The Redheaded Outfield

by Zane Grey

　　There was Delaney's red-haired trio--Red Gilbat,left fielder; Reddy Clammer, right fielder, andReddie Ray, center fielder, composing the mostremarkable outfield ever developed in minorleague baseball. It was Delaney's pride, as it wasalso his trouble.Red Gilbat was nutty--and his batting averagewas .371. Any student of baseball could weighthese two facts against each other and understandsomething of Delaney's trouble. It was not possibleto camp on Red Gilbat's trail. The man wasa jack-o'-lantern, a will-o'-the-wisp, a weird, long-legged, long-armed, red-haired illusive phantom.When the gong rang at the ball grounds therewere ten chances to one that Red would not bepresent. He had been discovered with small boyspeeping through knotholes at the vacant left fieldhe was supposed to inhabit during play.Of course what Red did off the ball groundswas not so important as what he did on. Andthere was absolutely no telling what under the sunhe might do then except once out of every threetimes at bat he could be counted on to knock thecover off the ball.Reddy Clammer was a grand-stand player--thekind all managers hated--and he was hitting .305.He made circus catches, circus stops, circusthrows, circus steals--but particularly circuscatches. That is to say, he made easy playsappear difficult. He was always strutting, posing,talking, arguing, quarreling--when he was notengaged in making a grand-stand play. ReddyClammer used every possible incident and artificeto bring himself into the limelight.Reddie Ray had been the intercollegiatechampion in the sprints and a famous college ballplayer. After a few months of professional ballhe was hitting over .400 and leading the leagueboth at bat and on the bases. It was a beautifuland a thrilling sight to see him run. He was soquick to start, so marvelously swift, so keen ofjudgment, that neither Delaney nor any playercould ever tell the hit that he was not going toget. That was why Reddie Ray was a whole gamein himself.Delaney's Rochester Stars and the ProvidenceGrays were tied for first place. Of the presentseries each team had won a game. Rivalry hadalways been keen, and as the teams were aboutto enter the long homestretch for the pennantthere was battle in the New England air.The September day was perfect. The standswere half full and the bleachers packed with awhite-sleeved mass. And the field was beautifullylevel and green. The Grays were practicing andthe Stars were on their bench.``We're up against it,'' Delaney was saying.``This new umpire, Fuller, hasn't got it in for us.Oh, no, not at all! Believe me, he's a robber.But Scott is pitchin' well. Won his last threegames. He'll bother 'em. And the three Redshave broken loose. They're on the rampage.They'll burn up this place today.''Somebody noted the absence of Gilbat.Delaney gave a sudden start. ``Why, Gil washere,'' he said slowly. ``Lord!--he's about duefor a nutty stunt.''Whereupon Delaney sent boys and playersscurrying about to find Gilbat, and Delaney wenthimself to ask the Providence manager to holdback the gong for a few minutes.Presently somebody brought Delaney a telephonemessage that Red Gilbat was playing ballwith some boys in a lot four blocks down thestreet. When at length a couple of playersmarched up to the bench with Red in tow Delaneyuttered an immense sigh of relief and then, aftera close scrutiny of Red's face, he whispered,``Lock the gates!''Then the gong rang. The Grays trooped in.The Stars ran out, except Gilbat, who ambled likea giraffe. The hum of conversation in the grandstand quickened for a moment with the scrapingof chairs, and then grew quiet. The bleacherssent up the rollicking cry of expectancy. Theumpire threw out a white ball with his stentorian``Play!'' and Blake of the Grays strode to theplate.Hitting safely, he started the game with a rush.With Dorr up, the Star infield played for a bunt.Like clockwork Dorr dumped the first ball asBlake got his flying start for second base. Morrisseytore in for the ball, got it on the run andsnapped it underhand to Healy, beating therunner by an inch. The fast Blake, with a longslide, made third base. The stands stamped. Thebleachers howled. White, next man up, batted ahigh fly to left field. This was a sun field andthe hardest to play in the league. Red Gilbat wasthe only man who ever played it well. He judgedthe fly, waited under it, took a step hack, thenforward, and deliberately caught the ball in hisgloved hand. A throw-in to catch the runner scoringfrom third base would have been futile, butit was not like Red Gilbat to fail to try. He tossedthe ball to O'Brien. And Blake scored amidapplause.