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Horsehide
by Galen Peoples
Part Two
The next morning the two teams assembled at the mill.
Jason walked up to Stempel. "The Bolt Timber Wolves challenge–"
"The Sawdust Eaters," Stempel supplied.
"–challenge Stempel's Sawdust Eaters to a match game to take place on the 27th. Winnin' team decides where the landing's to go. Losin' team buys supper."
"Agreed," said Stempel. They shook on it. The teams cheered.
"You'll have to change the day," Candy told Jason. He was looking out over a field that seemed an ideal practice site. "Didn't you hear me?" she asked.
"Only clear day for two weeks," said Jason, "if you trust the almanac."
"But we've planned our spelling bee for that day. And we've invited Mr. Huguet. How would we look if we took back our invitation now?"
"Like a passel of silly fe–"
"Jason," Jeremy said quickly, "why couldn't they be the same day? Spelling bee in the morning, game to follow."
"Fine," said Jason.
"On one condition," Candy said. Jeremy had figured it had been too easy. "That all your men attend." Jason opened his mouth to refuse. "The brides deserve an audience just as much as you do."
He sucked in his temper. "All right," he said, "if Stempel agrees."
"He will," she said. "You'll see to it. Good afternoon." She left.
"Huguet," Jason said as if it were a swear word. Then a thought struck him. "We'll need a judge too." He smiled. "And I know just the man."
He found the man at Lottie's as usual. "Him!" Stempel said.
"Fair-minded. Refused to take sides in our dispute."
It sounded almost like a good idea. "Will he do it?"
"He'll be proud to serve," Jason said confidently.
"Why should I?" Clancey growled when it was put to him.
"For love of the game."
"I don't love the game! I don't know a diddly ding-dang about the game!"
Jason produced the Player's Companion. "This will repair that."
Clancey took it and examined the contents. "Reminds me of me Seaman's Guide," he said. "One of the proudest moments of me life was when I mastered the Seaman's Guide. Took me near a year. And I could still quote you chapter and verse." He folded his arms. "Go on, ask me."
"Faith needs no proofs," said Jason. Stempel suppressed a smile.
Clancey studied the book further. "So these is the rules?" They nodded. "And the umpire gets to say what's accordin' to them and what ain't?" They nodded again. "And what he says goes?"
"He's the last word," said Stempel.
"Like bein' captain."
"Exactly."
Clancey considered for less than a second. "I'll do it."
Behind his back, Stempel pantomimed the act of imbibing. Jason was about to speak to that point when Clancey said, "One t'ing–if I'm goin' to do this I got to do it proper. Keep a clear head." He held up his glass. "This will be me last drink from this till the game's over."
He drained it in one and plunked the glass down. "Kenneth, me man," he said, "lay in a case of your best whisky. 'cause come that night I'll be havin' me a tear such as was never seen outside the ould sod."
Ken did as instructed. Clancey set to studying the Companion night and day. The Bolt woods swarmed with men sawing off limbs to be made into bats of maple, cherry, and, most popularly, white ash. These were turned and sanded at the mill. Corky hollowed out his and filled it with (what else?) cork.
At the camp the men found ways to do their jobs and practice the game at the same time. They threw blocks at one another and batted them with their axes; they set rocks around the falling sites and ran along routes that passed them, touching each in turn.
"It's no reflection on you, Corky," Jason was heard explaining. "Shortstop is what the position's called."
He ended the workday early to lead the team down to the training field but found to his annoyance that Stempel had claimed it already. Another field lay adjacent, past a row of trees. "We'll set up next door," he said.
For the next four weeks Stempel saw to it his players trained every long summer evening till past dark, and all day on weekends. Alone of them, Perdition was less than willing. He swung only at those pitches that satisfied him in some imperceptible way, took the bases (when he did take them) at something between a run and an amble, and ignored Stempel's coaching altogether. Stempel did not push him any harder than he had to. That never worked, and truth to tell, when he let him be, things generally ended well enough.
Toward the close of training he got an unlooked-for vote of thanks from Swede. "Glad you stopped Jason puttin' in that Franny," he said. "Vomen got no place on a man's team." Stempel thought it best not to tell him about Woodchuck.
The Bolt training field soon attracted enthusiasts. Candy had relaxed her rule of ignoring the men because she herself wanted to watch. But when one of them, after muffing an easy catch, began to express his disappointment in language that might have been familiar to Clancey's ears but not (she hoped) to the brides', she was forced to lodge a protest.
Later that evening Jason sat the men down and informed them he expected them to behave in a fitting manner. No swearing, no drinking, no arguing with the captain (who was Jason) or the field umpire (who was Jason too), and "no general cussedness." Each transgression would cost the offender fifty cents.
One of them spat in reply. "No spittin' either," Jason said. "From now on we behave like gentlemen."
On his assurance Candy allowed the brides to return, and they became a daily fixture. Some brought their own stools or parasols.
