Again the protests arose. Bob raised his hand.
“Just a moment, please,” he said. “I was there, Mr. Downer, and saw it——”
“Well, so was I there!” cried the Wickasaw catcher and captain angrily. “I tell you I caught him two feet off base!”
“That’s right!” cried the pitcher.
“I was there and saw it,” repeated Bob dryly. “The runner was out.”
There was an instant of silence during which the Wickasaw players observed the captain of the rival team as though they thought he had gone suddenly insane. Then:
“Their own captain says he was out!” exclaimed the pitcher, turning eagerly to the umpire, “and if he acknowledges it——”
“I’m satisfied,” responded Mr. Downer, with a smile. “Out at the plate!”
Almost an hour later Chicora, cheering as though after a victory, steamed home in the launch or trudged back through the woods, while Wickasaw, apparently no less elated, took herself off across the lake to Bear Island. It was almost dark. The game had come to an end after thirteen innings with the score 6 to 6. Time and again Chicora had placed men on bases only to have them left there. For five innings Nelson had held the opponents down to a handful of scratch hits, none of which yielded a score. It had been a hard and well-fought contest and only darkness had brought it to a close. Although the score-book, sedulously guarded by the “Babe,” pronounced the game a tie, yet there were many among those that knew how the eighth inning had ended who credited a victory—and a gorgeous one—to Chicora. Scores do not always tell the whole story.