TAKING A CHANCE
There was a scream from the frightened girls and a gasp from the young men as they saw this messenger of death bearing down upon them.
They knew at a glance what had happened. A Malay, yielding to the insidious mental malady that seems peculiar to his race, had suddenly gone mad and started out to kill. That he himself would inevitably be killed did not deter him for a moment. He wanted to die, but he wanted at the same time to take as many with him as possible.
He had made his offering to the infernal gods, had blackened his teeth and anointed his head with cocoa oil, and had started out to slay.
With his eyes blazing, his head rolling from side to side like a mad dog, and with that blood-chilling cry coming from his foam-flecked lips, he was like a figure from a nightmare.
For a moment the Americans stood rooted to 184 the spot. That instant past, Baseball Joe, as usual, took the lead.
“Look after the girls, Jim!” he cried, and started full tilt toward the awful figure that came plunging down the street.
Mabel and Clara screamed to him to stop, but he only quickened his pace, running like a deer, as though bent on suicide. The Malay saw him coming, and for a second hesitated. He had seen everyone else scurry from him in fear. What did this man mean by coming to meet him?
It was just this instant of indecision upon which Joe had counted, and like a flash he seized it.
When within twenty feet of the Malay, Joe launched himself into the air, and came down flat on the hard dirt road, as he had done many a time before when sliding to base.
The Malay, confused by the unlooked-for action, slashed down at him. Had Joe gone straight toward him, the knife would have been buried in him. But here again his quickness and the tactics of the ballfield came into play.
Instead of going straight toward his antagonist, his slide had been a “fall away.”
Many a time when sliding to second he had thrown himself this way out of the reach of the ball, while his extended hand just clutched the bag.
So now, his sinewy arm caught the Malay by 185 the leg, while his body swung round to the right. Down went the Malay with a crash, his blood-stained knives clattering on the ground and the next instant Joe was on his back.
His hands closed upon the man’s throat with an iron grip.
But there was no more fight left in the would-be murderer. The fall had jarred and partially stunned him. In an instant Jim had joined Joe, other men came rushing up; and the danger was over.
The crazed man was secured with ropes and carried away, while Joe, perspiring, panting and covered with dust, received the enthusiastic congratulations of the rapidly gathering crowd.
“Pluckiest thing I ever saw in my life!” exclaimed the colonel of the army command, who had witnessed the exploit.
“That fall-away slide of yours was great, Joe!” cried Larry Barrett, who had come up. “I never saw a niftier one on the ballfield.”
“You made the bag all right!” grinned Denton.
“He never touched you!” chuckled Burkett.
“If he had it would have been some touch,” declared McRae, as he picked up one murderous-looking knife and passed it round for inspection.
It was a wicked weapon, nearly a foot in length, with a handle so contrived as to get all 186 the weight behind the stroke and a wavy blade capable of inflicting a fearful wound.
“Has a bowie knife skinned a mile!” ejaculated Curry, expressing the general sentiment.
Joe hated to pose as a hero but it was some time before the crowd would let him get away and rejoin the girls who were waiting for him.
All the plaudits of the throng were tame compared with what he read in the eyes of Mabel and his sister.
The baseball teams stayed nearly a week in Manila, making short excursions in the suburbs as far as it could be done with safety. Two games were played, one between the Giants and All-Americans, which resulted in favor of the latter, and another between the Giants and a picked nine from the army post.
Many of Uncle Sam’s army boys had been fine amateur players and a few had come from professional teams, so that they were able to put up a gallant fight, although they were, of course, no match for the champions of the world.
“But they certainly put up a fine game,” was Joe’s comment. “They had two pitchers who had some good stuff in ’em.”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” returned Jim.
“One of those pitchers used to play ball on a professional team from Los Angeles,” said 187 McRae, who was standing near. “I understand he had quite a record.”
“I wonder what made him give up pitching and join the army,” remarked Jim curiously.
“Oh, I suppose it was the love of adventure,” answered the manager.
“That might be it,” said Joe. “Some fellows get tired of doing the same thing, and when they have a chance to leave home and see strange places, they grab it.”
While warming up prior to this last game, Joe’s attention was attracted by a muscular Chinaman, who was standing in the crowd that fringed the diamond, interestedly watching the players at practice. He recognized him as a famous wrestler who had taken part in a bout at a performance the night before and who had thrown his opponents with ease.
“Some muscles on that fellow,” Joe remarked to Jim.
“Biggest Chink I ever saw,” replied Jim, “and not a bit of it is fat either. He’d make a dandy highbinder. You saw what he did to the Terrible Turk in that match last night. He just played with him. And the Turk was no slouch either.”
“Look at those arms,” joined in Larry, gazing with admiration at the swelling biceps of the wrestler. “What a slugger he’d make if he knew 188 how to play ball. He’d break all the fences in the league.”
“He sure would kill the ball if he ever caught it on the end of his bat,” declared Red Curry.
“I’ve half a mind to give him a chance,” laughed Joe.
“Go ahead,” grinned Larry. “I’d like to see him break his back reaching for one of your curves.”
“He might land on it at that,” replied Joe. “A wrestler has to have an eye like a hawk.”
He beckoned to the wrestler, who came toward him at once with a smile on his keen but good-natured face.
“Want to hit the ball?” asked Joe, piecing out his question by going through the motions of swinging a bat that he picked up.
The wrestler “caught on” at once, and the smile on his face broadened into a grin as he nodded his head understandingly.
“Me tly,” he said in the “pidgin English” he had picked up in his travels, and reached out his hand for the bat.
“Have a heart, Joe,” laughed Larry. “Don’t show the poor gink up before the crowd. At any rate let me show him how it’s done.”
“All right,” responded Joe. “You lead off and he can follow.”
Larry took up his position at the plate and 189 motioned to the wrestler to watch him. The latter nodded and followed every motion.
Joe put over a swift high one that Larry swung at and missed. He “bit” again at an outcurve with no better result.
“Look out, Larry,” chaffed Jim, “or it’s you that will be shown up instead of the Chink.”
A little nettled, Larry caught the next one full and square and it sailed far out into right field.
“There,” he said complacently, as he handed the bat to the wrestler, “that’s the way it’s done.”
The latter went awkwardly to the plate and a laugh ran through the crowd at the unusual sight.
Joe lobbed one over and the Chinaman swung listlessly a foot below the ball.
“Easy money,” laughed Denton.
“Where’s that good eye you said this fellow had?” sang out Willis.
The second ball floated up to the plate as big as a balloon, and again the wrestler whiffed, coming nowhere near the sphere.
But as Joe wound up for the third ball, the listlessness vanished from the Chinaman. A glint came into his eyes and every muscle was tense.
The ball sped toward the plate. The wrestler caught it fair “on the seam” with all his powerful body behind the blow.
The ball soared high and far over center field, 190 looking as though it were never going to stop. In a regular game it would have been the easiest of home runs.
The wrestler sauntered away from the plate with the same bland smile on his yellow face while the crowd cheered him. He had turned the tables, and the laugh was on Joe and his fellow players.
“But why,” asked Jim, after the game had resulted in a victory for the visitors by a one-sided score, and he was walking back with Joe to the hotel, “did he make such a miserable flunk at the first two balls? Was he kidding us?”
“Not at all,” grinned Joe. “It’s because the Chinamen are the greatest imitators on earth. He saw that Larry missed the first two and so he did the same. He thought it was part of the game!”