THE SNAKE’S HEAD
“I suppose I am,” replied Joe, impressed by the earnestness of Jim’s
tone. “It’s up to us to keep our eyes open. Luckily, we have only three
more days to stay here. All I want is to have them keep away from me
till the season’s ended. Then the tables will be turned, and I’ll get
after them.”
Joe and Jim changed into their street clothes and came out of the
clubhouse. All the other men had gone, except Iredell, who had not
quite finished dressing.
“Dandy weather,” remarked Joe, as they lingered for a moment on the
steps. “What do you say, Jim, to a little auto ride to-morrow morning,
along the Lincoln pike? Splendid road and fine scenery.”
“I’m on,” assented Jim. “I’d like nothing better.”
The weather was perfect the next day, and shortly after breakfast
the chums hired a speedy little car and set out for their ride. The
machine purred along smoothly, with Joe at the wheel, and as travelers
were comparatively few at that early hour, they had the road largely
to themselves, and on the long stretches could let the car out to an
exhilarating speed.
“This is the life!” exclaimed Jim, jubilantly, as he settled back in
his seat and drew in long breaths of the invigorating air. “It does a
fellow good sometimes to-- Look out, Joe! Look out!”
His shout of alarm was torn from him by a great motor truck that
came darting at high speed from a side road that had been partially
concealed by trees and underbrush.
It came thundering down upon the little car as though it were bent on
annihilating it.
Joe’s quick glance took in the danger, and he swerved sharply to one
side. Not sharply enough, however, to escape the impact altogether. The
truck caught the car a glancing blow that hurled it like a catapult
against a fence at the side of the road, which at that point ran along
the edge of a deep ravine.
The car crashed through the fence, and had it not been that one of the
wheels struck the trunk of a tree, would have plunged headlong into the
gulch. The blow slewed the machine around, where it hung partly over
the edge.
Jim had been thrown against the windshield and his hands were cut by
the flying glass. Joe had clung desperately to the wheel, and though
badly shaken up, had sustained no injury.
Without waiting to see the extent of the damage, the truck had gone on
at breakneck speed. By the time the young men had leaped to the ground,
the truck had vanished around a turn in the road.
Joe and Jim looked at each other, pale with anger.
“Are you hurt, Jim?” asked Joe, as he saw the blood on his comrade’s
hands.
“Only scratches,” was the reply. “And I’m so thankful I’m not dead that
I don’t mind little things like that.”
“It’s almost a miracle that we’re not lying at this moment at the
bottom of the ravine,” said Joe, soberly. “What do you think of those
fellows? Did you ever see such reckless driving?”
“It wasn’t reckless,” declared Jim, grimly. “It was deliberate. That
fellow was trying to run us down.”
“What?” exclaimed Joe.
“Just that,” reiterated Jim. “Did you see the man who was driving?”
“No,” said Joe. “I only saw the truck. I was too busy trying to get the
car out of the way to notice the driver.”
“Well, I saw him,” said Jim. “That is, I saw part of him. He had his
coat drawn up and his cap pulled down so as to hide his face. But I
caught sight of the biggest pair of lob ears I ever saw on any man.
Does that mean anything to you?”
“Lemblow!” exclaimed Joe.
“Lemblow,” assented Jim. “And probably the rest of the gang were in the
truck back of him. I tell you, Joe, those fellows are out to do you.
They failed in their first attempt, and so they tried this.”
“And they came mighty near putting this across,” said Joe. “But how on
earth did they know we were going on this ride? We didn’t mention it to
anybody.”
“No,” agreed Jim, “not directly. But when we first spoke of it
yesterday afternoon, we were on the clubhouse steps. Iredell was still
in there, dressing, and the door was open.”
“By George, you’ve hit it!” cried Joe. “Jim, the time has come for a
showdown. We won’t wait till the end of the season. We may not see the
end of the season if this kind of thing is allowed to go on. I’m going
to get even with those scoundrels before we leave Pittsburgh.”
“I’m with you till the cows come home,” declared Jim. “I’m aching to
get my hands on them. But how are you going to do it?”
“By shadowing Iredell,” replied Joe. “It’s a dead certainty that he’ll
meet the rest of the gang to talk things over before we leave the city.
We’ll keep him in sight every night from now on and follow him to their
meeting place. Then we’ll trim the bunch.”
“Good dope!” ejaculated Jim. “And now let’s get this car out to the
side of the road where the owners can send for it. There’ll be a
good-sized dent in our bankrolls by the time we get through paying for
the damage.”
They took care not to speak of the incident to any one, and at the game
that afternoon showed no antipathy or suspicion in regard to Iredell.
Several times they noticed the covert glances of that individual
directed toward Jim’s scratched hands--glances in which malignity was
mingled with disappointment--but they gave no sign, and conducted
themselves exactly as usual.
But not for a moment was Iredell out of their sight without their
knowing where he was. All their faculties were intent upon using him as
an unwitting guide to the rendezvous of the gang.
For a time after supper, Iredell hung around the lobby of the hotel. It
was nearly ten o’clock before he sauntered carelessly into the street,
where Joe and Jim were ensconced in the shadow of convenient doorways.
