CHAPTER XXVIII.
BATTED OUT.
To the satisfaction of Bob Harrison, an astonishingly large crowd of people turned out to watch that baseball game. The manager of the Outlaws realized it was doubtful if a bigger attendance would have appeared had Manager Loring stood by his agreement to put the regular Springs’ team onto the field. Harrison could not appreciate the fact that a host of tourists in town knew about the college men who were to play, and had a keen desire to see what they could do against the dreaded Outlaws. He imagined the crowd had been drawn out solely on account of the reputation of his star team.
Mr. Archie Ling was one of the spectators, and for a time he sought in vain some one who had the courage to bet on the collegians.
“Really,” said Mr. Ling disappointedly, “I’ve heard some people say they thought the youngsters had a chance in this game, but ’pon my word I can’t find anybody who cares to back them. I’d like a little wager, you understand. That would make it interesting.”
Some one touched him on the shoulder, and, looking round, to his disgust he discovered, an arm’s length away, the same old Indian who had offended him by appearing on the veranda of the hotel the previous evening.
“Ugh!” grunted old Crowfoot. “You make little bet? How much you bet on Outlaw men?”
“Go away,” said Ling, fanning old Joe off and turning up his dainty nose.
“You make bet talk,” persisted old Joe. “You shoot-um off your mouth. How much you bet?”
“How much you bet?” repeated the old redskin. “You bet five hundred plunk, old Joe he cover it.”