during the eighth and ninth innings.
Lefty was equally fortunate; and the tenth inning opened with the spectators on tiptoe with excitement, and some of them so hoarse they could scarcely speak above a whisper.
Again it was Eddie Lewis who came up first, and the sympathizers with the Blue Stockings seemed to take it as a good omen. All around the field the visiting rooters were waving hats and yelling like demons. Russell put the first ball squarely over for a strike, and followed it with another. Lewis cracked the third one to left field for a two-bagger.
With a concerted yell, every fan leaped to his feet. When Lewis made second safely they seemed to forget to sit down, so great was their excitement.
“Lay down a bunt, Dirk,” Kennedy said quietly, as Nelson came up.
The catcher obeyed the injunction to the letter. He bunted the ball within two yards of the plate just as Lewis started for third. Russell was on the alert and ready, and, rushing swiftly toward the horsehide, he snatched it up and shot it with the speed of a bullet into Harris’ hands. Lewis beat the throw, however, and was called safe, while Nelson reached first without difficulty.
“Here’s the run! Here’s the game!” came from the crowd as Jack Daly walked coolly to the plate. “Lewis will score!”
A safe hit or a long fly meant victory, if Locke continued his fine work and shut out the hometeam in the last half of the inning. Lefty, swinging two bats to make one seem lighter when he should hit, felt his heart thudding like a trip-hammer.
On all sides men were waving their arms wildly and making a tremendous tumult. If only Daly could do it! Locke followed Daly, and he wondered vaguely whether he could make good if the third baseman failed.
Russell’s first ball went wide of the plate. Another one came across waist high, and Daly fell on it with all his might. There was a twist on the sphere, however, and, instead of a smashing line drive, a short fly to right field resulted.
Burns called out that he would take it, and Russell raced behind Fargo to back up a throw to the plate. Burns made the catch easily, and was ready to throw Lewis out if he attempted to score.
The Blue Stockings’ fielder was taking no chances, however. He stuck to third, waiting for something safer to take him home.
The witnesses who favored the Hornets applauded the catch, while the opposition strained their lungs rooting for Locke.
The latter felt a queer tightening of his throat as he toed the line. Again the opportunity had come for him to show what he could do.
Russell had never been cooler or less flurried. He worked skillfully until two strikes and as many balls had been called. The fear came to Lefty that he was going to whiff, and he set his teeth, watching the pitcher like a hawk.
Russell took his time. As the sphere left his fingers, Locke suddenly remembered a certain fast curve he had seen the Hornet man working up down in Texas, but which he had not used thus far in this game. The conviction flashed into his mind that it was being used now, and in an instant he had taken a single step forward, bringing his bat around with a powerful swing as he did so.
The connection was perfect, and the ball went curving out toward the left wing of the grandstand, looking for a second or two like a home run. It was too high for that, however, and fell in front of the stand a couple of yards inside the foul line.
The fielder got under it and smothered it effectually, making a long, powerful throw to the plate, toward which Lewis had sprinted the instant the catch was made. The ball went wide, however, and Lewis slid across the rubber in safety with the leading run.