``What do you know about that?'' ejaculatedDelaney, wiping his moist face. ``I neverbefore saw our nutty Redhead pull off a play likethat.''Some of the players yelled at Red, ``This is atwo-handed league, you bat!''The first five players on the list for the Grayswere left-handed batters, and against a right-handed pitcher whose most effective ball for themwas a high fast one over the outer corner theywould naturally hit toward left field. It was nosurprise to see Hanley bat a skyscraper out to left.Red had to run to get under it. He braced himselfrather unusually for a fielder. He tried tocatch the ball in his bare right hand and muffed it,Hanley got to second on the play while the audienceroared. When they got through there wassome roaring among the Rochester players. Scottand Captain Healy roared at Red, and Red roaredback at them.``It's all off. Red never did that before,'' criedDelaney in despair. ``He's gone clean bughousenow.''Babcock was the next man up and he likewisehit to left. It was a low, twisting ball--half fly,half liner--and a difficult one to field. Gilbat ranwith great bounds, and though he might have gottwo hands on the ball he did not try, but this timecaught it in his right, retiring the side.The Stars trotted in, Scott and Healy and Kane,all veterans, looking like thunderclouds. Redambled in the last and he seemed very nonchalant.``By Gosh, I'd 'a' ketched that one I muffedif I'd had time to change hands,'' he said with agrin, and he exposed a handful of peanuts. Hehad refused to drop the peanuts to make thecatch with two hands. That explained themystery. It was funny, yet nobody laughed. Therewas that run chalked up against the Stars, andthis game had to be won.``Red, I--I want to take the team home in thelead,'' said Delaney, and it was plain that hesuppressed strong feeling. ``You didn't play thegame, you know.''Red appeared mightily ashamed.``Del, I'll git that run back,'' he said.Then he strode to the plate, swinging his wagon-tongue bat. For all his awkward position in thebox he looked what he was--a formidable hitter.He seemed to tower over the pitcher--Red wassix feet one--and he scowled and shook his batat Wehying and called, ``Put one over--youwienerwurst!'' Wehying was anything but red-headed, and he wasted so many balls on Red thatit looked as if he might pass him. He would havepassed him, too, if Red had not stepped over onthe fourth ball and swung on it. White at secondbase leaped high for the stinging hit, and failedto reach it. The ball struck and bounded for thefence. When Babcock fielded it in, Red was standingon third base, and the bleachers groaned.Whereupon Chesty Reddy Clammer proceededto draw attention to himself, and incidentally delaythe game, by assorting the bats as if the audienceand the game might gladly wait years to seehim make a choice.``Git in the game!'' yelled Delaney.``Aw, take my bat, Duke of the Abrubsky!''sarcastically said Dump Kane. When the grouchyKane offered to lend his bat matters were criticalin the Star camp.Other retorts followed, which Reddy Clammerdeigned not to notice. At last he got a bat thatsuited him--and then, importantly, dramatically,with his cap jauntily riding his red locks, hemarched to the plate.Some wag in the bleachers yelled into thesilence, ``Oh, Maggie, your lover has come!''Not improbably Clammer was thinking first ofhis presence before the multitude, secondly of hisbatting average and thirdly of the run to bescored. In this instance he waited and feinted atballs and fouled strikes at length to work his base.When he got to first base suddenly he bolted forsecond, and in the surprise of the unlooked-forplay he made it by a spread-eagle slide. It was acircus steal.Delaney snorted. Then the look of profounddisgust vanished in a flash of light. His huge facebeamed.Reddie Ray was striding to the plate.There was something about Reddie Ray thatpleased