this did not matter.
Then Vane used his deceptive change of pace, sending up a curve that
just missed Ash's bat as he swung.

"Oh! A-h-h! hit!" wailed the bleachers.

Vane doubled up like a contortionist, and shot up a lightning-swift
drop that fooled Ash completely. Again the crowd groaned. Score tied,
bases full, two out, Stringer at bat!

"It's up to you, String," called Ash, stepping aside.

Stringer did not call out to Vane. That was not his way. He stood
tense and alert, bat on his shoulder, his powerful form braced, and he
waited. The outfielders trotted over toward right field, and the
infielders played deep, calling out warnings and encouragement to the
pitcher. Stringer had no weakness, and Vane knew this. Nevertheless he
did not manifest any uneasiness, and pitched the first ball without any
extra motion. Carter called it a strike. I saw Stringer sink down
slightly and grow tenser all over. I believe that moment was longer
for me than for either the pitcher or the batter. Vane took his time,
watched the base runners, feinted to throw to catch them, and then
delivered the ball toward the plate with the limit of his power.

Stringer hit the ball. As long as I live, I will see that glancing low
liner. Shultz, by a wonderful play in deep center, blocked the ball
and thereby saved it from being a home run. But when Stringer stopped
on second base, all the runners had scored.

A shrill, shrieking, high-pitched yell! The bleachers threatened to
destroy the stands and also their throats in one long revel of baseball
madness.

Jones, batting in place of Spears, had gone up and fouled out before
the uproar had subsided.

"Fellers, I reckon I feel easier," said the Rube. It was the only time
I had ever heard him speak to the players at such a stage.

"Only six batters, Rube," called out Spears. "Boys, it's a grand game,
an' it's our'n!"

The Rube had enough that inning to dispose of the lower half of the
Buffalo list without any alarming bids for a run. And in our half,
Bogart and Mullaney hit vicious ground balls that gave Treadwell and
Wiler opportunities for superb plays. Carl, likewise, made a beautiful
running catch of Gregg's line fly. The Bisons were still in the game,
still capable of pulling it out at the last moment.

When Shultz stalked up to the plate I shut my eyes a moment, and so
still was it that the field and stands might have been empty. Yet,
though I tried, I could not