Hanson was filled with chagrin, for he had felt confident of making a home run. He turned and quarreled with the coacher who sent him home from third, and would not believe the ball had been thrown all the distance from the farthest outfield to the plate.
Jack, the second-baseman of the Stars, now took his place to strike.
Merriwell had been rubbing his wrist as he walked down into the box, after backing Hodge up on the catch of Gamp’s throw, and the expression on his face, had any one studied it, seemed to indicate a troubled mind.
“If Dick were here,” he muttered, thinking of his young brother, “we’d be all right.”
But Dick Merriwell was not there, having been left behind in Wyoming, to remain at the side of Old Joe Crowfoot, who had been shot and severely wounded.
Despite his youth, Frank’s brother had shown himself a perfect little wizard as a pitcher, being able to hold down heavy hitters. Just now he would be handy to step into the box in Frank’s place, but he was far away.
And there was no other pitcher on the team able to hold down the heavy hitters of the Stars. So Frank set his teeth and resolved to pitch the game through to the best of his ability.
Jack was a good hitter, but, up to this time, he had been unable to touch Merriwell for a safe one. Frank tried a high one, which the latter let pass. An out followed, and another ball was called.
Then Merry tried a drop, but again he felt that shooting pain, and the ball went wide.