all the senses. His lithe form seemedinstinct with life; any sudden movement was suggestiveof stored lightning. His position at theplate was on the left side, and he stood perfectlymotionless, with just a hint of tense waitingalertness. Dorr, Blake and Babcock, the outfieldersfor the Grays, trotted round to the right of theirusual position. Delaney smiled derisively, as ifhe knew how futile it was to tell what field ReddieRay might hit into. Wehying, the old fox, warilyeyed the youngster, and threw him a high curve,close in. It grazed Reddie's shirt, but he nevermoved a hair. Then Wehying, after the mannerof many veteran pitchers when trying out a newand menacing batter, drove a straight fast ball atReddie's head. Reddie ducked, neither too slownor too quick, just right to show what an eye hehad, how hard it was to pitch to. The next wasa strike. And on the next he appeared to stepand swing in one action. There was a ringingrap, and the ball shot toward right, curving down,a vicious, headed hit. Mallory, at first base,snatched at it and found only the air. Babcockhad only time to take a few sharp steps, and thenhe plunged down, blocked the hit and fought thetwisting ball. Reddie turned first base, flitted ontoward second, went headlong in the dust, andshot to the base before White got the throw-infrom Babcock. Then, as White wheeled and linedthe ball home to catch the scoring Clammer,Reddie Ray leaped up, got his sprinter's startand, like a rocket, was off for third. This timehe dove behind the base, sliding in a half circle,and as Hanley caught Strickland's perfect throwand whirled with the ball, Reddie's hand slid tothe bag.Reddie got to his feet amid a rather breathlesssilence. Even the coachers were quiet. Therewas a moment of relaxation, then Wehyingreceived the ball from Hanley and faced thebatter.This was Dump Kane. There was a sign ofsome kind, almost imperceptible, between Kaneand Reddie. As Wehying half turned in his swingto pitch, Reddie Ray bounded homeward. It wasnot so much the boldness of his action as theamazing swiftness of it that held the audiencespellbound. Like a thunderbolt Reddie camedown the line, almost beating Wehying's pitch tothe plate. But Kane's bat intercepted the ball,laying it down, and Reddie scored without sliding.Dorr, by sharp work, just managed to throw Kaneout.Three runs so quick it was hard to tell how theyhad come. Not in the major league could therehave been faster work. And the ball had beenfielded perfectly and thrown perfectly.``There you are,'' said Delaney, hoarsely.``Can you beat it? If you've been wonderin' howthe cripped Stars won so many games just putwhat you've seen in your pipe and smoke it. RedGilbat gets on--Reddy Clammer gets on--andthen Reddie Ray drives them home or chases themhome.''The game went on, and though it did not exactlydrag it slowed down considerably. Morrissey andHealy were retired on infield plays. And the sideschanged. For the Grays, O'Brien made a scratchhit, went to second on Strickland's sacrifice, stolethird and scored on Mallory's infield out. Wehyingmissed three strikes. In the Stars' turn thethree end players on the batting list were easilydisposed of. In the third inning the clever Blake,aided by a base on balls and a hit following, tiedthe score, and once more struck fire and brimstonefrom the impatient bleachers. Providence was atown that had to have its team win.``Git at 'em, Reds!'' said Delaney gruffly.``Batter up!'' called Umpire Fuller, sharply.``Where's Red? Where's the bug? Where'sthe nut? Delaney, did you lock the gates? Lookunder the bench!'' These and other remarks, notexactly elegant, attested to the mental processesof some of the Stars. Red Gilbat did not appearto be forthcoming. There was an anxious delayCapt. Healy searched for the missing player.Delaney did not say any more.Suddenly a door under the grand stand openedand Red Gilbat appeared. He hurried for his batand then up to the plate. And he never offeredto hit one of the balls Wehying shot over. WhenFuller had called the third strike Red hurriedback to the door and disappeared.``Somethin' doin','' whispered Delaney.Lord Chesterfield Clammer paraded to thebatter's box and, after gradually surveying thefield, as if picking out the exact place he meant todrive the ball, he stepped to the plate. Then aroar from the bleachers surprised him.