The next batter followed with a hit. Then an error filled the bases.
“Virginia does it right here!” said Ditson. “A good hit now means two or three more scores, which will clinch the game.”
What was that commotion amid the crowd? Men were standing and gazing down the road. A murmur arose; it swelled louder and louder.
“What is it? Who is it?” the crowd cried.
Two horses were coming at a mad gallop along the road, their hoofs ringing clear, a cloud of dust rising behind them.
The riders were urging their horses to the highest rate of speed, racing along side by side.
One was a man, a handsome, determined, beardless youth, who, though the horse he bestrode was without a saddle, rode like a centaur.
The other was a boy, and he clung like a monkey to the back of his horse, his eyes gleaming with excitement, every freckle on his face seeming to sparkle with excitement. On his upper lip was a strange black smooch.
“Here he comes!”
Then Dick Starbright uttered a little sigh of relief. But the batter sprang to his place, crying: