Lefty Locke Pitcher-Manager Part 26

"Some baseball manager, that's what you are!" scoffed Mit, taking keen delight in prolonging the suspense that he fancied must be getting the nerve of the intended victim. "You're rattlin' around like a buckshot inside a ba.s.s drum. A busy little person, you are, but you won't be so busy after I finish with you. You'll find it convenient to take a nice long rest in a hospital."

"You fight a lot with your mouth, Mit," said Locke contemptuously.

"Go ahead an' sail inter him, Skully," urged the ruffian who looked like a broken-down prize fighter. "You been itchin' fer him to show up so you could get inter action. Go to it!"

"Plenty of time, Bill. I enjoy seein' him try to push that door down with his back. Wasn't he a mut to walk right into this? I'm goin' to change the look of his face so that his handsome wife won't know him when she sees him next."

He began to remove his coat, and Lefty knew the time for action had come. For an instant his imagination had sought to unnerve him by presenting a vivid picture of himself as he would appear, battered, bleeding, beaten up, if the trio of thugs carried out their evil design; but he put the vision aside promptly. In cases where a smaller force is compelled to contend with a greater, the advantage is frequently obtained through swift and sudden a.s.sault. Knowing this, Locke did not wait to be attacked. He hurled himself forward with the spring of a panther and the force of a catapult.

CHAPTER x.x.x

ONE AGAINST THREE

Skullen, in the act of removing his coat, was caught unprepared. Before he could fling the garment aside Locke was upon him, aiming a well-meant blow for the point of Mit's jaw.

Skullen realized that it was no trifling thing to stop such a blow as that, and he jerked his head aside, as he dropped his coat. The blow caught him glancingly and sent him staggering, upsetting the chair from which he had recently risen. Locke grabbed the edge of the table and pitched it against the ruffian's two companions, who had hastily started to get up. They fell over, with the table on top of them.

Lefty followed up his advantage, and kept right on after Skullen.

Uttering a snarl of astonished rage, the latter sought to grapple, but the southpaw knew that he could not afford to waste time in that sort of a struggle. Whatever he did must be done swiftly, effectively, and thoroughly. Delay meant only disaster to him. Avoiding the clutching hands of his antagonist, he struck Mit on the neck, below the ear, staggering him again.

Skullen had not looked for such a whirlwind a.s.sault. He had fancied the trapped man would wait until set upon, and he had believed he would have little trouble in beating Lefty to the full satisfaction of his revengeful heart. He was strong and ponderous, and he could still strike a terrible blow, but years had slowed him down, his lack of exercise had softened his muscles, his eye had lost its quickness, while indulgence in drink and dissipation had taken the snap and ginger out of him. He had not realized before how much he had deteriorated, but now, witnessing the lightning-like movements of Lefty Locke, he began to understand, and sudden apprehension overcame him.

"Bill! Snuff!" he roared. "Get into it! Get at him, you snails! Soak him!"

His appeal to his companions was an unintentional admission that he suddenly realized he was no match for the man he had attempted to beat.

The flickering gaslight had given him a glimpse of a terrible blazing look in Locke's eyes. Once, in the ring, he had seen a look like that in the eyes of an opponent who had apparently gone crazy. And he had been knocked out by him!

Scrambling up from beneath the capsized table, Bill and Snuff responded.

Lefty knew that in a moment they would take a hand in the fight, and then the odds would be three against one, and none of the three would hesitate at any brutal methods to smash the one. Once he was beaten down, they would kick and stamp him into insensibility; and later, perhaps, he would be found outside somewhere in the back alley, with broken bones, possibly maimed and disfigured for life.

The knowledge of what would happen to him, if defeated, made him doubly strong and fierce. He endeavored to dispose of Skullen first, believing that by doing so he would have half the battle won.

Skullen's howls to his companions came to an abrupt termination. Like an irresistible engine of destruction, Locke had smashed through the defense of the ruffian, and, reaching him with a terrible blow, sent him spinning and crashing into a corner of the room. At the same instant, Bill, joining in, was met by a back kick in the pit of his stomach, and, with a grunt, he doubled up, clutching at his middle with both hands.