They held practice too. One afternoon, while Candy was absent on some business connected with the bee, the brides gave Ann charge of the Manual. They always liked it when she picked the words. Today the first one was "muscular." Ann was admiring the men on the field as she said it.
"M...," Biddie pronounced in a slow drawl, "U...S..." The other brides gave a sigh after each letter. Biddie paused.
"C," Ann whispered.
Biddie continued: "C...O...O...L...E...R."
"Wrong as can be," said Ann. "Two points. Sally, 'caress'." They all shut their eyes.
"C..." Sally said, sounding as close to swooning as a conscious woman could, "A...R...R..."
Someone grabbed the book out of Ann's lap. She opened her eyes to face Candy, who had returned unexpectedly. Some of the others blushed. "That will be enough spelling for today!" said Candy.
There was a pasture at the edge of town that was of the perfect size for a baseball diamond. Jason persuaded the owner to allow its use in exchange for a new fence. They paced out the bases–42 from first to third and from second to home plate–and mowed the grass to make the baselines and a pitcher's box 45 feet from home. Two of the players helped the smith carry over the plate, a 12-foot square of iron, and place it so two corners pointed to the pitcher's and the catcher's stations.
The peddler directed the placing, as he had the pacing out and the mowing. Running from one end of the field to the other, ensuring that all details were according to form, he was working harder than anyone else there, an oddity that did not escape the team captains.
"Still think his only interest is selling baseballs?" asked Stempel. He was suspicious by nature, but Jason wondered if he might be right this time.
That made him readier to follow one evening after Stempel approached him at Lottie's to confide that he "had the goods on that fella." They crossed to the livery stable and stopped by the door. From inside they heard Swede's voice and one that Jason did not recognize. "Gambler," Stempel whispered.
Jason knew whom he meant, a big-city sharper who had appeared in town two days before. He was trying to explain the concept of point fixing to Swede, who seemed determined not to grasp it.
The gambler tried a more basic approach. "You'll win a lot of money," he said, "if everyone does as they're told." Swede said that would be unfair to Stempel. "You don't think he knows?" said the gambler.
"He does now," said Stempel, stepping into the doorway with Jason.
Swede jumped up in alarm. "Mr. Stempel, I svear I didn't–"
"I know, Swede," said Stempel. "Get to bed."
As soon as he was gone, Jason grabbed the gambler by his silk collar. The gambler protested. "Tell us how you come to be here," said Jason.
"You're in league with that peddler, aren't you?" said Stempel.
"Haven't had the pleasure," said the gambler. "No, as a matter of fact the party that invited me was your man Weller." Jason let him go. He re-centered his collar and disappeared.
"Might have known it'd be Weller," said Jason. Stempel had not expected he would sink that low. On the other hand, he had always held that every man was entitled to look after his own interests.
"He's always stirrin' the pot," said Jason. "About time for him to start pickin' your team apart. Take the men aside by ones and twos, get 'em worked up over some injustice, real or not." He paused. "'course in your case–" Stempel started to answer him. "Just sayin' some of 'em might have an honest grievance. It's all one to Weller. He's only doin' it for the sheer malicious joy of makin' trouble."
"I remember. But what can I do? He's needed for the team."
"Call him on it. At the first sign. I didn't, I let it fester. Worst mistake you'll ever hear me own to. Don't repeat it."
Stempel was studying him closely. "Why are you so concerned for my welfare?"
"Because without a team there'll be no game. Without a game there'll be no winner. And the winner–" Jason flashed the easy grin that so irritated Stempel. "–that'll be me." He nodded good night and started off.
"Whatever your reason," Stempel called after him, "thanks."
He applied the lesson the next day. Weller was off by the trees doing as Jason had predicted. Stempel went over and asked what it was all about.
Woodchuck, ignoring Weller's signal, said he had been reminding her and Pebbles of the bonus they had been promised.
Stempel had to think for a second. "After the game," he said, "and only if you win." Weller looked smug. "Tell you what," Stempel said on second thought, "I'll pay you win or draw. Or if we lose on a bad call. What could be fairer than that?" It seemed to satisfy them.
Harve complimented him on how he had settled the matter. "I have Bolt to thank," he said. "He's dealt with Weller before."
Weller was not quite out of earshot when he said it. Is that so? he thought. Well, come game time I might have some surprises for Mr. Bolt.
Perhaps he laid a curse on the weather, for the sky on the morning of the 27th did not augur well. Over the hilltops a rack of black billows lowered.
The men turned out as promised for the spelling bee. In fact the whole town was there, with one visible exception: Judd Wesley. Judd had been around since as far back as the next generation could remember and he had been an old man then. He must have worked at some time, for he was not penniless, but he also cadged drinks and meals when he could and dressed in castoffs barely altered. Despite his age, he was a vigorous walker and was often seen hiking in the hills. His long years in the Northwest had seemingly made him impervious to the elements. Jason had once voiced the general opinion that he would outlast them all.
Today he had slept late as always and emerged in mid-morning to find the town empty. Even Lottie's was closed. Then he remembered the bee. A few minutes later Jeremy and some of the others whose attention had wandered from the proceedings at the front saw Judd's head rise into view at one of the windows. A moment later it was gone.
