Up, up into the air sailed the little ball.
With a shout the players rushed to get beneath it.
Frank found himself on the side opposite Swiftwing.
John was the first to strike the ball after it had been batted into
play.
Down came the little black sphere, and, poising himself on one foot, the
Carlisle "buck" swung his bat and sent the ball straight toward Frank.
The trick was done with marvelous skill, and it seemed to be a
challenge.
Frank squared himself in a fraction of a second, and then----
Crack!
Back sped the ball.
A whoop of delight went up from Frank's side.
"Shimminy Gristmas!" cried Hans. "Don'd dot peen a pird! Gif id to him,
Vrankie!"
Crack!
Swiftwing hit the ball, and, with equal skill, he shot it back at
Merriwell.
Frank was expecting this, and he returned it with all the skill of a
professional tennis player.
The spectators roared their applause.
For some moments this "volleying" was kept up, and then the ball glanced
from Swiftwing's bat and went high in the air.
Frank had come out best in this first struggle, much to his surprise,
as, not being familiar with the game, he had not anticipated such
success.
The white men in the crowd gave a yell of delight.
Frank caught a glimpse of Inza's face, and he fancied there was an
expression of disappointment on it.
"I believe she would have been pleased if he had vanquished me!" thought
Frank, a trifle bitterly. "I do not understand her at all of late."
He could discern the look of admiration on the girl's face as she
regarded the magnificent Indian who commanded the players on the side
that opposed Merriwell.
Frank was somewhat dismayed when he discovered that Whirling Bear was
the commander of his side.
The young Indian who had been drunk at Embudo the day before was
straight enough now, and he seemed to be somewhat of a favorite among
the Pueblo athletes.
Not a few of the Indians showed a strong dislike for John Swiftwing, and
Frank understood this was because he had been away to the white man's
school. They wished to see him beaten at everything that he might know
how weak he had become while he was learning the white man's knowledge.
When the ball glanced from Swiftwing's bat it was not allowed to fall to
the ground. A lithe savage ran under it and sent it spinning into the
air.
Far over Whirling Bear's side sped the little black sphere.
Whirling Bear shouted a command.
Like a flash three of the rearmost bucks darted after the ball, and one
of them, who had the speed of the wind, ran under it as it was falling
to the ground. Without stopping or pausing, he swung his bat and hit the
ball.
Oh, what a shout of delight pealed from white men and Indians alike!
Surely the ball had been kept from the ground in a most amazing manner,
for the batter was not able to stop and turn till he had passed at least
forty feet beyond the point where he hit the ball.
There was a rush on Swiftwing's side, and the ball was returned.
The one who struck it sent it straight at Hodge.
Bart met it with a good crack and sent it back.
Barney Mulloy poised his bat.
"Begobs! Oi'll knock the paling off it wid me shtick!" he cried.
With all his might he struck.
And missed it!
But one of the young Indians was on hand, and he seemed prepared for
such an emergency, as he struck the ball before it could reach the
ground, lifting it into the air again, and saving the first defeat for
Swiftwing's side.
Hans Dunnerwust saw the ball coming in his direction, and he resolved to
get some glory out of the game.
He ran to meet it, tripped himself, fell down, rolled over, sat up, and
swung his bat. In some manner he succeeded in hitting the ball as he sat
on the ground, and he sent it into the air again.
"You don'd done dot mit me!" he cried, and the spectators roared and
cheered, the white men laughing loudly, and not a few of the Indians
betraying mirth.
"Gol darn my punkins!" exclaimed Ephraim Gallup, joyously. "This is more
fun than a darg-fight! Never see nothing like it before! Let me git a
rap at that ball!"
But when he made a run for it, his long legs got tangled with his bat,
and he was tripped with such suddenness that he flipped into the air as
if sent with a spring, turned over and dropped on the back of his neck.
An Indian struck the ball, however, and it did not touch the ground.
"Say!" snorted the Vermonter, as he sat up and glared around, "p'int me
aout the critter what done that!"
No one paid any attention to him, so he got up, secured his bat, and
waited for a chance to get at the ball without running after it.
Crack! crack! crack!--the bats were rapping the little ball in quick
succession, and the players and spectators were feverish with
excitement.
The Indians were betting madly on the outcome of the game, and the white
witnesses were taking "chances" on it.
Dan Carver, cool and serene, was covering everything that came his way,
backing Swiftwing's side.
Frank was watching an opportunity to get in a good "drive." He observed
that the most of the Indian players knocked the ball into the air, and
he fancied that a drive that would place it might be successful.
His opportunity came at last.
He gave the ball a fierce crack, sending it shooting over the heads of
the other side, just out of the reach of their bats.
It dropped in a clear space, before a player could reach it, and a great
shout of victory went up.
Whirling Bear, although the commander of the side that Frank was on, had
said nothing to Merriwell, and he seemed to show signs of disgust, as if
he were not pleased that it should have been a white lad who had knocked
the ball.
Dan Carver did not seem at all disturbed by what had happened, but
continued to take bets, offering to place any sum on Swiftwing at one or
two.
In a moment the game was resumed, and it went forward with more
intensity than before. The players seemed warmed up to the work, and
their skill in keeping the ball in the air was astonishing, to say the
least.
Several of the white players won some glory.
Both Diamond and Rattleton got in good strokes, and Bruce Browning
struck once with all the power in his muscular arms, sending the ball so
high into the air that it was a mere speck and almost went out of sight.
"Begorra! it's not such fun as this Oi've had since Oi attinded me larst
Oirish fair!" cried Barney, who was in his element. "This b'ates a
wake!"
"It's a darn sight more fun than shuckin' corn at a huskin'-bee!"
grinned Ephraim Gallup. "Take that, gol darn ye!"
He managed to hit the ball at last, after missing it three times, and
nearly turning himself wrong side out with the violence of his efforts.
"Whee!" he squealed, as the little sphere carromed off his bat and
whizzed into the air. "I bet a squash that started the bark on her!"
Toots got a crack on the shins that upset him and made him howl with
pain.
"Land ob wartermillions!" he wailed. "Nebber see no such mess as dis am!
Dutchmans an' Irish all mixed up in a stew! An' ebry one ob um seems
tryin' teh git a crack at de nigger's shins wif dem sticks! I's gwan teh
retellyate on some pussen bimer-by--yes, sar!"
Once Harry Rattleton was able to save Swiftwing's side from a second and
final defeat. An Indian struck and missed the ball, but Harry caught it
with his bat, having struck almost at the same instant.
"Gear she hoes--I mean here she goes!" he yelled. "Can't do it again
over there! We're going to do you up, after all!"
Finally three players on Whirling Bear's side ran for a ball. Dunnerwust
and Toots were two of them, and they both fell down, while an Indian
fell on top of them.
Over the three sailed Bart Hodge, his bat poised and his teeth set. He
reached the ball and kept it from striking the ground, but it glanced
from his bat and went off sideways.
It went in a bad direction.
Whirling Bear tried to reach it, but failed, and it fell to the ground.
And now the sides were tied with the chances even for the final
struggle.