Don Strong, Patrol Leader Part 17

It was just possible that Tim had changed his mind--

"I don't care whether he did or not," the pitcher muttered hotly. He drew on a sweater and took a seat on the bench, and stared out toward center field.

By and by it was time to start the game. Ted cried, "Come on, now; everybody get into this." Don dropped his sweater on the bench and walked out toward the mound.

The Little Falls coachers began a sharp rattle of talk. Don glared at them coldly. Up went his arm--and down.

"Strike one!"

Don pitched again. The batter hit a twisting, difficult fly, but Marty Smith ran back and caught it deftly.

"Yah!" cried Ted. "That's getting them."

It was clever fielding. Don seemed to catch the contagion of its worth.

Why, with support like that a pitcher ought to do wonders. He pitched again.

"Strike!" ruled the umpire.

"Wow!" Ted said softly. "He surely has stuff on the ball today."

Two more pitches, and the batter was out on strikes. The next player fouled to Ted. Little Falls' first turn at bat had been a sorry failure.

Cheers came from the spectators as Don walked to the bench. Somebody yelled, "Take off your hat, kid." He flushed, and doffed his cap, and sat down with crimson face.

"Come on," cried Ted. "Give Don a run and this game will be sewed up."

But it wasn't until the third inning that Chester tallied. Then she scored three runs in a rush. Ted led off with a three-bagger. After that came a single, an out, a base on b.a.l.l.s, another out, and a long two-bagger. Marty Smith, with the crowd imploring him to keep up the good work, struck out on three pitched b.a.l.l.s, and not one of them was worth offering at.

"Too bad," said Ted. "If that fellow could only hit he'd be a star."

Meanwhile, Little Falls had not yet scored. Nor did she tally in the fourth. Don, today, was master of the situation.

He came to the bench. Up to this point, the touch and go of battle had held him at a tension. Now, with the game comparatively safe, he relaxed.

He paid attention to things he had been too busy to notice before--the afternoon shadows, for instance.

The shadows told his practiced scout eyes that it was about four o'clock.

Unconsciously he began to figure. If Tim had started at one o'clock, he should have reached Danger Mountain an hour ago--

"Here!" Don told himself abruptly. "I must stop thinking of this."

Chester scored two more runs. He went out, jauntily, to pitch the fifth inning. Before he had hurled three b.a.l.l.s he knew that something was wrong. He had lost the razor edge of pitching perfection.

He staggered through the fifth inning without being scored on, but it was ticklish work. Little Falls. .h.i.t him hard. With the bases full and two out, Marty Smith sprang sideways, made a blind stab, scooped the ball and touched the bag for the third out.

Cries of chagrin came from the Little Falls bench. "Oh, you lucky dubs,"

called one of the coachers. "That was horseshoes."

Don smiled mechanically. It was his turn to go to bat; and after he was thrown out he came to the bench and fought stubbornly to keep his thoughts on the game and away from Tim.

Grimly he stuck to his task. When it came time to start the seventh inning, he was almost master of himself. He found his drop ball working again.

"Yah!" cried Ted. "Here's where we get in the game again."

Little Falls, following that turbulent sixth inning, expected to go right on with her hitting. Instead, her batters found themselves once more helpless. Three players stepped to the plate and were thrown out in order.

Don's spirits had risen. He walked toward the bench with a springy stride. The spectators in back of third base began to cheer. He glanced at them with a smile--and then his face sobered.

Bobbie Brown was pus.h.i.+ng his bicycle hurriedly along in the rear of the watchers. His att.i.tude said plainly that he had come with a message.

Don walked past the bench and waited. Bobbie came directly to him.

"Tim just started," he said. "He had to do ch.o.r.es for his mother and couldn't get away earlier."

"It will be almost dark when he gets there," Don cried.

"Tim went just the same," Bobbie answered. "He told the fellows they could hurry and get there before sunset, and then start back after taking a little look around."

Don could understand harum-scarum Tim refusing to give up a plan. But as for his companions--

"What fellows are with him?" he asked. "Not scouts?"

Bobbie nodded,

"Any from our patrol?"

"Ritter."

Don caught his breath.

"There's a scout from the Foxes and one from the Eagles, too," said Bobbie.

But Don could find no consolation in the fact that other than Wolf patrol scouts were derelict.

"I think they wanted to quit," Bobbie went on, "but Tim jawed them--you know--and they went along."

Don could find no comfort in that, either. The inning was over. It was Little Falls' turn to go to bat. He took a few steps toward the diamond, and paused.

"Come on, Don," called Ted.

He turned back. "Wait here with your bike," he said quickly. "Have you a wrench? Raise the seat."

There was no use pretending that he did not care. And his duty, he thought, was clear. He could ride after Tim and overtake him before he had gone very far. What sort of patrol leader would he be to let two of his scouts break faith with the Scoutmaster and not fight to the very last to bring them back? For it was breaking faith. Mr. Wall had not dreamed that they would do anything like this.

He was on fire now for the game to end. In his eagerness he began to pitch wildly. The first batter got a base on b.a.l.l.s.

Ted walked down to him. "Steady, there; you're pitching too fast."

Don saw that if he gave bases on b.a.l.l.s he would prolong the struggle.

Though it was torture for him to go slow, he fought his desire to hurry.