"I guess you know what I want, Joe," cried McRae. "I want you to get in the box for us."

"All right, Mac," was the young pitcher's answer.

"And, Joe," went on the other earnestly, "try to think for the next five minutes that you're pitching for the pennant."

"I'll do anything you say," was Joe's reply; and then he drew on his glove and walked out upon the ball field.

"h.e.l.lo! what do you know about that?"

"Matson is going to pitch for them!"

"I guess they've enough of that other dub!"

"Oh, Hamilton isn't a dub, by any means," replied one of the spectators sharply. "He's a good player, but a pitcher can't always be at his best."

"But just you wait and see how we do up Matson!" cried a local sympathizer.

At a signal the next man to bat stepped away from the plate, and Joe had the privilege of warming up by sending three hot ones to the catcher.

"He'll put 'em over all right enough!" cried one of his friends.

"That's what he will!" returned another.

"Not much! He'll be snowed under!"

"This is our winning day!"

So the cries continued until the umpire held up his hand for silence.

"He's going to make an announcement!" cried a number of the spectators.

"Ladies and gentlemen," roared the umpire, removing his cap, "Matson now pitching for the All-Americans."

A howl went up from the stands, made up in about equal parts of derision and applause. Derision because the All-American team must, they figured, be scared to death when they had to send their greatest player into the game. Whether they won or lost it was a great compliment to the Denver team. The applause came from the genuine sportsmen who knew the famous pitcher by reputation and welcomed the chance to see him in action.

The three men on the bases were dancing about like dervishes in the hope of rattling the newcomer. They did not know Joe.

Never cooler than when the strain was greatest and the need most urgent, Joe bent down to pick up the ball. As he did so, he touched it, apparently accidentally, against his right heel.

It was a signal meant for Denton, the third baseman, who was watching him like a hawk.

Joe took up his position in the box, took a grip on the ball, but instead of delivering it to the batter turned suddenly on his left heel, as though to snap it down to first. The Denver player at that bag, who had taken a lead of several feet, made a frantic slide back to safety.

But the ball never got to first, for Joe had swung himself all the way round and shot the ball like a bullet to Denton at third. The local player at third had been watching eagerly the outcome of the supposed throw to first and was caught completely unawares.

Down came Denton's hand, clapping the ball on his back, while the victim stood dazed as though in a trance.

It was the prettiest kind of "inside work," and even the home crowd went into convulsions of laughter as the trapped player came sheepishly in from third to the bench.

McRae was beaming, and Robbie's rubicund face became several degrees redder under the strain of his emotion.

"Say, is that boy cla.s.s, John?" Robbie gurgled, as soon as he could speak.

"Never saw a niftier thing on the ball field," responded McRae warmly.

"When that boy thinks, he runs rings around lightning."

"And he's thinking all the time," chimed in Jim.

But the peril was not yet over. The man at the most dangerous corner had been disposed of, yet there was still a man on first and another on second. A safe hit would tie the game at least, and possibly win it.

Joe wound up deliberately and shot a high fast one over the plate. It came so swiftly that the batter did not offer at it, and looked aggrieved when the umpire called it a strike.

The next was a crafty outcurve which went as a ball. The batsman fouled off the next.

With two strikes on and only one ball called, Joe was on "easy street" and could afford to "waste a few." Twice in succession he tempted the batsman with b.a.l.l.s that were wide of the plate, but the batter was wary and refused them.

Now the count was "two and three," and the crowd broke into a roar.

"Good eye, old man!" they shouted to the batter.

"You've got him in a hole!"

"It only takes one to do it!"

"He's got to put it over!"

With all the force of his sinewy arm, Joe "put it over."

The batsman made a wicked drive at it and sent it hurtling to the box about two feet over Joe's head.

Joe saw it coming, leaped into the air and speared it with his gloved hand. The men on bases had started to run, thinking it a sure hit. Joe wheeled and sent the ball down to Burkett at first.

"Look at that!"

"Some speed, eh?"

"I should say so."

"Matson has got them going!"

The man who had left the bag strove desperately to get back, but he was too late. That rattling double play had ended the game with the All-American team a victor by a score of four to three.

Joe's fingers tingled as he pulled off the glove, for that terrific drive had stung. The crowd had been stunned for a moment by the suddenness with which the game and their hopes of victory had gone glimmering. But it had been a remarkable play and the first silence was followed by a round of sportsmanlike applause--though of course it was nothing to what would have greeted the victory of the home team.

"Fine work, Matson!"

"Best I ever saw!"