ADRIFT
"There," said Baseball Joe, coming to a halt at a dark street corner,
the stranger close beside him, "if you go up that way, and turn as I
told you to, it will take you directly to the Reading Terminal."
"I don't know how to thank you," mumbled the other. He seemed to be
fumbling in his pocket. "I'll give you my card," he went on. "If you are
ever in San Francisco----"
But it was not a card that he pulled from the inner pocket of his coat.
It was a rag, that bore a strange, faint odor. Joe stepped back, but not
quickly enough. He suspected something wrong, but he was too late.
An instant later the stranger had thrown one powerful arm about
the young pitcher, and, with his other hand he pressed the
chloroform-saturated rag to Joe's nose and mouth.
Joe tried to cry out, and struggled to free himself. But his senses
seemed leaving him under the influence of the powerful drug.
At that moment, as though it had been timing itself to the movements of
the man who had followed Joe, there drove up a large ramshackle cab, and
out of it jumped two men.
"Did you get him, Wes?" one asked eagerly.
"I sure did. Here, help me. He's gone off. Get him into the cab."
Poor Joe's senses had all but left him. He was an inert mass, but he
could hear faintly, and he recognized the voice of Shalleg.
He tried to rouse himself, but it was as though he were in a heavy
sleep, or stupor. He felt himself being lifted into a cab. The door
slammed shut, and then he was rattled away over the cobbles.
"I wonder what they're going to do with me?" Joe thought. He had enough
of his brain in working order to do that. Once more he tried to
struggle.
"Better tie him up," suggested a voice he now recognized as that of the
fellow who had twisted his arm on the street car.
"Yes, I guess we had," agreed Shalleg. "And then to the Delaware with
him!"
Joe was too weak, and too much under the influence of the drug, to care
greatly what they did with him--that is, in a sense, though a feeling of
terror took possession of him at the words.
"The river!" gasped Wessel. "I thought you said there'd be no violence,
Shalleg."
"And there won't!" promised the leader of the conspirators.
"But you said to tie him, and then to the river with him."
"You don't s'pose I'm going to chuck him in; do you?" was the angry
question.
"I don't know."
"Well, I'm not! I'm just going to put him out of the way for a time. I
told him I'd get even with him for not helping me out of a hole, and
then for spreading reports about me, that kept me from getting a place
on the Cardinals, as well as on any other team. I told him I'd fix him!"
So, this was the secret of Shalleg's animosity! He had a fancied
grievance against Joe, and was taking this means of gratifying his
passion for revenge. Joe, dimly hearing, understood now. He longed to be
able to speak, to assure Shalleg that he was all wrong, but they had
bound a rag about his mouth, and he could not utter a sound, even had
not the chloroform held his speech in check.
"Pass over those ropes," directed Shalleg to his cronies in the cab,
which lurched and swayed over the rough stones. The cab held four, on a
pinch, and Joe was held and supported by one of the men. The gag in the
young pitcher's mouth was made tighter, and ropes were passed about his
arms and feet. He could not move.
"What's the game?" asked Wessel, as the trussing-up was finished.
"Well, I don't want to do him any real harm," growled Shalleg, "but I'm
going to put him out of the game, just as I was kept out of it by his
tattling tongue. I'm going to make him fail to show up to-morrow, and
the next day, too, maybe. That'll put a crimp in his record, and in the
Cardinals', too, for he's been doing good work for them. I'll say that
about him, much as I hate him!"
Joe heard this plot against him, heard it dimly, through his half-numbed
senses, and tried to struggle free from his bonds. But he could not.
On rattled the cab. Joe could not tell in which direction they were
going, but he was sure it was along the lonely river front. The effects
of the chloroform were wearing off, but the gag kept him silent, and the
ropes bound his hands and feet.
"Have any trouble trailing him?" asked Shalleg of Wessel, who had
disguised himself with a false beard.
"Not a bit," was the answer. "It was pie! I pretended I had lost my
way."
The men laughed. Either they thought Joe was still incapable of hearing
them, or they did not care if their identity and plans were known.
A multitude of thoughts rushed through Joe's head. He did not exactly
understand what the men were going to do with him. They had spoken of
taking him to the river. Perhaps they meant to keep him prisoner on a
boat until his contract with the St. Louis team would be void, because
of his non-appearance. And Joe knew how hard it would be to get back in
the game after that.
True, he could explain how it had happened, and he felt sure he would
not be blamed. But when would he get a chance to make explanations? And
there was the game to-morrow! He knew he would be called on to pitch,
for Mr. Watson had practically told him so. And Joe would not be on
hand.
"Aren't we 'most there?" asked Wessel.
"Yes," answered Shalleg, shortly.
"What are we to do?" asked the other.
"You'll know soon enough," was the half-growled reply.
The cab rattled on. Then it came to a stop. Joe could smell the dampness
of the river, and he realized that the next act in the episode was about
to be played.
He felt himself being lifted out of the cab, and he had a glimpse of a
street, but it was too dark to recognize where it was, and Joe was not
well enough acquainted with Philadelphia to know the neighborhood. Then
a handkerchief was bound over his eyes, and he was in total darkness.
He heard whispered words between Shalleg and the driver of the cab, but
could not make out what they were. Then the vehicle rattled off.
"Catch hold of him now," directed Shalleg to his companions. "We'll
carry him down to the river."
"To the river!" objected Wessel, and Joe felt a shiver go through him.
"Well, to the boat then!" snapped Shalleg. "Don't talk so much."
Joe felt himself being carried along, and, a little later, he was laid
down on what he felt was the bottom of a boat. A moment later he could
tell by the motion of the craft that he was adrift on the Delaware.