Benson went to bat for the home team in the last of the seventh and cracked out a two-bagger over shortstop and was caught off second a minute or two later by a quick return from Sam to Porter, who whirled instantly and pegged to Thursby. The Wigwam recovered from its gloom and cheered. Then the Mount Placid left fielder fouled out to Sam and two were gone. But the inning was not yet over, for Walters, a thin, freckled-faced youth with extraordinarily long legs, took it into his head to bunt, after once trying to knock the cover off the ball, and caught Crossbush napping. By the time Tom had gathered in the rolling ball and sent it to first Walters was making the turn. Mr. Connell was up next, and, profiting by Walters’ example, he laid the sphere down a few feet from the plate and lit out for the base like a runaway horse. By the time Sam had dashed his mask aside, got the ball and pegged to Murdock, the runner was safe and Walters was on second, and the grey shirts and the green shirts were shouting madly.
Mr. Phillips, the next batter, had one hit to his credit and, as Sam had discovered, liked a low ball. So Porter fed him high ones and got two strikes and one ball on his. Then came a foul and a second strike. Porter wasted one then and the score was two and two. Sam called for a fast one and Porter tried it. Unfortunately, Mr. Phillips outguessed him and when the ball came along he met it squarely for a long fly into left. Mr. Gifford was after it like a shot, but he had to run back a dozen yards and when he finally got his hand on it he failed to hold it. The best he could do was to recover quickly and throw to third in time to hold the second runner there. Walters scored and the game stood 4 to 1. With runners on second and third, things still looked dubious for The Wigwam, and Porter made them more so by utterly failing to locate the plate with the first three deliveries! Hanford, who was up, swung his bat and stepped back and forth in the box. Sam signalled a straight ball and got it for a strike. Hanford let it go past unchallenged, for he had two more chances and was waiting for the last one. Again Porter essayed a fast one in the groove, but this time he failed and Mr. York waved Hanford to first. The bases filled, Mount Placid cheered exultantly and the grey-shirted coachers danced and yelped; and the base-runners too did their level best to rattle the pitcher.
Mr. Williams was at bat now and Sam had what he would have called a “hunch” to the effect that Mr. Williams was dangerous at this stage of affairs. While Porter sent the first delivery in, a curve that failed to win approval from Mr. York, Sam studied the runners on the bases. At third, Walters was taking a good lead on the wind-up, but hugging the bag safely at other times. On second Mr. Connell was watching the baseman carefully in spite of his seeming recklessness. At first, though, Hanford, feeling safe from attack, was leading a good twelve feet. Sam tossed the ball back to Porter.
“Keep after him, George!” he called. Then he stooped, dropped his mitt between his knees, and gave the signal. But it was a closed fist that Porter saw, and that called for a throw-out. Porter walked to the side of the box, picked up an imaginary pebble and tossed it away. Then he tugged at his cap, wound up and sped the ball four feet wide of the batsman and straight into Sam’s waiting mitt. One step forward toward first, a quick throw, and the trick was won! Frantic shouts of warning from coachers, a desperate slide to the bag by Hanford, a scurry for the plate by Walters! But Murdock had been ready. At the instant the ball had settled in Sam’s mitt he had run toward the bag. The throw was perfect and Murdock caught it, fell to one knee and let Hanford slide into the ball as he tried for safety!
The shouts of delight came from the third-base side of the field, for across the diamond a dense silence reigned. Sam and Ralph Murdock received an ovation as they returned to the bench. Mr. Gifford slapped Sam on the back and many of the boys would have followed suit had they dared. Pandemonium reigned until Mr. York called, “Batter up, please!” When Sam, passing the plate to reach the coacher’s box at first, went by him the umpire smiled as he said softly: “Quick work, Craig!”
Four to one now and only two innings left! The Wigwam realised the fact that if the game was to be pulled out of the fire, and they had by no means given up hope yet, something must be done now, that it wouldn’t do to count on a ninth-inning rally. And so they went at the task very determinedly, very carefully. Mr. Gifford, the first man up, showed no eagerness to hit. Instead he allowed Mr. Williams to put a strike and two balls over before he made his first attempt. Then he swung and a foul-tip resulted. At two-and-two Mr. Williams chose to try a curve and, since the batter refused to be deceived by it, put himself in the hole. Amidst a strained silence Mr. Williams wound up again and sent in one of his deceptive slow balls. But Mr. Gifford had profited by experience, and guessed what was coming. The result was that he hit slowly and caught the offering fairly a foot from the end of his bat and the ball went arching gaily and gracefully into centre field and Mr. Gifford went speeding quite as gaily—if not so gracefully—to first base. That hit, for it was a hit, landed untouched between centre fielder and shortstop, with second baseman just out of the running. It was the fielder who scooped up the rolling ball and set himself for the throw to second. Unfortunately for him, however, second base was for the moment uncovered. Mr. Williams and Mr. Gifford arrived there simultaneously an instant later, but by that time the centre fielder saw no reason for throwing!
That was a fine opening for the inning, and no mistake! And The Wigwam jumped and shouted and pounded each other’s backs and barked out their cheer. And Steve Brown scuttled to third and shouted himself hoarse in the desperate attempt to upset Mr. Williams’ coolness; desperate, since the Mount Placid pitcher was not easily rattled.
Joe Groom went to the plate looking determined, but only succeeded in flying out to shortstop. Tom Crossbush managed to reach first on a scratch-hit past third baseman. Murdock struck out miserably. The Wigwam’s hopes began to dim. But with Sam up something might yet happen to their liking, and so they cheered him encouragingly and held their breaths while Mr. Williams did his utmost to put him out of the way.
A strike—a ball—another ball, by a scant margin—a foul-strike! Sam watched and waited, gripping his bat tightly, and looking as cool as if the outcome of the game might not depend on the next delivery. Perhaps Sam’s confidence affected Mr. Williams. At least it is probable that the Mount Placid pitcher never intended to send across just what he did, for the ball came up to Sam with nothing on it but the cover and Sam smote it lustily and thirty-odd youths sprang into the air and shrieked deliriously!
Around the bases sped Mr. Gifford, his flannel trousers a grey streak above the turf, and behind him came Tom Crossbush. Off for first leaped Sam, while, far out in right field, the ball was leisurely descending to earth. Eight fielder was sprinting desperately toward the fence that enclosed the ground on that side. If only, prayed the Wigwam supporters, that ball would land on the other side! But it didn’t. It came down a dozen feet inside the boundary, and Cather, with a final plucky spurt, shot his hand into the air and—well, then fielder and ball went down together and rolled over! There was one breathless instant of uncertainty, broken by the triumphant yells of The Wigwam when Cather, scrambling to his feet, searched the turf hurriedly, recovered the ball and made a wretched throw to second baseman. At that moment Mr. Gifford was trotting across the plate, Tom Crossbush was past third, and Sam was rounding second. Second baseman sped the ball home, but too late to catch Tom, and Hanford desperately pegged it to third. But Sam reached the bag just as the ball did and had one scuffed shoe snuggled against it when Mr. Connell tagged him none too gently.