CHAPTER XVII

NEARING THE END

The game moved along slowly.

Seven full innings had been played, and the score was still low. It had swung around until it stood in favor of Bellport, four to three.

“It’s anybody’s game yet!” shouted several.

“Get into harness, boys! Put on another wrinkle and win out! You can do it, Columbia!”

“Where’s Herman Hooker? Get that voice of yours working just now. Give the boys encouragement. That’s all they want to pull out! Start her up, Herman!”

“Yes, tune up, Herman!”

And as Bellport came to bat for the beginning of the ninth, with no change in the score as yet, Herman marshalled his cohorts in the bleachers, and with that strident voice of his to lead, began to cheer in concert, bleat out the famous school cry, and sing “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean,” the immense crowd joining in until the volume of sound might have been heard a mile away.

“Careful, Ralph; this is a crisis!” Frank Allen had said as his friend picked up his glove and started toward the box.

Ralph looked perfectly cool. Indeed, many who saw him, and knew that this was his first game in big company, prophesied that he would turn out to be the greatest pitcher Columbia had ever known, given a little more experience.

He had just sent one over, and smiled to hear the umpire instantly call a strike, when there arose a medley of voices from the point just beyond the termination of the bleachers.

Ralph had accepted the ball from his catcher, and held it gripped in his hand as he took a step back into his box. Naturally his attention was directed toward the spot, where he saw a tremendous commotion had started, with men and boys swarming back.

“A fight! A fight!” was the first cry that passed around to the grandstand, and hundreds immediately stood up to see, their interest in the game for the moment forgotten.

But they immediately discovered that it must be something else that had caused this stampede, for the runners appeared to be frightened. What could it be? Frank shouted to Police Chief Hogg, and the latter started on the run for the scene of disturbance.

Every man, woman and child was now standing up and craning necks to find out the truth. They saw people running, women showing symptoms of terror, and even men trying to put space between themselves and some mysterious danger.

Then a shout went up, for upon the field had suddenly appeared a bull, showing symptoms of anger, and evidently in a mood to launch himself at the crowd, many of the ladies wearing gaily-colored garments that appeared to arouse the fighting spirit of the animal.

Some of the boys of Columbia recognized the bull as one belonging to a farmer who owned the property adjoining the athletic field on the right, and back of the grandstand. A high fence shut off this pasture, but perhaps some of the boards may have fallen down. At any rate, there was the bull trotting straight toward the diamond, with hundreds of frantic people going into a panic.

“He wants to toss a few over! Give the bull a chance!” shouted a funny fellow from the safety of the grandstand; but had he been out there on the field doubtless he would ere this have been taking to his heels, like the majority of the alarmed spectators.

Frank immediately suspected that some thoughtless scamp who loved a prank without counting the cost may have coaxed the bull to the opening made in the fence, by waving a red handkerchief, and then dodging when he had accomplished his purpose.

“Get bats, fellows; we’ve got to chase him back to cover!” he shouted, suiting his action to his words.

Other players also snatched up some of the war clubs, and thus armed they bore down on the object of their solicitude. Meanwhile the bull had trotted straight for Ralph in the box. It looked as though the animal meant to follow up the advice of the joker in the grandstand, and ascertain whether he could knock the pitcher out of the box.

Ralph stood his ground. Indeed, he hardly knew what to do, such was the tremendous clamor all around him.

“Soak him one, you!” howled a fellow who stood on the top seat of the bleachers, and waved his arms.

It was so easy to tell another what to do just then, especially when in an apparently safe place himself.

“Yes, hit him in the eye, Ralph! Here’s your chance to win your own game!”

“Shoo the bully old boy away! He’s interfering, with our game!”

“It’s a set-up job of Columbia when they’re getting licked, that’s what!”

Ralph heard everything that was said. At the same time he drew back his arm, with the intention of delivering as swift a ball as he possibly could. Of course, it could hardly be expected that such a puny thing as a baseball would be sufficient to drive the bull away; but it was all Ralph could do--and he did it to the best of his ability.

“Straight to the bull’s-eye, Ralph!” came a last shout, just as he let go; and somehow it gave the boy more or less satisfaction to know that he had indeed done as directed.

The hard ball struck the animal with tremendous force on the side of the head, and, bounding off, fell upon the diamond. Perhaps the blow astonished the unwelcome visitor at the game. He seemed to stop a few seconds as if trying to figure just where the new assault had come from.

“At him, boys!” shouted Frank, enabled to come up because of this little delay.

A dozen lads, Bellport players as well as those of Columbia, had armed themselves with bats. They were close at Frank’s heels when he started in to belabor the bull on the flanks vigorously.

One assailant the big fellow might have attacked, but the multitude cowed him. Possibly he was not a very vicious animal after all. Be that as it might, the boys surrounded him like a wall, and forced him to trot off toward the broken fence. He was last seen kicking up his heels as he went through the gap, and his bellow a few seconds afterward announced that while he may have thought it prudent to retreat before superior numbers, his spirit was not crushed.

Frank, while the others returned toward the diamond, winded a little from their efforts, took a look at the fence as he was temporarily fixing up the several boards that lay upon the ground.

“These were all right before the game started. Either some fellows knocked them off to get in without paying, or else it was a set-up job to give trouble.”

This last idea made him instantly think of the fellow most likely to engineer a miserable game like this--Lef Seller. He remembered seeing the bully over on the field at the end of the bleachers some little time before, and several of his cronies with him. Could he have possibly taken advantage of every eye being riveted on the close game to play this dangerous prank? Some one might have been seriously injured by the coming of the bull.

“What’s this.”

Just before putting up the last plank Frank had thrust his head through the opening to see what had become of the baffled bull. His eye had fallen on something red lying in the rank grass close to the fence.

“It’s a red bandana handkerchief, and a new one, too, that has never even been in the wash. And that was what they used to lure Mr. Bull in here. Well, perhaps a fellow may think that a joke, but if half a dozen women or children had been gored he might have gone to prison for it.”

He looked at the gaudy thing again.

“Perhaps I may be able to find out who owns this. Looks like it must have been bought this very day. Anyhow, ‘finders keepers,’ and I’m in one stunning red bandana blower,” and, laughing as he stowed it away, he returned to see the continuation of the close game.

Smith, Sr., was on deck, with his bat making little circles as he waited for his chance to whack the ball. He had a peculiar “crouch” that amused the crowd; but as the elongated first baseman was a natural hitter, much could be forgiven him. In baseball a batting eye is like the mantle of charity, since it covers a multitude of sins.

Smith, Sr., did hit it, too, though he should have been an easy out, only that the ball took an unexpected bounce just as Seymour had set himself to gobble it, and shot over his head.

“Oh!” came in a groan from all over the field, though every one who knew the game understood it was none of the second baseman’s fault, since he never even touched the ball.

Smith reached first, and made a grand bluff of galloping down toward second to draw the throw, but without success.

Lacy was a shrewd one, and sacrificed himself for the good of the cause, advancing his comrade nicely to second. Bardwell tried the same thing, but tapped the ball too hard. Consequently it went quickly to Ralph, who snatched it up, hurled it like a cannon ball to third, catching the runner; and then it was shot across the diamond in time to just double up the stout Bardwell as he jumped for the first sack.

“Now, what do you think of that?” shrieked the local boys in chorus, led by the “best yeller Columbia ever had.”

“Never could do it again in a hundred years. Bardwell stumbled, as he generally does. Luck was against us!” answered one of the Bellport shouters, promptly.

Bellport had finished their side of the game. Columbia still had an inning to play, with one run to tie, and two to win!