en struck out, and McCarthy, gritting his teeth, came to
bat. One strike and one ball had been called when, looking toward the
bench for a signal from Clancy, he saw a sight that made his heart
jump. In that fleeting glance he had seen Swanson, in uniform, coming
onto the bench through the little doorway under the stands.

Swanson's eye was black and a strip of plaster extended from under his
cap onto his forehead. His face was swollen and discolored and a
bandage covered his head, showing under his cap.

If he only could get on first base, McCarthy told himself, there was
hope, and, as the ball sped toward him he poked out his bat, dropped
another bunt toward third base, and, by a terrific burst of speed he
beat it to first base, sending Lucas to third.

"Swanson batting for Holleran. Swanson will play shortstop, McCarthy
third base, Pardridge in left field."

McCarthy had determined to steal second base, but the chance never
presented. The first ball that came whizzing toward the plate Swanson
hit. It went like a rocket far out to left center field. Two speedy
outfielders glanced at the flying ball, then turned and sprinted for
the outer barriers. The ball soared on and on, and with a crash struck
against the sign over the left field seats and fell back into the
throng in the bleachers, and while the crowd cheered and groaned three
Bears trotted around the bases to the plate.

Swanson, running slowly and painfully, crossed the plate, with the
score that put the Bears in the lead. He did not stop. Straight
toward the box where Edwards and Baldwin sat, he went. His face was
terrible. They saw him coming, and Baldwin, apologetic with fear, half
arose, as if to cry for help. The gambler, white but still keeping his
nerve, shrank back a trifle, but held his seat. Swanson walked
straight to them. For an instant he towered over them threateningly,
then he said:

"Good afternoon, gentlemen, I hope you're glad to see me."

CHAPTER XIX

_Swanson to the Rescue_

When Silent Swanson aroused himself from the effects of the blow on the
head from the beer mallet in the hands of the treacherous bartender, he
sat up feebly and found himself in semi-darkness.

"Someone crowned me with a crowbar," he muttered to himself as his
brain gradually began to work normally. "They must have kicked me
after I went down."

A faint groan from the heavy shadows near him startled him into a
realization of what had