Lozier fanned a few seconds later.
There was no further run getting on either side. In the eighth and ninth innings Merriwell was invincible on the slab. Those amazed Outlaws could do nothing whatever with his delivery, and the delighted spectators simply shouted themselves hoarse. Never had Harrison’s stars received such a drubbing, the final score being nine to one against them.
The college lads were congratulated on every hand. Old Joe Crowfoot found young Joe and looked him over approvingly.
“You make heap fair baseball player bimeby, mebbe,” said the old chief. “You learn some, mebbe. Old Joe he clear up good thing to-day. He have money ’nough to-night so you pay two year at Yale school. He reckon he hand-um it over so he no lose it.”
Bob Harrison shouldered his way through the crowd and reached Dick Merriwell.
“Look here,” he called; “look here, young fellow, you certainly was loaded with horseshoes to-day. It was the biggest accident that ever happened. Play us again. Play us to-morrow, and we won’t leave you in the shape of anything. I’ll call off a date with Cheyenne in order to play you.”
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Harrison,” smiled Dick; “but it will be impossible for us to give you another game. My pick-up team disbands to-night, as business will make it necessary for several of the players to leave the Springs to-morrow.”
“Yah! You’re afraid!” cried Harrison. “You don’t dare play another game.”
“Go ’way back and set down,” grunted old Joe Crowfoot. “He beat-um you any time you play. You have big team of stars? Waugh! No good!”
Then several of the bystanders stepped between Harrison and the old redskin to prevent the exasperated manager from laying violent hands on Shangowah.