“That’s all right,” called Larry. “We’ll get them back and then some. Keep right at them. They’ll break soon.”
He glanced toward the stands, where Major Lawrence was protesting frantically that the hit was foul by ten feet and, as he gazed, he saw Helen Baldwin standing and waving a streamer of Golden ribbons that she had snatched from one of her companions. The sight of this display of disloyalty aroused him to the fighting point. He raced to the coacher’s lines and led the team, cheering, coaching, pleading with them to get on first base. Katsura managed to draw a base on balls. On the first ball pitched, the fleet little brown boy was off far ahead of the pitch, and he slid safely into second, only to be left.
Golden, scenting victory, attacked with new vigor; but Katsura, pitching steadily and cunningly, prevented scoring, and the end of the seventh saw the Cascade team seemingly beaten 2 to 0.
“Hit every ball he pitches now, fellows,” cautioned Larry quietly. “Hit any ball he puts over the plate and run it to the limit. Don’t stop until the ball is ahead of you.”
Dalmores was first. He rushed to the bat, smashed the first ball pitched hard to left field. The fielder picked up the ball quickly and threw back to the pitcher, over the shortstop’s head. Dalmores turned first base in his stride and, before the pitcher could get the ball and throw it back to second, he slid in safely and the Cascade “Waterfall yell” arose in challenge to the waving of the golden banners. Trumbull hit the ball viciously, Golden’s shortstop fumbled and he was safe on first, with Dalmores perched on second. Winans hit a hard-line drive, straight at Golden’s shortstop, and both base runners were compelled to dive back to the bags to avert a double play.
Larry Kirkland came to bat with Cascade cheering wildly. He walked slowly to the plate, determined to turn the tide. He sent a long foul down the left field line. On the next ball he stepped forward, hit a curve as it broke and as the ball flashed over the third baseman’s head, he sprinted as never before. Dalmores scored and Winans, running at a terrific pace, reached third. Larry by a desperate slide, reached second in safety.
A hit meant the lead for Cascade and a sudden silence fell over the contending forces. In the crisis, Torney flied out to the first baseman and the chances seemed lost. Allen, the next batter was a poor hitter. Larry was desperate. He was ranging up and down, almost to the shortstop. Suddenly he called out and at that instant Herron, already goaded and worried by the aggressive base-running attack, whirled and threw the ball to the second baseman. Even as he threw Winans dashed for the plate. Larry stood still until he saw the second baseman hurl the ball back to the catcher to shut off the run. Then he raced for third. Winans had slid safe to the plate with the tieing run and Larry, sprinting at top speed, whirled around third, and racing twenty feet toward the plate, suddenly stopped, dodged as if to return to the bag and hesitated. Langham saw him and with frantic haste hurled the ball to the third baseman hoping to trap the runner. As he threw, Larry whirled again and was in full flight toward the plate. The third baseman, leaping, dragged down the high-thrown ball and hurled it back to Langham, low and wild, and as Larry slid across the plate the Cascade yell poured down from stands and bleachers, and the Golden banners dropped.
Golden, in panic and broken by the dazzling, daring base-running attack, went to pieces. Before the rushing assault ended, two more runners had crossed the plate, and in the eighth inning Larry led the assault with a three-base hit that gave Cascade the victory 7 to 2.
Cascade was the champion. Years of defeat at the hands of Golden University were avenged. The Cascade crowd swarmed upon the field, even while the players were cheering their overthrown rivals, and Larry Kirkland found himself borne aloft and carried around the field on the shoulders of the students, he found no joy in it. The reaction had set in and with a rush he recalled his troubles. The victory seemed a hollow one.