"Don't like spellin' games," he said. His eye turned to the playing field. "But town ball's no better."
Making his way back up the street, he saw someone else who apparently shared his aversion. Coming closer, he recognized him as the peddler with the wagon. He was in front of Ben's store angling a pry into the doorjamb. Hearing voices from the church, he slipped behind the building and into the trees. Judd followed him.
Keeping to the trees, the peddler circled in back of the church and then, when he could be sure (he thought) of not being seen, cut southwest toward the Sound. Judd kept on his trail all the way to Fauntleroy Cove. The shoreline was a site of considerable activity, although Judd had barely heard a sound till he was upon it. Now ain't this interestin'? he said to himself. He hid in the shade of a tree to watch.
The rest of Seattle's male population raced one another out of the church, happy to see sunlight. "Thank heaven that's–" Jeremy began, but stopped as Candy dodged through to him.
"Bet you're you glad you came now," she said.
"Oh, it, it, it was, uh, exci–exci–"
"Like sap drippin' from a sugar pine," Joshua finished.
"Sap," Jeremy echoed. They walked on. Candy looked doubtful.
Franny emerged carrying a blue ribbon and a heavy Webster's, which the Ladies' League had donated. It defeated Candy's effort to hug her. "You did us proud," she said.
"Wish I was pitching," Franny said sourly. She walked on.
Behind her came Ann, looking sullen. Candy expressed condolences. "If it hadn't been for that C in 'scintillating'–"
"Humiliated," said Ann. "I've been humiliated. I'll never play in one of these stupid contests again." She walked on.
Biddie came behind her. "I don't want to talk about it," she said. "I just don't want to talk about it!"
Candy sank glumly onto a stump.
A few seconds later she became aware of Christopher beside her. "It's all right, Candy," he said, "I liked it."
Candy's face brightened and she gave him a hug. "Let's go watch some baseball," she said. Hand in hand, they took off at a run.
The teams were gathered at opposite bases. Along two sides sat the spectators, some on kegs, crates, and logs, the others on the grass. One of them, flanked by wide-eyed acolytes, was an overdressed, lemony-smelling man whom everyone but Judd Wesley knew to be Alvin Ambrosia Huguet.
Jason and Stempel stepped out to home plate. Jason took out a coin. "We'll use mine," Stempel said. "Your call."
Jason called heads. The coin rose and fell.
Stempel gave a huff of exasperation. "You're first up," said Jason.
A shadow fell over them. The black breakers had rolled closer. "Almanac said fair," Jason objected.
"Sure you were looking at the right day?" said Stempel.
The two returned to their teams to whip them into a fighting humor.
"This game means a lot to us," said Stempel, meaning himself, "and I expect each of you to do whatever it takes to win."
"The day'll never dawn when Stempel men can beat us at anything," said Jason. "The Timber Wolves!" The others echoed the cry. Bass held out his bat and each grasped it with his hand one above the other, the Bolts at the top.
Clancey stepped out onto the diamond. He handed the ball to Mr. Huguet, as had been arranged previously, and Mr. Huguet threw it to the pitcher. It landed a little short. Joshua went to fetch it.
"Play ball!" Clancey shouted.
Those of the Sawdust Eaters not at bat or next up stood and sprawled along the baseline. Bats strewed the lawn like dominoes. The men were not uniformed, although some wore shirts with curious emblems, applied by the brides. Bass, as catcher, stood thirty feet back from the batter. Clancey stood another twenty feet in back of him. Canada, Jason, and Jimrick were manning the bases, and by custom would be fixed there when not chasing the ball. Harve was first to the plate.
Two people stopped him on the way. Weller slipped a handful of small items into his shirt pocket and whispered instructions on their use. Then Stempel urged him to set an example as a foreman ought–"if he expects to stay foreman." Harve felt an invisible yoke weigh on his shoulders. He had his choice of a high pitch or a low. He chose high. Joshua would have liked to pitch to him overhand, but it was against the rules.
First-inning jitters sent his first throw wide. Two more like that would make a ball; three balls would walk the batter. Joshua resolved that would not happen today.
On the next pitch it was Harve whose nerves misled him. Fretting too much over Stempel's caveat, he swung when he should have waited, and took a strike. He saw Stempel scowling. That was normal, but this time Harve read a personal meaning into it. He promised himself to make the next one count.
He did, with a line ball to center. Jeremy grabbed it up and threw it to Corky, the shortstop, who relayed it to first.
Canada missed it; his attention was elsewhere. Coming up on the base, Harve had taken one of Weller's gifts from his pocket and thrown it out onto the grass. "Hey, there," he shouted, "a gold nugget!" Canada turned to see. The ball passed him, and so did Harve.
Jason, watching from second, shook his head in disgust. By the time Canada got the ball to him, Harve had taken that base too.
