The umpire adjusted his wind pad. Betts dropped one bat and came forward, pausing a moment a few feet from the plate while Locke sent two or three across to get the range. That good left arm swung free and unrestrained, without a single sign to indicate that there had ever been anything the matter with it. Smiling, the southpaw nodded to Betts as King pulled on the wire cage.

"You can patch up crockery, Lefty, old man," said Sc.r.a.ppy as he stepped into the box, "but you never can make it as good as new." Then, having tried to work the portsider to the limit, he finally whaled out a safety. "I knew it!" he cried from first. "Bluff won't mend a busted wing, old boy!"

Whether or not Locke was nervous, he pa.s.sed the next man.

The cheering of the crowd died away. Disappointment and apprehension brought silence, save for the confident chattering of the Wolf coachers and the attempted encouragement of the players behind the southpaw. Hope began to sicken and wilt.

Cool and unruffled, Brick King smiled. "An accidental hit and a pa.s.s won't count in the result to-day," he said. "Show Kipper the ball in your hand. He won't see it again."

Kipper whiffed three times without making as much as a foul tip. The crowd began to wake up again.

Herman Brock sauntered out. Frazer had given him Bob Courtney's position in the batting order, the "clean-up" place. No man knew Herman better than Lefty, and the efforts of the German were quite as futile as those of Kipper.

The crowd was cheering again as Brock retired disgustedly. Confidence had been restored suddenly.

"Oh, you Lefty!" was the cry. "You're there!"

Locke easily forced the following batter to pop to the infield. He had settled into his stride. If he could keep it up, the shouting throng knew he had indeed "come back" as strong as ever. Already they were telling one another what that meant. With three first-string pitchers like Lefty and Jones and Savage, the team would have a fighting chance.

The princ.i.p.al question was whether the southpaw could "go the distance."

Not only did Lefty make it, but as the game progressed he seemed to take it more and more easily. The desperate Wolves could not get at him effectively. He certainly had everything he had ever possessed; some claimed that he had more. His arm showed no sign of weakening. But he used his head quite as much as his arm. With the support of a catcher who also had brains, and who worked with him perfectly, he made the snarling, snapping Wolves appear about as dangerous as tame rabbits.

Before the ninth inning was reached he knew that in Brick King he had found the one catcher with whom he could do the best work of his career.

The Blue Stockings won by a score of two to nothing. What fortune the season brought them in their fight for the pennant is told in the following volume of the Big League Series, which is ent.i.tled, "Guarding the Keystone Sack."

The moment it was over Locke made a dash for the clubhouse, getting away from the furiously rejoicing fans who came pouring down upon the field.

Jones was there ahead of him. As he panted in, Lefty saw the man of mystery standing in a peculiar att.i.tude not far from the closed door of Charles Collier's office. He seemed to be _listening_. Involuntarily the southpaw paused and listened himself.

From beyond the door came the sound of voices. He heard a man speaking, and then, suddenly, another man who appeared to be both excited and distressed. Then he saw Jones spring like a panther toward that door and hurl it open. Astonished, Lefty quickly followed Jones into the office.

They burst in upon four persons. Two of them, who looked like plain-clothes officers, seemed to have a third in charge. This man was desperately and wildly appealing to Charles Collier. It was Bailey Weegman.

"It's an outrage, I tell you!" Weegman was crying. "It's a lie! I haven't used the mails to defraud. I learned an hour ago that officers were after me on that charge, and I hurried to you, Mr. Collier. They followed me here. You must help me! I served you--"

"You served me a crooked turn," interrupted Collier coldly. "You have your nerve to come to me!"

Locke's eyes were on Jones. The man's face was aflame with triumph and joy and fathomless satisfaction. He flung out his hand, his finger pointing like a pistol at Weegman.

"Hanson Gilmore!" he cried in a terrible voice.

The mute had spoken! Frozen with amazement, Lefty saw Weegman twist round, saw a light of terror come into his eyes, saw him cower and cringe, pale as death and shaking like an aspen.

"You swore away my liberty, you dog!" the voice of Jones rang through the room. "You were the scoundrel who conceived the Central Yucatan Rubber Company, and profited by it! When the prison doors closed upon me I swore I'd never speak again until every dollar you had taken from the victims of that concern was paid back--until you were brought to book for your crime. I've kept that vow. I've searched for you, determined to bring you to justice somehow. Now you have brought justice upon yourself."

Crouching like a creature stung by the pitiless lashing of a whip, the accused wretch appealed chokingly to the officers who had arrested him: "Don't let him touch me! Look at his eyes! He's mad! Keep him off!

Take me away!"

"Yes, take him away," said Jones. "And if he doesn't get a prison sentence for this last piece of work, I'll keep after him until he's punished for his other crimes."

"Take him away!" said Charles Collier, with a wave of his hand.

Tottering weakly, the rascal who had met retribution at last was led out.

The rejoicing players were stripping for their showers. Locke and Jones appeared among them.

"Boys," said Lefty, "let me introduce Martin Bowman, whom you have hitherto known as Jones. For reasons of his own, he made a vow never to speak until a certain thing should happen. Happily, events now make it possible for him to talk."

"For which I am very thankful," said Martin Bowman quietly.

They stared at him in limitless astonishment. At last Spider Grant said:

"Well, this game to-day was enough to make a deaf-and-dumb man talk!"

Eph, the colored rubber, touched Locke on the arm.

"Yo' wife and a pahty o' frien's am outside, sah," he said. "Dey said as how dey'd wait fo' you."

"Tell them I'll join them as soon as possible," directed Lefty.

THE END