McLANE AND HIS PEACEMAKERS.
The summer visitors present were fairly disgusted by the rowdyism of the
tough gang. In vain they protested. They were mocked and derided and
invited to “go chase themselves.” At last, unable to stand it longer,
ladies began to leave the field in large numbers, accompanied by many of
the gentlemen.
“Is there anything like law and order in this town?” exclaimed Henry
Duncan. “Are there no officers to stop such disgraceful conduct and
arrest these ruffians?”
“Arrest nothing!” sneered one of the young toughs. “I’d like to see any
officer try to pinch one of this gang! He’d get his head busted. You’d
better take a sneak, mister, before something falls on you.”
“It certainly is a shame,” nodded William Drake. “Those Fairhaven lads
will be given no show at all. Already the umpire is frightened, for he
knows he’ll be mobbed unless he gives everything to Hammerswell’s team.”
The departure of the summer visitors from the field left Dick and his
friends almost wholly without sympathizers and supporters.
Bart Hodge stood near the Fairhaven bench, watching and listening, a
heavy cloud on his face and slumbering fire in his eyes.
“I’d like to have Frank’s Terrible Thirty here for about ten minutes,”
he thought. “I reckon they’d clean out this mob in less time than that.
This isn’t sport; it’s robbery.”
Henry Duncan touched him on the shoulder.
“It’s no use,” he said, soberly shaking his head. “The boys haven’t a
chance under such conditions. I should advise you to urge Dick to take
his team off the field. Of course the umpire will be bulldozed into
forfeiting the game to Maplewood, but Dick can quit under protest, and I
believe the game will be thrown out and not counted in the series.”
It was Bart’s turn to shake his head.
“I don’t believe Dick can be induced to leave the field,” he said. “He
knew well enough what he was going against to-day, and he’ll fight it
out to the finish. He has too much spirit to be a quitter.”
“That won’t be quitting,” declared Duncan. “It would be a simple demand
for fair play and justice.”
“Still I’m certain Dick wouldn’t hear to it.”
“Well, I’m going out and look for an officer. I’m going to see if
there’s no way to keep the peace here.”
“It would take twenty officers to quell this mob,” said Hodge. “One man
couldn’t do a thing.”
Nevertheless Henry Duncan went forth in search of the local deputy
sheriff, only to find that the officer was not in town. Later it was
learned that he had been advised to get out of Maplewood and remain away
until after the game was over.
Lumley, the batter who followed Halligan, tried hard to imitate the
example of his predecessor in hitting, but drove a grounder to Obediah
Tubbs, who gathered it up cleanly and whistled it to Singleton for an
“out” that could not be disputed. Nevertheless, the hoodlums howled at
Obediah, big Bob, and the umpire. They climbed over the ropes and
crowded close to the base line on both sides of the field. In vain the
umpire ordered them back.
Dillard obtained a scratch hit and reached first while Halligan took
third.
Farrell lifted a fly to Jolliby, on which Halligan scored. With two men
out, Garvin put up a ball that big Bob easily got under near first base.
Just as the ball struck in Singleton’s hands two of the spectators
rushed at him and upset him. They were not quick enough to keep him from
making the catch, and the big first baseman held fast to the ball as he
went down. He sprang up instantly and held the ball in his hand as he
turned toward his assailant, who had retreated beyond the base line.
The umpire’s decision that Garvin was out was greeted with howls of
angry disapproval by the hoodlums.
Maplewood had secured four scores in the first inning through trickery
and the disreputable behavior of the crowd.
As the islanders came into their bench they were mocked and jeered and
insulted in a manner that infuriated Buckhart, who was restrained with
difficulty from retorting.
Merriwell was the first batter, and he sent a hot one to Connor, who
fumbled it and made a scramble to pick it up.
Dick might have crossed first in safely with perfect ease, but as he ran
down the base line one of the thugs stepped forward, thrust out a foot
and tripped him. Before the captain of the islanders could recover
Connor had secured the ball and thrown it across the diamond to Hunston.
“I swear I’ll stand no more of this!” snarled Buckhart, as he started up
from the bench. “I’m going to put my brand on somebody if the whole herd
stampedes over me!”
Dick seized him by the arm and checked him, pointing toward the gate.
“Who are those men?” he asked.
Through the gate came a broad-shouldered chap, and following him there
appeared twenty more burly individuals. They were dressed in rough,
working clothes, and every man had his coat off and his shirt sleeves
rolled up.
The Texan uttered a cry of grim satisfaction and delight.
“Brick McLane, by all that’s lucky!” he shouted. “Those men with him are
stonecutters from the island. There’ll be something doing now.”
With McLane and his stonecutters Henry Duncan had also appeared. Already
he had told McLane all about what was taking place, and the husky
lobsterman now marched onto the field, with his backers at his heels.
Straight out to the home plate strode those men, and there McLane halted
them.
“Gents,” cried the lobsterman, holding up one hand, “me and my friends
is here to see a square deal. We understand Fairhaven isn’t getting it.
We understand there’s some intimidating business taking place. I guess
the most of you has heard of me. I generally make good any promise, and
right here I want to promise them chaps that is kicking up a disturbance
that we’ll surely wade into them and give them all the fun they want
unless they cool down directly. From this time on this ball game is
going to be on the level. Mr. Umpire, you give the decisions jest as you
think is correct, and I’ll guarantee you protection when the game is
finished. There shan’t nobody put a finger onto yer.”
In a surprising manner Benton Hammerswell had appeared from somewhere
and was standing near the Maplewood bench as McLane made his
announcement. The Maplewood manager felt a touch on his elbow, and
turned to see Chester Arlington, in street clothes, at his side. Chester
smiled scornfully into Hammerswell’s face.