``Well, I'll be dog-goned!'' exclaimed Delaney.``Red stole that sure as shootin'.''Red Gilbat was pushing a brand-new baby carriagetoward the batter's box. There was a titteringin the grand stand; another roar from thebleachers. Clammer's face turned as red as hishair. Gilbat shoved the baby carriage upon theplate, spread wide his long arms, made a shortpresentation speech and an elaborate bow, thenbacked away.All eyes were centered on Clammer. If he hadtaken it right the incident might have passed withoutundue hilarity. But Clammer became absolutelywild with rage. It was well known thathe was unmarried. Equally well was it seen thatGilbat had executed one of his famous tricks.Ball players were inclined to be dignified aboutthe presentation of gifts upon the field, andClammer, the dude, the swell, the lady's man, thefavorite of the baseball gods--in his own estimation--so far lost control of himself that he threwhis bat at his retreating tormentor. Red jumpedhigh and the bat skipped along the ground towardthe bench. The players sidestepped and leapedand, of course, the bat cracked one of Delaney'sbig shins. His eyes popped with pain, but hecould not stop laughing. One by one the playerslay down and rolled over and yelled. Thesuperior Clammer was not overliked by his co-players.From the grand stand floated the laughter ofladies and gentlemen. And from the bleachers--that throne of the biting, ironic, scornful fans--pealed up a howl of delight. It lasted for a fullminute. Then, as quiet ensued, some boy blew ablast of one of those infernal little instruments ofpipe and rubber balloon, and over the field wailedout a shrill, high-keyed cry, an excellent imitationof a baby. Whereupon the whole audience roared,and in discomfiture Reddy Clammer went insearch of his bat.To make his chagrin all the worse he ingloriouslystruck out. And then he strode away underthe lea of the grand-stand wall toward right field.Reddie Ray went to bat and, with the infieldplaying deep and the outfield swung still fartherround to the right, he bunted a little teasing balldown the third-base line. Like a flash of lighthe had crossed first base before Hanley got hishands on the ball. Then Kane hit into secondbase, forcing Reddie out.Again the game assumed less spectacular andmore ordinary play. Both Scott and Wehyingheld the batters safely and allowed no runs. Butin the fifth inning, with the Stars at bat and twoout, Red Gilbat again electrified the field. Hesprang up from somewhere and walked to theplate, his long shape enfolded in a full-length linenduster. The color and style of this garmentmight not have been especially striking, but uponRed it had a weird and wonderful effect.Evidently Red intended to bat while arrayed in hislong coat, for he stepped into the box and facedthe pitcher. Capt. Healy yelled for him to takethe duster off. Likewise did the Grays yell.The bleachers shrieked their disapproval. Tosay the least, Red Gilbat's crazy assurance wasdampening to the ardor of the most blindly confidentfans. At length Umpire Fuller waved hishand, enjoining silence and calling time.``Take it off or I'll fine you.''From his lofty height Gilbat gazed down uponthe little umpire, and it was plain what he thought.``What do I care for money!'' replied Red.``That costs you twenty-five,'' said Fuller.``Cigarette change!'' yelled Red.``Costs you fifty.''``Bah! Go to an eye doctor,'' roared Red.``Seventy-five,'' added Fuller, imperturbably.``Make it a hundred!''``It's two hundred.''``ROB-B-BER!'' bawled Red.Fuller showed willingness to overlook Red'sback talk as well as costume, and he called,``Play!''There was a mounting sensation of propheticcertainty. Old fox Wehying appeared nervous.He wasted two balls on Red; then he put one overthe plate, and then he wasted another. Threeballs and one strike! That was a bad place for apitcher, and with Red Gilbat up it was worse.Wehying swung longer and harder to get all hisleft behind the throw and let drive. Red lungedand cracked the ball. It went up and up and keptgoing up and farther out, and as the murmuringaudience was slowly transfixed into late realizationthe ball soared to its height and droppedbeyond the left-field fence. A