This gave the southpaw a chance to turn on Snuff, who had not, so far, shown any great desire to help his pals. The creature had seemed physically insignificant, sitting at the table, but now, in action, he moved with the quickness of a wild cat, in great contrast to the ponderousness of Skullen. And he had a weapon in his hand--a blackjack!

The southpaw realized that, of his three antagonists, the creature springing at him like a deadly tarantula was the most to be dreaded.

Insanity blazed in the fellow's eyes. He struck with the blackjack, and Lefty barely avoided the blow.

Locke snapped out his left foot, and caught the toe of the man plunging past him, sending him spinning to the floor. Snuff's body struck a leg of the overturned table and broke it off short, but the shock of the fall seemed to have absolutely no effect upon him; for he rebounded from the floor like a rubber ball, and was on his feet again in a flash, panting and snarling.

"Get him, Snuff--get him!" urged Skullen, coming up out of the corner where he had been thrown.

Bill, recovering his breath, was straightening up. All three of the thugs would be at the southpaw again in another jiffy. Lefty darted round the table, avoiding the blackjack, but realizing what a small chance he had with his bare hands. He could not keep up the dodging long. Then he saw the broken table leg, and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. With an upward swing, he landed a blow on Snuff's elbow, breaking his arm.

The blackjack flew to the smoky ceiling, and then thudded back to the floor.

Feeling sure he had checked his most dangerous antagonist, Lefty turned, swinging the table leg, and gave Skullen a crack on the shoulder that dropped him to his knees. He had aimed at Mit's head, but the fellow had partially succeeded in dodging the blow.

Another blow, and the cry of alarm that rose to Bill's lips was broken short. Bill went down, knocked senseless.

But Snuff, in spite of his broken arm, was charging again. He was seeking to get at the southpaw with his bare left hand! The pitcher, however, had no compunction, and he beat the madman down instantly.

Groaning and clinging to his injured shoulder, Skullen retreated hastily to the wall, staring in amazement and incomprehension at the breathless but triumphant man he had lured into this trap. In all his experience he had never encountered such a fighter.

There being no one to stop him now, Lefty walked to the door leading into the alley, found the key in the lock and turned it. One backward look he cast at the two figures on the floor and the man who leaned against the wall, clutching at his shoulder.

Policemen seemed to be scarce in that neighborhood, and Locke found one with difficulty. The officer listened incredulously to Lefty's story.

"Mike's is a quiet place," he said. "Didn't make a mistake about where this happened, did you? Well, come on; we'll go round there and see about it."

The saloon was open when they reached it. The red-headed bartender was serving beer to an Italian and a Swede. The vagrant had vanished. The man behind the bar listened with a well-simulated air of growing indignation when the policeman questioned him. He glared at the pitcher.

"What are you tryin' to put across, bo?" he demanded fiercely. "You never were in here before in your life. Tryin' to give my place a bad name? Nothin' like what you say ever happened around here. Nice little yarn about bein' decoyed here by some coves that tried to beat you up!

Say, officer, is this a holdup?"

"I've told you what he told me," said the policeman.

"In my back room!" raged the barkeeper. "There ain't been n.o.body in there for the last two hours. Come here an' have a look." He walked to the door and flung it open.

Skullen and his partners were gone. Even the broken table had been removed. There was nothing to indicate that a desperate encounter had taken place there a short time before.

"You cleaned up in a hurry," said Lefty.

At this the barkeeper became still more furious, and was restrained by the officer, who scowled at the pitcher even as he held the other back.

"You don't look like you'd been hitting the pipe, young feller,"

growled the representative of the law; "but that yarn about being attacked by three men looks funny. Don't notice any marks of the sc.r.a.p on you. They didn't do you much damage, did they? Say, you must have had a dream!"

Locke saw the utter folly of any attempt to press the matter. "As long as you insist upon looking at it in that way, officer," he returned, with a touch of contempt that he could not repress, "we'll have to let it go at that. But I'll guarantee that there are three men somewhere in this neighborhood who'll have to have various portions of their anatomies patched up by a doctor as the aftermath of that dream."

CHAPTER x.x.xI

LIGHT ON A DARK SPOT

Janet returned from the matinee in a state of great excitement. "She's here!" she cried, bursting in on Lefty. "You were right about it! I've seen her!"

The southpaw gazed in surprise at the flushed face of his charming wife.

"You mean--"

"Virginia! I tell you I've seen her!"