Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant Part 19

"Tell Clancy," said Norton, with an effort.

They ascended the elevator together and rapped at Clancy's door.

"Mr. Clancy," said McCarthy, when the manager had bade them enter, "I ought to have come to you before. Swanson and Kennedy are missing.

They didn't come in last night--and we're worried."

"Where were they?" demanded the manager quickly.

"I was going with Swanson on an errand last night," said McCarthy. "We were working on that matter that caused trouble the other day. Then I had a telephone call and went to see a--a friend of mine. Swanson said he'd take Kennedy with him. They left the hotel together, Norton tells me, and they haven't come home."

"Either of them drinking?" asked Clancy sharply.

"Beer--sometimes--not often," said Norton.

"Swanson hasn't been drinking at all," declared McCarthy. "Neither of them would go off on a tear at this stage of the game."

"You're right, Kohinoor," said Clancy worriedly. "It's something else.

They'll show up, all right. Thank you for telling me, boys, and don't say anything about it."

In spite of their silence, however, the rumor that the star catcher and the shortstop were missing spread through the team. By noon the players were openly discussing the whereabouts of the two players.

Clancy showed his anxiety.

"Can't you tell me where they were going, Kohinoor?" he asked. "I don't want to press you to reveal anything you don't want to, but I'm afraid those boys are in trouble."

"I haven't any idea where they were going," replied McCarthy. "I know that they were watching a certain fellow, and that a gambler named Edwards was mixed up in it."

"You've told me plenty," said the manager in low tones. "I have suspected it all along. I'm afraid they're run afoul of Edwards and that he has managed to get them into trouble."

"If he has he has his nerve," said McCarthy. "Look over there. He just came in with a party of friends. I know the big man."

"Who is he?" inquired the manager, watching the party just entering one of the field boxes.

"That's Barney Baldwin, the political boss," explained McCarthy.

"Is he in this thing, too?" inquired Clancy, starting with surprise.

"Yes, at least I think so. You see, I know his niece. It was at his house I went to call last night. I discovered that he ordered his niece to call me and had her try to persuade me to quit the team right away."

"Look here, Kohinoor," said the manager, drawing him aside so the other players could not hear, "I'm sorry you didn't tell me this before. It looks worse and worse all the time. He wanted you to quit--and now two of my men disappear. You'll have to play short to-day, and we'll send Pardridge to third. Get in there and hustle."

Smith, the big spitball pitcher of the Bears, who had been held in reserve, was chosen to pitch, and for three innings the teams fought for the opening without a real chance to score. The cunning of Clancy was shown in his choice of the big pitcher, whose speed and spitball kept the Jackrabbit batters. .h.i.tting toward right field or sending slow, easy bounders down toward the pitcher. He had chosen Smith in order to protect the weakened third base side of the infield, and his plan worked well until the fourth inning, when Egbert, one of the speediest of the Jackrabbit sprinters, hit a spitball on top and sent a slow, weak roller toward third base. Pardridge made a desperate effort to field the ball, but fell short, and the Jackrabbits discovered the weak place in the defense. Two bunts rolled down the third-base line in succession, and, although Pardridge, playing close in a desperate effort to stop that style of attack, managed to throw out the second bunter, runners were on second and third with but one out when "Buckthorne" Black smashed a long hit over center for three bases and scored an instant later on a sharp, slashing hit through Noisy Norton.

The three runs seemed to spell the doom of the Bears, and they came in from the field angry, hot and desperate. The roar of the crowd grew stronger when the score board showed the Panthers were winning their game--5 to 1--from the Blues.

McCarthy was first at bat in that inning. As he selected his bat he glanced toward the stand and grew hot with rage at seeing Baldwin laughing until red in the face and slapping Ed Edwards on the back.

The gambler's usually stony face wore a smile of relief. McCarthy walked to the plate, pushed the first ball pitched down the third-base line and outsprinted the ball to first. Norton strove to bring him home, but his long-line drive went straight to the left fielder, and when Holleran struck out it seemed as if the chance to score was lost for that inning. McCarthy stood still, a few feet off first base, and, as Randall wound up to pitch, he started at top speed for second base.

Jackson, catching for the Jackrabbits, saw him, grabbed the ball and leaped into position to throw. Like a flash McCarthy stopped and danced a step or two back toward first base, as if daring the catcher to throw the ball. Jackson pretended to throw to first, and, as McCarthy edged a step closer the base the catcher saw there was no chance to catch him, and slowly relaxing from throwing position, he took a step forward and started to toss the ball back to his pitcher.

In that instant McCarthy acted. He leaped forward, and, before Jackson could recover and spring back into throwing position, the fleet Bear was nearing second base, making a beautifully executed delayed steal.