home run!Red Gilbat gathered up the tails of his duster,after the manner of a neat woman crossing amuddy street, and ambled down to first base andon to second, making prodigious jumps upon thebags, and round third, to come down the home-stretch wagging his red head. Then he stood onthe plate, and, as if to exact revenge from theaudience for the fun they made of him, he threwback his shoulders and bellowed: ``HAW! HAW!HAW!''Not a handclap greeted him, but some mindless,exceedingly adventurous fan yelled: ``Redhead!Redhead! Redhead!''That was the one thing calculated to rouse RedGilbat. He seemed to flare, to bristle, and hepaced for the bleachers.Delaney looked as if he might have a stroke.``Grab him! Soak him with a bat! Somebodygrab him!''But none of the Stars was risking so much, andGilbat, to the howling derision of the gleeful fans,reached the bleachers. He stretched his longarms up to the fence and prepared to vault over.``Where's the guy who called me redhead?'' heyelled.That was heaping fuel on the fire. From allover the bleachers, from everywhere, came theobnoxious word. Red heaved himself over thefence and piled into the fans. Then followed theroar of many voices, the tramping of many feet,the pressing forward of line after line of shirt-sleeved men and boys. That bleacher standsuddenly assumed the maelstrom appearance of asurging mob round an agitated center. In amoment all the players rushed down the field, andconfusion reigned.``Oh! Oh! Oh!'' moaned Delaney.However, the game had to go on. Delaney, nodoubt, felt all was over. Nevertheless there weregames occasionally that seemed an unendingseries of unprecedented events. This one had begunadmirably to break a record. And the Providencefans, like all other fans, had cultivated anappetite as the game proceeded. They were wildto put the other redheads out of the field or atleast out for the inning, wild to tie the score, wildto win and wilder than all for more excitement.Clammer hit safely. But when Reddie Ray linedto the second baseman, Clammer, having taken alead, was doubled up in the play.Of course, the sixth inning opened with theStars playing only eight men. There was anotherdelay. Probably everybody except Delaney andperhaps Healy had forgotten the Stars were shorta man. Fuller called time. The impatient bleachersbarked for action.Capt. White came over to Delaney and courteouslyoffered to lend a player for the remaininginnings. Then a pompous individual came out ofthe door leading from the press boxes--he wasa director Delaney disliked.``Guess you'd better let Fuller call the game,''he said brusquely.``If you want to--as the score stands now inour favor,'' replied Delaney.``Not on your life! It'll be ours or else we'llplay it out and beat you to death.''He departed in high dudgeon.``Tell Reddie to swing over a little towardleft,'' was Delaney's order to Healy. Firegleamed in the manager's eye.Fuller called play then, with Reddy Clammerand Reddie Ray composing the Star outfield. Andthe Grays evidently prepared to do great executionthrough the wide lanes thus opened up. Atthat stage it would not have been like maturedball players to try to crop hits down into theinfield.White sent a long fly back of Clammer. Reddyhad no time to loaf on this hit. It was all he coulddo to reach it and he made a splendid catch, forwhich the crowd roundly applauded him. Thatapplause was wine to Reddy Clammer. He beganto prance on his toes and sing out to Scott: ``Make'em hit to me, old man! Make 'em hit to me!''Whether Scott desired that or not was scarcelypossible to say; at any rate, Hanley pounded ahit through the infield. And Clammer, prancinghigh in the air like a check-reined horse, ran tointercept the ball. He could have received it inhis hands, but that would never have servedReddy Clammer. He timed the hit to a nicety,went down with his old grand-stand play andblocked the ball with his anatomy. Delaneyswore. And the bleachers, now warm toward thegallant outfielder, lustily cheered him. Babcockhit down the right-field foul line, giving Clammera long run. Hanley was scoring and Babcock wassprinting for third base when Reddy got the ball.He had a fine arm and he made a hard andaccurate throw, catching his man in a close play.Perhaps even Delaney could not have