He was leading off by seven yards when Woodchuck stepped up to bat. Joshua looked from one to the other. Without foretoken, he shot the ball to Jason. Harve raced back ahead of it. Nothing ventured, Joshua reflected.
"Pitch 'er high!" Woodchuck yelled, but Joshua's high ball proved too high for her. At Stempel's order, she changed to low, whereupon she singled to the infield.
Approaching third, Harve sowed another gold nugget. Jimrick turned away as if to fetch it, but turned back holding the ball (which he had just got from Joshua) and tagged Harve out. Then he fetched the nugget and pocketed it. "I'll be durned," he said to Harve, "you 'us right."
Harve cursed Weller under his breath. He did not use the trick after that.
Pebbles hit a grounder, which Jimrick fielded and passed to second. Jason saw Woodchuck closing on him. She dove for his legs, not with the expectation of saving herself but to spoil his throw to first. She failed, and she and Pebbles were both put out. The Sawdust Eaters retired to the field. Weller, Ken, and Swede took over the bases.
First up for the Timber Wolves was Corky. He made a job of setting his hat, hitching up his pants, wiping his nose, and sundry other preparations. After all that, he hit a foul tip to the catcher, who was Stempel.
"Shucks," said Corky.
"You're up, Sam," said Jason. Jeremy corrected him: it was Billy he was talking to. Both were small men with long noses, they bunked and chowed together, and Jason had never been able to tell them apart.
The real Sam came to the plate. He swung at everything, sometimes in a full circle, and by rights should have struck out, but Stempel muffed what would have been the third strike. That delighted Jason doubly.
"Run, Billy!" he yelled.
"Sam," said Jeremy.
"Whoever you are, run like fire!"
He did, but Stempel got the ball to Weller first.
Sam started for second regardless. Weller grabbed him by the back of his pants. "You're out!"
"I'm out?"
He headed back heartbroken. "Sorry, Billy!" he called.
Jeremy swung next. He hit a line ball to left that should have guaranteed him at least one base. But Weller blocked him at first while the ball caromed from Pebbles to Ken to himself. Clancey called an out. It was their third.
Jason marched back to him. "That was plain interference," he said. "Are you blind?"
"Mr. Bolt," said Clancey, "apparently yiz is unfamiliar with the rule which states that the umpire's decision is final and neither man, woman, nor child in whatsoever shape, kind, nor breed shall detract from nor take exception to it nowise." He brandished the Pocket Companion.
"It says that in there?"
"After a manner o' speakin'." He waved his arms. "Out!"
Jeremy vowed to repay Weller in the next inning. But he only got back a little of his own then. His chance would come later.
Weller was first up. He hit a fly to left, which gained extra zing from the spike at the tip of his bat. Sam ran to help Billy catch it. While they danced around each other, the ball landed between them. "Sorry, Billy!" said Sam. Jeremy stepped in and hurled it to Jason in time to keep Weller from making a double.
At first base Weller had taken occasion to elbow Canada in the stomach. And once more he had got by with it. When he returned, Canada greeted him with his fist raised. But Clancey's stern eye was on them now. Canada dropped his arm and looked toward Jason helplessly.
Swede bent over the plate. He locked eyes with Joshua, each trying to outguess the other. Joshua was aiming for a grounder that could yield a double play, Swede for a long ball.
Pebbles was standing near the plate. At a signal from Weller, he drew out a small shiny object. As Joshua drew back his arm, a flash of light dazzled him and he threw wild.
Bass ran after the ball. "He's goin'!" shouted Canada as Weller started for second. There was no way they could stop him. But once there, he knew better than to try any of his tricks on Jason.
Joshua made another pitch. Another flash of light from the sideline threw it off. Huguet's spectacles, he thought, dang him! Swede achieved the long ball he wanted.
Heading for third, Weller knocked off Corky's hat. Corky started after it just as Jeremy threw to him. The ball hit him in the seat of the pants. He bent to pick it up.
Somebody tapped him on the shoulder. It was Swede. "I t'ink you lost this," he said. He was holding Corky's hat. He had interrupted his run to retrieve it, although Stempel was screaming at him from the sideline. Now he returned to his course.
Corky looked after him, touched. Now it was Jason who was screaming. Corky regained his senses. He scuttled after Swede and tagged his leg. Then he felt obliged to apologize.
"That's okay," said Swede, "you and me is friends."
Stempel was waiting for him when he came in. "What did you think you were doing?" he demanded.
"Helpin' my friend," Swede said innocently.
"He's the opposition! He put you out!"
Swede shook his head. "He vouldn'ta done that if Jason hadn'ta said."
Stempel stared at him wonderingly. Then his eyes narrowed. "Yes, you keep thinking that. Anything that happens, it's all Jason's fault."
As Swede rejoined his teammates, Stempel noticed Harve watching. "Never hurts to spread a little ill will," he said with a laugh. His eye fell on Weller at third. The laugh died. Harve did not say a word.
Perdition walked heavily to the plate and surveyed the sky. What he saw there seemed to satisfy him and he raised his bat. He asked for a high ball.