Jackson threw, although it was too late. The ball, hurled over hastily, broke through the second baseman's hands and rolled twenty feet toward center field. McCarthy turned second at full speed and raced for third, while Reilly tore after the ball, and, picking it up, made a fast, low throw toward third. Again the ball escaped the baseman, and McCarthy, without the loss of a stride, turned third base and raced home, sliding under Jackson as he reached for the high-thrown ball.

The game had settled down to a desperate series of attacks by the Bears, and a stubborn defense on the part of the Jackrabbits. In the sixth and again in the seventh the Bears forced the attack, but each time they fell short of scoring, and the eighth inning came with the score 3 to 1 against them. Lucas, who was catching in Kennedy's place, opened that inning, and the Bears' hope arose when he, the weakest hitter on the team, was. .h.i.t by a pitched ball. Smith drove a hard bounder toward first, but O'Meara knocked down the ball and reached the base in time to retire the big, lumbering pitcher, letting Lucas reach second. Jacobsen struck out, and McCarthy, gritting his teeth, came to bat. One strike and one ball had been called when, looking toward the bench for a signal from Clancy, he saw a sight that made his heart jump. In that fleeting glance he had seen Swanson, in uniform, coming onto the bench through the little doorway under the stands.

Swanson's eye was black and a strip of plaster extended from under his cap onto his forehead. His face was swollen and discolored and a bandage covered his head, showing under his cap.

If he only could get on first base, McCarthy told himself, there was hope, and, as the ball sped toward him he poked out his bat, dropped another bunt toward third base, and, by a terrific burst of speed he beat it to first base, sending Lucas to third.

"Swanson batting for Holleran. Swanson will play shortstop, McCarthy third base, Pardridge in left field."

McCarthy had determined to steal second base, but the chance never presented. The first ball that came whizzing toward the plate Swanson hit. It went like a rocket far out to left center field. Two speedy outfielders glanced at the flying ball, then turned and sprinted for the outer barriers. The ball soared on and on, and with a crash struck against the sign over the left field seats and fell back into the throng in the bleachers, and while the crowd cheered and groaned three Bears trotted around the bases to the plate.

Swanson, running slowly and painfully, crossed the plate, with the score that put the Bears in the lead. He did not stop. Straight toward the box where Edwards and Baldwin sat, he went. His face was terrible. They saw him coming, and Baldwin, apologetic with fear, half arose, as if to cry for help. The gambler, white but still keeping his nerve, shrank back a trifle, but held his seat. Swanson walked straight to them. For an instant he towered over them threateningly, then he said:

"Good afternoon, gentlemen, I hope you're glad to see me."

CHAPTER XIX

_Swanson to the Rescue_

When Silent Swanson aroused himself from the effects of the blow on the head from the beer mallet in the hands of the treacherous bartender, he sat up feebly and found himself in semi-darkness.

"Someone crowned me with a crowbar," he muttered to himself as his brain gradually began to work normally. "They must have kicked me after I went down."

A faint groan from the heavy shadows near him startled him into a realization of what had happened. He felt around for a moment and his fingers touched the body of a man huddled against a wall.

"It must be Ken--and he's hurt," he muttered, and crept toward his companion. Swanson worked over him, shaking and speaking to him and presently Kennedy stirred and sat up against the wall.

"Where are we? What happened?" he inquired in a bewildered manner.

"Search me," replied Swanson mournfully. "I was just getting ready to swing the haymaker on that big fellow when the house fell. I think someone beaned me from behind with a brick and then kicked us around.

Ouch--my ribs feel stoved in."

"I'm sore all over," moaned Kennedy. "That fellow didn't do it all by himself, did he?"

"I have a dim recollection of hearing someone tell him to fix us right," replied Swanson. "I may have dreamed it."

"Let's get out of here," urged Swanson suddenly. "If some watchman finds us here we'll be pinched, and it will make a nice story for the reporters."

"Where do you think we are?" asked Kennedy, striving to get to his feet and groaning with every move.

"In the alley back of the joint we were in," replied Swanson. "They must have dragged us to the back door and dumped us."

He had managed to get upon his feet, a.s.sisted Kennedy to arise, and slowly and with many groans they went toward the mouth of the alley.

"Let's go around to the front door and clean out that place," urged Swanson, growing angry.

Both men were commencing to recover from the effects of the cruel treatment they had endured, and, as their injured muscles loosened their anger arose. They made their way painfully around the block and to the entrance of the saloon. It was locked and the place was in total darkness. Swanson shook the barred doors without result, then stood gazing blankly against the gla.s.s.