found anyfault with that play. But the aftermath spoiledthe thing. Clammer now rode the air; he soared;he was in the clouds; it was his inning and he hadutterly forgotten his team mates, except inasmuchas they were performing mere little automaticmovements to direct the great machinery in hisdirection for his sole achievement and glory.There is fate in baseball as well as in otherwalks of life. O'Brien was a strapping fellow andhe lifted another ball into Clammer's wideterritory. The hit was of the high and far-awayvariety. Clammer started to run with it, not likea grim outfielder, but like one thinking of himself,his style, his opportunity, his inevitablesuccess. Certain it was that in thinking of himselfthe outfielder forgot his surroundings. He ranacross the foul line, head up, hair flying, unheedingthe warning cry from Healy. And, reachingup to make his crowning circus play, he smashedface forward into the bleachers fence. Then,limp as a rag, he dropped. The audience sentforth a long groan of sympathy.``That wasn't one of his stage falls,'' saidDelaney. ``I'll bet he's dead. . . . Poor Reddy!And I want him to bust his face!''Clammer was carried off the field into the dressingroom and a physician was summoned out ofthe audience.``Cap., what'd it--do to him?'' asked Delaney.``Aw, spoiled his pretty mug, that's all,''replied Healy, scornfully. ``Mebee he'll listen tome now.''Delaney's change was characteristic of the man.``Well, if it didn't kill him I'm blamed glad he gotit. . . . Cap, we can trim 'em yet. Reddie Ray'llplay the whole outfield. Give Reddie a chance torun! Tell the boy to cut loose. And all of you gitin the game. Win or lose, I won't forget it. I'vea hunch. Once in a while I can tell what's comin'off. Some queer game this! And we're goin' towin. Gilbat lost the game; Clammer throwed itaway again, and now Reddie Ray's due to winit. . . . I'm all in, but I wouldn't miss the finishto save my life.''Delaney's deep presaging sense of baseballevents was never put to a greater test. And theseven Stars, with the score tied, exhibited thetemper and timber of a championship team in thelast ditch. It was so splendid that almostinstantly it caught the antagonistic bleachers.Wherever the tired Scott found renewedstrength and speed was a mystery. But he struckout the hard-hitting Providence catcher and thatmade the third out. The Stars could not score intheir half of the inning. Likewise the seventhinning passed without a run for either side; onlythe infield work of the Stars was somethingsuperb. When the eighth inning ended, without atally for either team, the excitement grew tense.There was Reddy Ray playing outfield alone, andthe Grays with all their desperate endeavors hadnot lifted the ball out of the infield.But in the ninth, Blake, the first man up, linedlow toward right center. The hit was safe andlooked good for three bases. No one looking, however,had calculated on Reddie's Ray's fleetness.He covered ground and dove for the boundingball and knocked it down. Blake did not getbeyond first base. The crowd cheered the playequally with the prospect of a run. Dorr buntedand beat the throw. White hit one of the highfast balls Scott was serving and sent it close tothe left-field foul line. The running Reddie Raymade on that play held White at second base. Buttwo runs had scored with no one out.Hanley, the fourth left-handed hitter, came upand Scott pitched to him as he had to the others--high fast balls over the inside corner of theplate. Reddy Ray's position was some fifty yardsbehind deep short, and a little toward center field.He stood sideways, facing two-thirds of thatvacant outfield. In spite of Scott's skill, Hanleyswung the ball far round into right field, but hehit it high, and almost before he actually hit it thegreat sprinter was speeding across the green.The suspence grew almost unbearable as theball soared in its parabolic flight and the red-haired runner streaked dark across the green.The ball seemed never to be coming down. Andwhen it began to descend and reached a pointperhaps fifty feet above the ground there appearedmore distance between where it would alight andwhere Reddie was than anything human couldcover. It dropped and dropped, and then droppedinto Reddie Ray's outstretched hands. He