TAKEN CAPTIVE
So great was the force of the fall that when Joe brought up at the
foot of the stairs the breath was knocked out of him, and before he
could get to his feet the crowd of rough men were on him like dogs
on a wounded wolf. Stunned though he was, Joe would not submit to
overpowering numbers without a struggle, and more than one of the crowd
bore marks of the fight for many a day afterward. Joe was in the very
finest physical condition, and as he fought the effects of the fall
wore off somewhat, and he struck out with a force and power that sent
his opponents reeling back. At one time Joe actually had his hand on
the knob of the street door, but he was dragged back, fighting like a
madman. His adversaries were hampered by their own numbers, and in the
narrow hall only one or two could get at Joe at once. He was engaged
with two of the fellows, when suddenly some heavy object landed on his
head with paralyzing force, and he crumpled to the floor.
“Guess that fixes that guy,” remarked one of the fellows, as he
returned a “blackjack” to his pocket.
“I hope you haven’t fixed him too well,” said the leader of the gang, a
corpulent, flashily dressed man. “It’s all right to put him to sleep,
but we don’t want any killings, you know.”
“Leave that to me, boss,” said the other. “He’ll soon come back from
the land o’ nod, an’ when he does, we’d better have his hands an’ feet
tied. He’s got a punch in each mitt that’s fit to knock a mule out.”
The others seemed to agree heartily with this statement, and they
lost no time in following their companion’s advice. When Joe regained
consciousness, some ten minutes later, he found himself securely tied
in a chair, while the members of the gang sat about at their ease,
planning what disposition to make of their captive.
The first thing Joe did was to look for McCarney, but he was nowhere
to be seen. During the fight he had kept in the background, and as
soon as it was over he had slipped out of the house. He had little
doubt that the gang would overcome Joe, but he had a great respect
for the capabilities of the young pitcher, and he thought that in
case Joe ever got away from them he would accuse him, McCarney, of
being an accomplice of the gang. In that case, the less he was seen
in their company the better. Besides this, he was anxious to bet some
money against the Giants on the coming games, as he knew that Joe’s
disappearance would be very likely to demoralize the whole team.
Up to this time the Giants had been considered the favorites in the
pennant race, and among the gamblers they had been better than even
money. But when McCarney, in sporting circles familiar enough to him,
tried to place some cash, he found that already the odds were against
the Giants to win, and he was at no loss to guess the reason for this.
Some of the gang that held Joe prisoner had begun to plunge heavily
against the Giants, and the gamblers who did not know were suspicious
and not over-anxious to back the team that was apparently the best in
the league by a fair margin. Gamblers as a class are quick to take
fright, and those manipulating the “baseball ring” as it was already
called in the underworld, were no exceptions to the rule.
When Joe did not put in an appearance at their hotel that night Jim
was very uneasy, but he comforted himself with the reflection that Joe
might have found it necessary in the course of his sleuthing expedition
to keep close to the trail. He fully expected to see Joe at the
baseball field the following afternoon, especially as he was slated to
pitch that day. But there was no sign of the missing star, and when it
was almost time for the game to start McRae sought out Jim where he was
warming up with Mylert back of the clubhouse.
“Where’s Joe, Jim?” he asked anxiously. “It isn’t like him to be late.
Did he tell you he wouldn’t show up to-day?”
“I don’t know much more about him than you do, Mac,” replied Jim, a
worried look in his eyes. “He didn’t show up at the hotel last night,
and I thought he was probably with one of the other fellows. But now
that he isn’t here for the game I’m getting worried for fair. I know
that if he isn’t here it’s because he couldn’t get here.”
“Couldn’t get here!” echoed McRae. “What in thunder would stop him from
getting here if he wanted to come?”
“You know well enough that both Joe and I have had trouble with the
gambling ring before now,” said Jim. “They’ve been after both of us,
and it looks as though they’d landed on Joe this time. If they have――”
Jim did not finish the sentence, but his flashing eyes and the grim set
of his mouth supplied the rest.
“That goes for the whole team,” said McRae. “Anybody that tampers with
any member of this team is going to have trouble. I’ll get a couple of
detectives on the job right away, and we’ll see if we can’t locate Joe
in a hurry. In the meantime, you’ll have to pitch to-day’s game, Jim.
I was counting on Joe for this afternoon, but I guess you can turn the
trick, too.”
“I’m here to try,” said Jim. “But after the game is over, I’m going to
look for Joe on my own hook. And what’s more, I’m willing to bet that
there’s at least one member of this team that could tell you right now,
if he wanted to, where he is.”
