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 balls, 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 balls, 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 balls 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 hit 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