hadmade the catch look easy. But the fact that Whitescored from second base on the play showed whatthe catch really was.There was no movement or restlessness of theaudience such as usually indicated the beginningof the exodus. Scott struck Babcock out. Thegame still had fire. The Grays never let up amoment on their coaching. And the hoarse voicesof the Stars were grimmer than ever. ReddieRay was the only one of the seven who kept silent.And he crouched like a tiger.The teams changed sides with the Grays threeruns in the lead. Morrissey, for the Stars, openedwith a clean drive to right. Then Healy slashed aground ball to Hanley and nearly knocked himdown. When old Burns, by a hard rap to short,advanced the runners a base and made a desperate,though unsuccessful, effort to reach first theProvidence crowd awoke to a strange and inspiringappreciation. They began that most rarefeature in baseball audiences--a strong andtrenchant call for the visiting team to win.The play had gone fast and furious. Wehying,sweaty and disheveled, worked violently. All theGrays were on uneasy tiptoes. And the Starswere seven Indians on the warpath. Halloranfouled down the right-field line; then he fouledover the left-field fence. Wehying tried to makehim too anxious, but it was in vain. Halloran wasimplacable. With two strikes and three balls hehit straight down to white, and was out. Theball had been so sharp that neither runner on basehad a chance to advance.Two men out, two on base, Stars wanting threeruns to tie, Scott, a weak batter, at the plate!The situation was disheartening. Yet there satDelaney, shot through and through with somevital compelling force. He saw only victory. Andwhen the very first ball pitched to Scott hit himon the leg, giving him his base, Delaney got to hisfeet, unsteady and hoarse.Bases full, Reddie Ray up, three runs to tie!Delaney looked at Reddie. And Reddie lookedat Delaney. The manager's face was pale, intent,with a little smile. The player had eyes of fire,a lean, bulging jaw and the hands he reached forhis bat clutched like talons.``Reddie, I knew it was waitin' for you,'' saidDelaney, his voice ringing. ``Break up thegame!''After all this was only a baseball game, andperhaps from the fans' viewpoint a poor game atthat. But the moment when that lithe, redhairedathlete toed the plate was a beautiful one. Thelong crash from the bleachers, the steady cheerfrom the grand stand, proved that it was not somuch the game that mattered.Wehying had shot his bolt; he was tired. Yethe made ready for a final effort. It seemed thatpassing Reddie Ray on balls would have been awise play at that juncture. But no pitcher, probably,would have done it with the bases crowdedand chances, of course, against the batter.Clean and swift, Reddie leaped at the firstpitched ball. Ping! For a second no one saw thehit. Then it gleamed, a terrific drive, low alongthe ground, like a bounding bullet, straight atBabcock in right field. It struck his hands andglanced viciously away to roll toward the fence.Thunder broke loose from the stands. ReddieRay was turning first base. Beyond first base hegot into his wonderful stride. Some runners runwith a consistent speed, the best they can makefor a given distance. But this trained sprintergathered speed as he ran. He was no short-steppingrunner. His strides were long. They gavean impression of strength combined with fleetness.He had the speed of a race horse, but thetrimness, the raciness, the delicate legs were notcharacteristic of him. Like the wind he turnedsecond, so powerful that his turn was short. Allat once there came a difference in his running. Itwas no longer beautiful. The grace was gone. Itwas now fierce, violent. His momentum was runninghim off his legs. He whirled around thirdbase and came hurtling down the homestretch.His face was convulsed, his eyes were wild. Hisarms and legs worked in a marvelous muscularvelocity. He seemed a demon--a flying streak.He overtook and ran down the laboring Scott, whohad almost reached the plate.The park seemed full of shrill, piercing strife.It swelled, reached a highest pitch, sustained thatfor a long moment, and then declined.``My Gawd!'' exclaimed Delaney, as he fellback. ``Wasn't that a finish? Didn't I tell youto watch them redheads!''