“Who?” demanded McRae quickly. “Give me his name.”
“You’d better keep this quiet for the time, Mac,” said Robson who came
up just at this juncture. “We don’t want any of this to get into the
papers, if we can help it.”
“That’s right,” admitted McRae. “Come with us, Barclay, and we’ll talk
this over in private.”
In the manager’s office under the grandstand Jim told of Joe’s resolve
to follow McCarney the previous afternoon. McRae and Robson listened
with worried frowns on their faces. Robson was the first to speak.
“This is a thing we won’t be able to hush up, Mac,” he said. “The
newspaper men know that we intend to pitch Matson to-day, and they’ll
want to know the reason why he isn’t in the box. They’d soon find out
the reason why, and if we tell them what we know, they may be able to
help us find him.”
“That’s true, in a way,” said McRae slowly. “But we won’t tell them
about our suspicions of McCarney――not yet. Remember, we haven’t any
proof against him, and we don’t want to make any false moves.”
By the time this decision was reached it was almost time for the game
to start, and the three hurried out on to the field, where the rest
of the team had already congregated. They were warming up, one or two
knocking flies to the others while a few were pitching balls back
and forth to each other with that long, effortless swing of the arm
characteristic of a good ball player. Jim started pitching to Mylert,
taking it easy on the first few balls and gradually warming up to his
regular speed and control. But it was hard for him to keep his mind on
the work in hand, as his thoughts kept wandering to his missing friend
while his heart was filled with gloomy forebodings. He knew that Joe
would never have been absent from the ball field that afternoon unless
he were actually in captivity, or perhaps worse yet, actually injured
by his enemies to keep him from playing. The only thing that kept Jim
from throwing down his glove and starting to search for his chum then
and there was the knowledge that Joe would want him to pitch the game
for the sake of the team and to frustrate the gamblers. Jim made up
his mind that he would pitch such a game in the absence of his chum
that the opposing team would not have even a look-in. His arm had never
felt better, and he had an uncanny control over the ball that made him
confident of winning.
There was little time for practice before the umpire called “Play ball”
and the game was on.
The Giant fans were expecting a great battle that day, and they were
not disappointed. The team was playing the Pittsburghs, and the latter
were no mean adversaries. In addition to an all-around good team, they
had a young pitcher who was one of the sensations of the season. He
had been taken right from a high school team, where his phenomenal
ability had earned him the attention of a big league scout. He had a
big variety of curves, although a little erratic on control, a defect
that time would probably remedy. He was considered the best pitcher
the Pittsburghs had, and their manager had decided to work him that
afternoon before he heard of Joe’s non-appearance. After learning of
this, he decided to pitch him anyway, in order to “put the game on
ice.” The Pittsburghs were close on the trail of the Giants; so close,
that every game was important.
However, Jim was nothing daunted by this, and was confident that he
could pitch his team to victory. He had never played in a game against
Miles, the Pittsburghs’ star, but from the bench he had studied him
closely and had a pretty good line on his offerings. In addition, he
and Joe knew the weak points of every batter in the league, and just
what kind of delivery was least to his liking. This counted for a
tremendous lot in a tight place, and the two chums had worked it out to
a science.
The Pittsburghs were disposed of in the first inning in quick order.
Then the Giants came in for their turn with Curry as the first man
in the batting order. He was a dependable batter as a rule, but he
found himself helpless against the puzzling shoots dished up to him
by the star pitcher of the Pittsburghs. He knew that Miles was short
on control, and tried to wait him out, but after the pitcher had
had three balls chalked against him, he sent over three strikes in
succession, and Curry threw down his bat disgustedly and went over to
the players’ bench to meet the gibes of his team mates. But Iredell,
who followed him, was little more successful, popping up a high fly
that Miles caught without moving from the mound. Burkett struck out
in one-two-three order, and the Pittsburghs came trotting in from the
field for their second turn at bat.
“Guess our kid has got you fellows eating out of his hand,” gibed
O’Connor, the Pittsburgh captain, as he passed the Giants on their way
out to the field positions. “You fellows haven’t a chance in the world
of winning this game.”
“‘He who laugh last, irritates,’” retorted Mylert. “We’ve got as many
runs as you so far.”
O’Connor grunted and went to the dugout to get his favorite bat. In a
few seconds he was back at the plate with it, swinging it slowly back
and forth as he waited for Jim’s delivery.