Joshua did not know what to make of him. Maybe a low high ball would baffle him. He decided to try it, but was thwarted by another flash of light.
This time Jeremy saw it too. From where he stood he could also see its source. He caught Candy's eye and directed it toward Pebbles. By the motion of the hand at his waist, she divined instantly what he was up to. She whispered in Christopher's ear.
"Oh, Pebbles!" she called sweetly. As he turned, a rock from the spectators' row smashed the mirror he was holding. He drew his hand back and looked around with suspicion. "Good one!" Candy whispered to Christopher.
The rest of the inning belonged to the Sawdust Eaters. As long as Perdition was at bat, Joshua's pitches kept sinking mysteriously. The two strikes he did make, he knew Perdition could have hit but chose not to.
"Swing!" Stempel shouted. "Swing at something!"
The next ball crossed the plate at the same point as the strikes, but this time Perdition's bat engaged it with a loud crack and sent it flying into left field. Billy was there–without Sam for once–and seemed sure to make the catch. But the ball struck a rock and rebounded over his head.
Perdition traversed the baseline with the same slow lope he had used in training. Stempel was running alongside him, shouting at him to hurry. Perdition smiled distantly. The ball reached first far ahead of him but was fumbled somehow and he took the base.
Unexpectedly, he kept going. "Stay! Stay!" Stempel shouted.
Canada threw to Jason. The ball swerved, as if Perdition contained some magic within him that warded it off. From second he looked toward third and then toward the sky. Whatever oracle he consulted told him to stop there. Stempel relaxed.
Meantime Weller crossed home plate to make the first run of the game. On a blackboard borrowed from the schoolhouse, Biddie, the official scorekeeper, wrote a "1" under "Sawdust Eaters."
Bass had been waiting for Weller. He did not have the ball, to his regret, but did have a pair of good hard-soled boots and brought one of them down on Weller's foot, while making sure also to block Clancey's view of the contact.
Weller yowled. "Was that you down there?" said Bass. "I am plumb sorry." The resulting limp would slow Weller up considerably for the rest of the game.
Compared to Perdition, Ken moved like a hummingbird. Joshua sent him the fastest pitches he could, underhand. On the third one Ken chopped down so that the ball hit the grass some way in front of him and then rolled outside the baseline. He was not the world's fastest runner, but this dodge gave him enough time to clinch one base.
As before, Perdition refused to stop at one. Stempel renewed his screaming. Canada's throw to home missed, and while Bass was off retrieving the ball, Perdition made the team's second run. The men in the crowd who had bets down looked glad or mournful, depending.
Perdition went off to sit by himself in an attitude of meditation. Stempel watched him doubtfully.
"He's some kind of ball player, huh, Mr. Stempel?" said Harve.
"Some kind," said Stempel, "yes."
His magic did not carry over to his teammates. Seconds later Ben was put out, and then Ken and the whole side. It did not matter; the Sawdust Eaters had established an early lead.
"Might as well concede now," Stempel said as he passed Jason, "save us all a lot of time."
"Crow while you can," said Jason.
Bass led off for his team in the second. A favorite of the brides', he acknowledged their cheers with a bow. He bowed to Ben too. The first pitch, he caught and tossed back, protesting that it had been too easy. He had always got under Ben's skin, now more than ever.
"Simmer down," said Stempel. "He's trying to rile you."
But Ben was determined to show him up. He tried to sneak in a fast ball while Clancey was not looking. Clancey looked back in time to spot it, and ruled it a balk. The brides booed. He ruled the next throw unfair. The brides hissed.
Finally Ben got so worked up he sent one just where Bass wanted it, and Bass hit a fly to right field. The brides cheered. To their disillusionment and his disbelief, Harve caught it on the first bounce. The brides made no sound at all.
Stempel's team had not previously noticed the bat Jimrick plied, a mahogany monster 44 inches long. "That's no bat," said Stempel, "it's a wagon tongue." In fact it was, but reshaped by Jimrick to his use.
As he lifted it, his gaze was drawn to something at the side. A dog was scampering across the grass. Jeremy saw her too late. Jimrick's eyes went queer and he took off after her. Stempel's team broke into laughter.
Jason dragged him back. "No more of that," he said. Jeremy dragged the dog away. In the end, their labors led only to a long ball that Perdition caught without moving from his place.
"Two outs," Joshua warned Jason. "Don't try anything flashy." Jason looked reprovingly at him. His brothers resigned themselves to what would follow.
Jason was not a good player. He liked big plays that would bring the crowd to their feet, and took big swings trying for that one spectacular hit. Accordingly he was prone to be struck out, and was on this occasion. Stempel had foreseen it and was pleased when it happened.
On the walk to the field, Jason gave his own account of the matter: "Nearly had that last one. She was comin' right at me–all of a sudden a big puff of wind blows 'er shy, and where she woulda been I'm fannin' the breeze. Freak of nature you'll never see again in a million years."
"Big wind is right," Stempel said as the team passed him.