Iredell walked along slowly at first, glancing about from side to
side, but as he saw nothing to arouse his suspicion, he quickened his
steps and soon was making rapidly for the outskirts of the city. Joe
and Jim followed at some distance, keeping in the shadows as much as
possible.
In a little while they found themselves in a cheap quarter of the city,
not far from the bank of the Allegheny River. Factories and slag heaps
alternated with shabby dwellings, dimly lighted stores, and low resorts.
Standing in a lot, with no houses for a considerable distance on either
side, was an old one-story shack. From its battered and dilapidated
appearance, it seemed unfit for human habitation. But that some one was
in it was indicated by the light from a smoky oil lamp that threw a
flickering beam through the open window.
Iredell pushed his way along the weed-grown path and knocked three
times. After a moment the door was opened and Iredell entered.
Joe and Jim waited for a brief time, and then, with the stealth of
Indians, crept up near the open window. Bushes were growing all around
the house, and behind these the two friends crouched. The brushwood was
so thick that they were perfectly safe from detection, while at the
same time they had a clear vision of the room and its inmates.
They had no difficulty in identifying the latter. Hupft, McCarney,
Lemblow and Iredell were seated around a table, engaged in an excited
conversation.
There was practically no other furniture in the room than the table and
chairs. It was evident that none of the gang lived there, but that they
had picked out an abandoned house where they could meet in security and
talk with freedom.
There was no attempt to lower their voices, and the unseen listeners
had no difficulty in hearing every word that was said.
“So we’ve made another flivver,” growled McCarney, pounding the table
angrily with his fist.
“Seems so,” said Iredell, moodily. “They turned up at the game this
afternoon just as though nothing had happened. Barclay had some
scratches on his hand, but Matson was unhurt. At least he didn’t show
any signs of injury.”
“I’m beginning to think we can’t down that fellow,” muttered Hupft. “No
matter what we do, he comes up smiling.”
“Nonsense!” snarled Lemblow. “He’s had luck, that’s all. The pitcher
that goes to the well too often is broken at last. There’s luck in odd
numbers, and the third time we’ll get him.”
Joe felt in his pocket and took out an object that was roughly oblong
in shape. He gripped it tightly in his hand and waited.
Jim, who had noted the action, reached out and touched his friend’s arm.
“What’s the game?” he whispered.
“You’ll see in a minute,” returned Joe. “When I start, you follow me.”
“Lemblow’s right,” cried McCarney, rising to his feet, his face
inflamed with passion. “We’ve failed twice, but the third time we’ll
get him. We’ll get him so hard----”
He never finished the sentence.
Something whizzed through the open window with terrific force and
caught him right between the eyes. Taken by surprise, and partly
stunned by the force of the blow, he went down heavily to the floor.
With startled shouts, the other three leaped to their feet and stood
staring at the table on which the missile had fallen. Iredell leaned
forward, took one look and jumped back with a terrified yell.
“It’s a rattlesnake’s head!” he screamed in horror.
His shriek was echoed by the other rascals as they fell back from the
table, trembling as though with palsy.
The next instant, Joe and Jim, who had jumped through the window, were
upon the rascals, dealing out blows with the force of trip-hammers.
Iredell went down from a terrific right on the chin, and lay
motionless. Hupft and Lemblow tried to fight back, but their nerves
were so unstrung and they had been so overwhelmed with surprise at the
sudden onslaught that their efforts were pitiful. Joe and Jim, all
their pent up indignation putting double strength into their muscular
arms, gave them the beating of their lives, until they cowered in a
corner, covering their faces with their hands and whimpering for mercy.
“I guess that will do, Jim,” said Joe at last. “They’ll carry the marks
of this for a long time, and they’ll remember this night as long as
they live.
“Now listen to me, you rascals,” he said, with withering scorn, as
his eyes bored through the discomfited conspirators. “What you’ve got
to-night isn’t a circumstance to what’s coming to you if you ever
dare to lift a finger against me again. I could have every one of you
arrested and put behind bars for years to come if I wanted to, but I
prefer to settle my own quarrels. But just one more move on your part,
and you’ll go where the dogs won’t bite you for a while.
“As for you, Iredell,” he continued, in a slightly gentler tone,
addressing his teammate who was now sitting up on the floor, still half
dazed, “I could have you fired off the team in disgrace and blacklisted
forever, if I told McRae of this dirty work of yours. But I remember
that you have a family and that you’ve played on the same team with
me for years, and I’m going to give you one more chance. No one will
hear of this if you go straight from now on. Cut out these dogs of
companions and play the game like a man.
“Come along, Jim,” he concluded, “I guess our night’s work is done.
We’ll leave the snake’s head behind as a souvenir.”
The night’s work was indeed done, and done so effectively that Joe
suffered no more trouble from the precious trio. As for Iredell, the
lesson had been sufficient, and while there never was a resumption of
the cordial relations of previous years, he gave no further cause for
complaint. At the end of the season he was traded, as young Renton had
filled his place so well that the Giants could do without him.
The Giants “cleaned up” in Pittsburgh, and did so well with the other
teams that the last day of the season found them tied with Chicago for
the lead. The Cubs had played out all their games. The Giants still had
one to play with Brooklyn. If they won, they would have the pennant. If
they lost, the flag would go to Chicago.