“Perhaps you’ve stolen the game already,” said Arlington. “If not, you
won’t win it by your little plan. I knew last night that you intended to
play crooked and keep me out of the box to-day, and I likewise heard you
plan to bulldoze Fairhaven out of this game. I decided to spoil the
trick for you, and therefore I telephoned Brick McLane and told him all
about it. I advised him to bring over a fighting crowd with him, and
he’s here with twenty of the toughest scrappers to be found on Fairhaven
Island. You can thank me.”
With an exclamation of rage, Hammerswell wheeled and struck at Chester’s
face.
Arlington dodged like a flash and retreated, still laughing mockingly.
McLane’s announcement had been received with a few cries of derision
from the ruffians. Nevertheless, every one of them knew the lobsterman
was there to back up his talk, and they realized he had brought fighters
with him.
Having had his say, McLane marched his force to a position back of the
Fairhaven bench and told the players to go on with the game.
For a short time the hoodlums were quieted, but, being far superior to
the island crowd in numbers, they soon began to hoot and jeer once more.
When Jolliby reached first on a dropped third strike, and Singleton
followed him on four balls, the thugs decided it was time to do
something.
With his hands on his hips, McLane was watching. He saw one of the
ruffians back of third base hurl a stone at Singleton. The stone struck
big Bob in the back of the neck and knocked him to his hands and knees.
Then the lobsterman let out a roar like that of an enraged lion. He
shouted an order to his companions, and they leaped forward and caught
up the bats of the Fairhaven players.
“Charge!” thundered McLane.
Without a moment’s delay, the stonecutters charged at the lobsterman’s
heels, and he led them into the mob of hoodlums back of the first-base
line.
The bats began to rise and fall, and thudding blows were followed with
howls of pain, while the ruffians fell over one another in their
desperate attempt to get away.
“Out of the gate!” shouted McLane. “Get off the field or we’ll
annihilate every one of yer!”
The thugs offered little resistance. Some of them were beaten down and
trampled on. Those who could fled toward the gate and lost no time in
obeying the lobsterman’s order. Like a lot of cattle the most of them
were driven from the field. Some were badly injured, and two or three
were dragged off by their friends.
The spectators who were not concerned in this encounter stood up and
watched it breathlessly. The few ladies who remained on the field were
badly frightened, and some of the men who accompanied them were alarmed.
It was all over in a surprisingly short time. Having driven the leaders
of the mob off and warned them not to return unless they were seeking
broken heads, McLane led his triumphant little band back to the
Fairhaven bench.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, stepping forward a bit, “it’s a shame
anything like this should happen, but we jest had to do it. Don’t you be
scared any more. It’s all over. There won’t be any more trouble this
afternoon. This game will go on all right, and it’ll be on the level,
too. Jest settle down and watch the best team win.”
After that the game did go on in a regular manner, and the spectators
were thoroughly respectful in their behavior. Whenever a Maplewood
player did an unusually clever piece of work McLane and the stonecutters
led the cheering for him.
The leaders of the hoodlums did not dare return to the field, and the
most of those who belonged in Rockford got away on the first trolley car
after they were driven off the ball ground.
It was a thoroughly exciting game and particularly interesting because
of the fact that Bold was compelled to retire from the box and Jack Cole
filled his place. When Jack succeeded in striking out two batters in the
first inning he pitched and led the third man to lift an easy foul that
dropped into the hands of Billy Bradley, John Cole nearly yelled himself
black in the face.
“That’s my Jack!” he shrieked, waving his old hat in the air and dancing
around. “That’s the boy Benton Hammerswell chucked off his team! Jest
you watch him now and see what he can do pitching when he has good
support! He’ll show you something!”
Jack could not complain of his support. From the very first it was
gilt-edged. Occasionally he was batted hard, but the fielding behind him
held the enemy in check.
Still, as the game progressed and Maplewood held a fair lead, it seemed
that the trickery and ruffianism at the beginning had accomplished
Hammerswell’s dishonest design.
In the eighth inning, however, by a bunching of hits, the islanders drew
close to Maplewood. When they were retired they were only one score
behind the home team, Maplewood having made seven runs and Fairhaven
six.
Cole seemed to rise to the occasion. Again his pitching was of the
highest order, and not a Maplewood man reached first.
In the first of the ninth inning Fairhaven succeeded in getting one man
round the bases and tying the score.
It was necessary to play an extra inning, and the tenth opened amid the
greatest excitement on the part of the witnesses.
Fairhaven didn’t score in her half.
After striking out two men, Cole put a swift one over and it was driven
to the fence. It looked like a home run, but by an amazing throw Jolliby
caught the runner at the plate, and the tenth ended with the score still
tied.
Then Dick called his players close around him for an instant and tried
to fill them with his own indomitable spirit.
The result was electrifying.
Batter after batter fell on Raymer’s curves, and before the hitting
terminated and Fairhaven was retired three runs had been secured.
As Jack Cole entered the box Dick paused before him a moment, placing
both hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eyes, and said:
“Now is your opportunity to prove what you can do. You won’t fail. This
is your day, Cole, and you’re a winner.”
Somehow those words filled Cole with confidence he had never felt
before. Although he was not aware of it, he had deserved a little of
Dick Merriwell’s praise. Again his pitching was marvelous. The best
hitters of the opposing team went down before him in order, and as he
struck out the third man, Brick McLane and the stonecutters who
accompanied him gave a yell that might have been heard a mile away.
Trickery and ruffianism had met well-merited defeat. Hammerswell’s
behavior had won him nothing but the scorn and contempt of all honest
persons who knew him.
After the game it was learned that Fairhaven was tied with Rockford for
first place in the Trolley League.
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