Jason said nothing then. But before separating from his brothers he made a comment of his own. "Stempel's up next. You watch–his weakness is, he never lets go of anything."
That was a fact. It made Stempel a good catcher but a poor batter, who hung back too long before swinging. He hit a fly that fate sent into Jason's hands. And Jason caught it without a bounce, earning the customary applause. "It would be Jason," said Stempel.
Harve observed it had been a mighty handy catch. "Just see you do better," Stempel growled.
He did not. Neither did Woodchuck, who came after him. So the Timber Wolves were up again.
Their luck was mixed. Joshua, who gripped his bat high on the handle (choking, Bass called it), hit a solid single down the middle. But Canada's pop-up flew straight into Ben's hands.
"You'll do better next time," Jason consoled him.
"He won't, will he?" Jeremy whispered. Jason shook his head.
Billy–at least Jason believed it was Billy–had a special difficulty. A rule required the batter to keep one foot on the plate. Billy kept stepping forward into the swing. Clancey would call no hit, and Billy would try again, and step forward again.
In the end Jeremy planted his own foot on top of his to anchor it. "Sure it doesn't hurt?" he asked. Billy shook his head but was blinking back tears. In spite of his suffering, he hit a grounder that got him to first and Joshua thereby to second.
Woodchuck, the shortstop, flitted around Joshua, poking him and cackling indecorously. "We'll git you, Bolt!" she taunted. "Git ever' one of you Bolts! One, two, three!"
Jason asked Stempel if his players could leave off molesting his own and play fair for a change.
"All part of the game," said Stempel.
"So be it then," said Jason.
Following another foul tip by Corky, he expressed a conviction that there was something wrong with the ball and asked to inspect it. Ben obliged, too fast for Stempel to stop him. "He's just askin' to see it," he said. "No harm in that."
Stempel nodded toward the bases, where both of the runners were in motion. Ben was shocked. "That ain't fair," he said.
When each was a base ahead, Jason tossed the ball back. "Musta been seein' things," he said. "Looks fine now."
The two of them glared at him. Jason grinned at Stempel. "All part of the game, you said."
Inspired by his brazenness, Sam managed to drive a line ball far enough to bring Joshua home for the team's first run. The score was 2-1. It was as much as anybody could have expected, and Billy was put out at third.
"Sorry, Billy!" said Sam.
The Sawdust Eaters counted for nothing in the fourth. In the Timber Wolves' turn, while Jeremy waited at first, Bass went through the lengthy process of earning a walk, and hisses from the brides, who regarded it as distinctly unheroic.
Stempel had seen him and Jason conferring beforehand, and was sure they had something more cooked up. When Jimrick came to bat, Bass was leading off from first, his eyes fixed on Jason. With a bare glance back, Jason pinched his nostrils. It was only for a second but that was enough for Stempel to form a hunch. He ambled over next to Jason, dug his toe in, and kicked up a cloud of dust. Jason sneezed.
That was the signal Bass had been watching for. He took off. Jeremy had no choice but to do the same. Ben threw to Swede at third, and Swede to Ken at second, putting both runners out.
The last chance to redeem the inning fell to Jimrick. As he stepped to the plate, Joshua spied a passing horse cart and ran out to halt it.
Jimrick hit a long ball for a double. Weller tried to keep it to a single by hanging on to Jimrick's suspenders, but this time Clancey saw the infraction and directed Jimrick to take his base.
Woodchuck had removed her hat to scoop up the ball, and in so doing had let her hair fall. Swede peered at her with growing suspicion. Finally he approached for a better look.
"You're a voman!" he said in horror.
"And proud of it," she replied.
"Olaf Gustavson don't play vith no voman!" he declared, and he marched off the field. Stempel ran after him. The Bolts watched with enjoyment.
"So Jason was right," said Stempel. "You are a quitter."
Swede turned on him. "Olaf Gustavson ain't no qvitter!" He stared at Woodchuck, his cheek twitching, but after several seconds allowed himself to be led back.
Ben kept Jason waiting on the mound till they returned. Joshua took advantage of the time to venture more advice. "Try for a ground ball. It's our best chance." Ground ball! Jason thought disdainfully.
Having found his weakness, Ben tried to draw him into hitting wide. Instead Jason hit a long ball just inside the foul line, which sent Harve on a merry chase and gave Jimrick plenty of leisure to complete the circuit in his long, loose stride. The score was now even. The betting men reversed their expressions.
In the next inning Perdition scored in the same trancelike fashion as before. This time he was aided by a cow, who had obviously been used to grazing there and was not about to allow the trespassers to keep her away. First she passed in front of Sam, cutting him off from the ball Ben had sent in his direction, and then she stood over the ball so Jeremy had to crawl beneath her to retrieve it. Finally her huge mate came out in search of her and cleared the field.
Almost cleared it, that is: Perdition remained. He strolled without apparent concern to third and then home.
Jason lodged a protest. "As I recalls," said Clancey, "there's nothin' in the rules pertainin' to the presence of a cow or any other livin' creature." The run stood. Stempel's team led 3-2.
