Crane, following Eliot, made the mistake of trying for a long hit, and Sanger fanned him.
Grant came up with two men out.
"Here's the great cowboy twirler, cap," sneered Copley. "Put the iron to him. Burn your brand deep."
"Get a hit, Grant—do get a hit!" came the entreaty from the Oakdale crowd.
"If you do," muttered Copley, close under the bat, "I'll swallow the ball."
A moment later Rod swung at a corner cutter, whirled all the way round, and sprang at Copley, a look of such blazing wrath in his eyes that the red-headed catcher retreated with ludicrous haste.
"You onery, sheep-herding skunk!" rasped the Texan. "If you touch my bat again, I'll grease the ground with you! They'll sure carry you home on a stretcher, and you can bet your life on that!"
Again the umpire had not seen the interference, so cleverly had Copley perpetrated the trick. Eliot dashed at Grant and seized him, shouting for the Oakdale crowd to keep back; for at least twenty indignant persons were moving toward the diamond. There was a temporary delay, during which Roger spoke earnestly into Grant's ear.
"Don't lose your head now, old fellow," pleaded the Oakdale captain. "That's what he wants you to do. He thinks you can't hit the ball if you're mad."
"I reckon you're right," said Rodney, getting a grip on himself; "but he'll sure have a broken head if he does it again."