It's our game. Never mind a couple of runs."

The boys ran back to their positions and Carter called play. Perhaps a
little delay had been helpful to the Rube. Slowly he stepped into the
box and watched Shultz at third and Carl at second. There was not much
probability of his throwing to catch them off the base, but enough of a
possibility to make them careful, so he held them close.

The Rube pitched a strike to Manning, then another. That made eight
strikes square over the plate that inning. What magnificent control!
It was equaled by the implacable patience of those veteran Bisons.
Manning hit the next ball as hard as Carl had hit his. But Mullaney
plunged down, came up with the ball, feinted to fool Carl, then let
drive to Gregg to catch the fleeting Shultz. The throw went wide, but
Gregg got it, and, leaping lengthwise, tagged Shultz out a yard from
the plate.

One out. Two runners on bases. The bleachers rose and split their
throats. Would the inning never end?

Spears kept telling himself: "They'll score, but we'll win. It's our
game!"

I had a sickening fear that the strange confidence that obsessed the
Worcester players had been blind, unreasoning vanity.

"Carl will steal," muttered Spears. "He can't be stopped."

Spears had called the play. The Rube tried to hold the little
base-stealer close to second, but, after one attempt, wisely turned to
his hard task of making the Bisons hit and hit quickly. Ellis let the
ball pass; Gregg made a perfect throw to third; Bogart caught the ball
and moved like a flash, but Carl slid under his hands to the bag.
Manning ran down to second. The Rube pitched again, and this was his
tenth ball over the plate. Even the Buffalo players evinced eloquent
appreciation of the Rube's defence at this last stand.

Then Ellis sent a clean hit to right, scoring both Carl and Manning. I
breathed easier, for it seemed with those two runners in, the Rube had
a better chance. Treadwell also took those two runners in, the Rube
had a way those Bisons waited. They had their reward, for the Rube's
speed left him. When he pitched again the ball had control, but no
shoot. Treadwell hit it with all his strength. Like a huge cat
Ashwell pounced upon it, ran over second base, forcing Ellis, and his
speedy snap to first almost caught Treadwell.

Score 8 to 7. Two out. Runner on first. One run to tie.

In my hazy, dimmed vision I saw the Rube's pennant waving from the