Shortly the bull persuaded his partner to return to the farther meadow. The Bolts held Jimrick back to keep him from following. The fielders resumed their places, and Jeremy made the last out by catching a fly ball from Stempel.
Their next go was over almost before it began. The only event of note was Sam's colliding with Billy and knocking him out. "Sorry, Billy!" he shouted as his teammate was carried off.
In the first half of the sixth, with Harve and Woodchuck on base, Pebbles flied to center. Jeremy brought his hands together as if to make the catch, then parted them, letting the ball strike the grass. He smiled. Pebbles swore as he set out, knowing he was already too late.
Woodchuck had started for second. Harve was following suit. Jeremy touched third, shot the ball to Jason for the same at second, and watched as it flew to Joshua, over by first, who tagged Pebbles to complete the triangle.
Jason smiled in satisfaction. "Now that's Bolt brothers business!"
The storm clouds that had settled over the field broke open at last. The ground soon turned to sludge. The players began sliding and falling. They were turning an indistinguishable shade of brown. Jason appealed to Clancey to call off the game. Stempel was in favor of continuing, but his vote was not sought.
"Call this rain?" Clancey said, turning up his collar. "If ye'd been through the squalls I have this'd look like a trickle."
Perdition clearly disagreed. When his turn arrived he would not swing but stood gazing stonily at the grey sky. It was the team's last out.
With the players keeping their heads down, and increasingly unable to tell one another apart at a distance, Weller was free to practice more devilment. He got hold of the ball, already the worse for wear, and malformed it further. "Let 'em try to score with that!" he said. Then for good measure he trod Jimrick's bat–"Damned wagon tongue!"–into the mud out of sight.
Unable to find, Jimrick borrowed Jason's, which hefted differently. Also, the ball was taking somewhat wobbly paths. Unaware of Weller's improvements, Ben was having a time controlling it. One pitch hit Jimrick in the chest. He picked up the ball and studied it a while, and on his next swing he hit it dead on. But it did not travel far and he never reached first.
As the warm soaking rain grew denser, the hits became fewer and more due to luck than to skill. The players were floundering and falling about, and half-blind with water.
Stempel would almost have surrender his sight when he saw who had caught his pop fly. First Jason, then Jeremy, now Joshua. And this had been his last turn. "I give up, I really do," he said.
He was not the only one. By the end of the eighth, most of the spectators had deserted. Jason pleaded with Stempel to call off the match.
They were near third, and Swede heard him. Jason's right, he said to himself, this is crazy.
Stempel refused. He was tasting victory already. "Almanac says it's a fair day," he said, "fair it is."
Perdition had also overheard. After referring to the sky a last time, he left the diamond. Swede saw him go. By gum, he said to himself, if that ain't the right way to do! Since both had finished their turns at bat, their absence was not immediately remarked. But when the Sawdust Eaters took the field for the last time, Pebbles found himself quite lonely out there.
Soon Stempel noticed it and assigned him to cover center field too. And third base, but Pebbles did not trouble much about that. After three innings it seemed unlikely the other team would ever reach it again. Nobody could hit the ball far enough.
At the bottom of the ninth, with one out, Jeremy managed a single. In the course of taking the base, he knocked Weller on his backside. Weller was disinclined to put up a fight. Jeremy expected to be thrown out of the game, and would as soon have been, the way it was going. But Clancey had not seen. In the rain he had deemed a trickle, he could make out little of what was happening thirty yards away.
Bass aped Jeremy's single, and with the two of them on base, Jimrick had his last go at bat. To the dismay of players and spectators alike, he hit a fly–the first one they had seen since the ball had crumpled to nothing.
As Jeremy slogged toward third, he saw a figure crossing the infield. It dropped suddenly as if shot. The base was empty. Still ignorant of Swede's defection, he wanted desperately to see if it was him who had been hit, but duty pressed him on. Bass followed, a leg behind. Pebbles did not notice either of them; he was busy hunting for the ball.
Now he spied it, half-sunk where it had rebounded. Dredging it out, he looked up and saw Bass was a stride away from third. He dived frantically for the base and landed a half yard from his boot. Bass tumbled over him. Pebbles raised himself free and threw to home.
The grey blot emerged from the lighter greyness and landed at Stempel's feet. He crouched to pick it up. Fumbling in the mire, he found a hard surface and tagged it. "Out!" he said. At the same time Jeremy felt his foot touch iron. "Safe!" he said. He was four feet away. "Look to Swede!" he called to Jason. "I think he got beaned." Jason, Joshua, and some others rushed to see.
Clancey squatted beside Jeremy. "Where'd you touch base?" He asked the same question of Stempel, inspected first one site and then the other, dug away the mud at Jeremy's feet, and found the plate. "Safe!" he declared.
"But if that's the plate...." said Stempel.
They did some more digging and found the object he had tagged. Clancey lifted it into view. It was Jimrick's bat.
Jimrick was still at second. His mind worked slowly around to a fact everybody else had overlooked: if Jeremy was safe, the ball was still in play. He broke into a run.
The men in the infield paid no attention. Their concern was with the man on the ground. Jason turned him over. "Ain't Swede," he announced as Jeremy and Stempel arrived. They saw it was the peddler, not dead but unconscious.
The rain was letting up. A figure waving from home plate was revealed to be Jimrick. "I scored!" he shouted.
"Good on you!" Jason shouted back. Then the news penetrated. "You scored?" He did some fast figuring. "You scored!" He grabbed his brothers. "He scored!"
"He scored?" said Jeremy.
"He scored!" said Joshua.
Jeremy turned to the crowd that was no longer there. "He scored! We've won! The Timber Wolves have won!"
Stempel was still holding the soggy ball. He handed it to Jason with regret.
Biddie, sticking to her post, alone and bedraggled, tried to record the victory, but the wet chalk would not write and the marks she had made earlier had become a blur. She gave up and went home.
The men's thoughts returned to the peddler. "What was he doing here?" asked Joshua.
Judd Wesley, appearing from nowhere, had the answer. "Look in his pockets," he said.
Jeremy reached in and yelped as something like a pin pricked his finger. He cautiously drew out a wad of jewelry. Judd told them the peddler had sneaked back and pilfered it from Ben's. When Judd surprised him at it he had fled, and between the blinding rain and his own blind panic had strayed onto the ball field.
"A jewel thief," said Stempel. "So that's it."
Ben looked doubtful. "But that stuff's all fake."
"He wouldn't have gone to this trouble for a few trinkets," said Jason.
Judd enlightened them again in his expansive way. "Might be it's got somethin' to do with them pals of his off Fauntleroy Cove. Then, maybe it don't."
"What pals?" asked Jason.
"Got a tug settin' there loadin' a power of logs. Seemed kinda funny, I thought–considerin' the brand on 'em." Drawing in the mud with his foot he made the sign of a triple B with the backs forming a triangle: the Bolt log mark.
"They still there?" asked Jason.
"Figger you got time to stop 'em," said Judd. "Then again–"
The men set off and shouted to the rest to follow. The rain had thinned to a drizzle. Soon it stopped altogether.
"Well, we got our logs back," said Jeremy. He and Candy were sitting together on a log, savoring the end of the long day, in the otherwise empty ball field.
"Yes, you did," said Candy.
"Guess I sorta got caught up in this baseball furore."
"Yes, you did." She added after a moment, "I sort of got caught up in things too."
"We lost track of the most important thing," said Jeremy. Reaching his hand up under her chin, he brought his lips close to hers and kissed her. "Stealing a kiss is easier than stealing a base," he said.
"If you read the signals right," she said. They laughed. "Glad it's finally settled about the landing."
He nodded. "Tomorrow I'm taking a crew north to–north to–" He heard himself. "North?"
"North," Jason confirmed. Jeremy had run to Lottie's to let him know, only to find that as usual everything was as he had meant it to be.
"I thought Stempel looked awful happy," said Joshua.
Stempel was taking supper after almost everyone else had finished. The exception was Clancey, working through the whisky laid aside for him. Before joining them Stempel had taken care of some business: fired Weller (who would surely have brought down a shower of threats on his head if Swede had not been there to deter him), paid the promised bonuses, and begun plans for the landing, thoughts of which had swelled his appetite.
"He got what he was after," said Jason.
"But why?" Joshua protested. "He lost!"
"Because, younger brother, if we'd had a landing where I wanted, that tug would be away now, and our logs with it." Joshua waited for more. "Besides," Jason continued presently, "I got a rail engineer to inspect the site last week. Bottom's too slopy to build the track there."
It took a moment for Joshua to realize what that meant. "You knew before the game? Then why'd you go through with it?"
Jason held up the battered game ball. "For the satisfaction of beating Stempel."
Jeremy grabbed it. "Knew there was something this reminded me of." He walked over and laid it on Stempel's plate. "Cookie's biscuits!" His brothers laughed. Stempel looked up with raised eyebrows.
"Enjoy it, Aaron," said Jason.
"Might be a little hard to chew," said Joshua.
"But spread a little jam over it," said Jeremy, "it'll go down fine." They went out, still laughing.
Stempel moved the grisly item onto the table and sat staring at it as he munched his asparagus and listened to "The Baseball Polka," which a hired accordionist had been playing all evening.
"Biscuit!" he said suddenly. People turned to look. "That's very funny." He began laughing in spite of himself. Everyone was looking now. "That's really–" He could hardly speak for laughing. "–very–" He nearly choked on his vegetables. "–funny!"
Outside under a clear pink sky, the rest of the Timber Wolves were playing catch-up, making it up with their girlfriends, or just sitting and basking in victory. Their captain called to them. "The games are done," he said. "It's time to head home."
He and his brothers laid arms on one another's shoulders. The men joined them three to a side. A full nine abreast, they started up the path to the mountain.
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