The Rube's Pennant

by Zane Grey

　　

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``Fellows, it's this way. You've got to wintoday's game. It's the last of the season andmeans the pennant for Worcester. One morehard scrap and we're done! Of all the up-hillfights any bunch ever made to land the flag, ourhas been the best. You're the best team I evermanaged, the gamest gang of ball players thatever stepped in spikes. We've played in thehardest kind of luck all season, except that shorttrip we called the Rube's Honeymoon. We got abad start, and sore arms and busted fingers, allkinds of injuries, every accident calculated to hurta team's chances, came our way. But in spite ofit all we got the lead and we've held it, and todaywe're still a few points ahead of Buffalo.''I paused to catch my breath, and looked roundon the grim, tired faces of my players. Theymade a stern group. The close of the seasonfound them almost played out. What a hardchance it was, after their extraordinary efforts,to bring the issue of the pennant down to this lastgame!``If we lose today, Buffalo, with three gamesmore to play at home, will pull the bunting,'' Iwent on. ``But they're not going to win! I'mputting it up to you that way. I know Spears isall in; Raddy's arm is gone; Ash is playing onone leg; you're all crippled. But you've got onemore game in you, I know. These last few weeksthe Rube has been pitching out of turn and he'sabout all in, too. He's kept us in the lead. If hewins today it'll be Rube's Pennant. But thatmight apply to all of you. Now, shall we talkover the play today? Any tricks to pull off? Anyinside work?''``Con, you're pretty much upset an' nervous,''replied Spears, soberly. ``It ain't no wonder.This has been one corker of a season. I want tosuggest that you let me run the team today. I'vetalked over the play with the fellers. We ain'tgoin' to lose this game, Con. Buffalo has beencomin' with a rush lately, an' they're confident.But we've been holdin' in, restin' up as much aswe dared an' still keep our lead. Mebbee it'llsurprise you to know we've bet every dollar we couldget hold of on this game. Why, Buffalo money iseverywhere.''``All right, Spears, I'll turn the team over toyou. We've got the banner crowd of the year outthere right now, a great crowd to play before.I'm more fussed up over this game than any Iremember. But I have a sort of blind faith inmy team. . . . I guess that's all I want to say.''Spears led the silent players out of the dressingroom and I followed; and while they began totoss balls to and fro, to limber up cold, dead arms,I sat on the bench.The Bisons were prancing about the diamond,and their swaggering assurance was not conduciveto hope for the Worcesters. I wonderedhow many of that vast, noisy audience, intent onthe day's sport, even had a thought of what painand toil it meant to my players. The Buffalo menwere in good shape; they had been lucky; theywere at the top of their stride, and that made allthe difference.At any rate, there were a few faithful littlewomen in the grand stand--Milly and Nan andRose Stringer and Kate Bogart--who sat withcompressed lips and hoped and prayed for thatgame to begin and end.The gong called off the practice, and Spears,taking the field, yelled gruff encouragement to hismen. Umpire Carter brushed off the plate andtossed a white ball to Rube and called: ``Play!''The bleachers set up an exultant, satisfied shoutand sat down to wait.Schultz toed the plate and watched the Rubepitch a couple. There seemed to be no diminutionof the great pitcher's speed and both balls cut theplate. Schultz clipped the next one down the third-base Line. Bogart trapped it close to the bag, andgot it away underhand, beating the speedy runnerby a nose. It was a pretty play to start with, andthe spectators were not close-mouthed inappreciation. The short, stocky Carl ambled up tobat, and I heard him call the Rube something. Itwas not a friendly contest, this deciding gamebetween Buffalo and Worcester.``Bing one close to his swelled nut!'' growledSpears to the Rube.Carl chopped a bouncing grounder throughshort and Ash was after it like a tiger, but it wasa hit. The Buffalo contingent opened up. ThenManning faced the Rube, and he, too, ventedsarcasm. It might not have been heard by the slow,imperturbable pitcher for all the notice he took.Carl edged off first, slid back twice, got a thirdstart, and on the Rube's pitch was off for secondbase with the lead that always made him dangerous.Manning swung vainly, and Gregg snappeda throw to Mullaney. Ball and runner got to thebag apparently simultaneously; the umpire calledCarl out, and the crowd uttered a quick roar ofdelight.The next pitch to Manning was a strike. Rubewas not wasting any balls, a point I noted withmingled fear and satisfaction. For he might havefelt that he had no strength to spare that day andso could not try to work the batters. Again heswung, and Manning rapped a long line fly overMcCall. As the little left fielder turned at thesound of the hit and sprinted out, his lamenesswas certainly not in evidence. He was the swiftestrunner in the league and always when he gotgoing the crowd rose in wild clamor to watch him.Mac took that fly right off the foul flag in deepleft, and the bleachers dinned their pleasure.The teams changed positions. ``Fellers,'' saidSpears, savagely, ``we may be a bunged-up lot ofstiffs, but, say! We can hit! If you love yourold captain--sting the ball!''Vane, the Bison pitcher, surely had his workcut out for him. For one sympathetic moment Isaw his part through his eyes. My Worcesterveterans, long used to being under fire, wererelentlessly bent on taking that game. It showedin many ways, particularly in their silence,because they were seldom a silent team. McCallhesitated a moment over his bats. Then, as hepicked up the lightest one, I saw his jaw set, andI knew he intended to bunt. He was lame, yet hemeant to beat out an infield hit. He went upscowling.Vane had an old head, and he had a variedassortment of balls. For Mac he used an underhand curve, rising at the plate and curving in tothe left-hander. Mac stepped back and let it go.``That's the place, Bo,'' cried the Buffaloinfielders. ``Keep 'em close on the Crab.'' Eager andfierce as McCall was, he let pitch after pitch goby till he had three balls and two strikes. Stillthe heady Vane sent up another pitch similar tothe others. Mac stepped forward in the box,dropped his bat on the ball, and leaped down theline toward first base. Vane came rushing in forthe bunt, got it and threw. But as the speedingball neared the baseman, Mac stretched out intothe air and shot for the bag. By a fraction of asecond he beat the ball. It was one of his demon-slides. He knew that the chances favored his beingcrippled; we all knew that some day Macwould slide recklessly once too often. But that,too, is all in the game and in the spirit of a greatplayer.``We're on,'' said Spears; ``now keep withhim.''By that the captain meant that Mac would godown, and Ashwell would hit with the run.When Vane pitched, little McCall was flittingtoward second. The Bison shortstop started forthe bag, and Ash hit square through his tracks.A rolling cheer burst from the bleachers, andswelled till McCall overran third base and wasthrown back by the coacher. Stringer hurriedforward with his big bat.``Oh! My!'' yelled a fan, and he voiced mysentiments exactly. Here we would score, and beone run closer to that dearly bought pennant.How well my men worked together! As thepitcher let the ball go, Ash was digging forsecond and Mac was shooting plateward. Theyplayed on the chance of Stringer's hitting.Stringer swung, the bat cracked, we heard a thudsomewhere, and then Manning, half knocked over,was fumbling for the ball. He had knocked downa terrific drive with his mitt, and he got the ballin time to put Stringer out. But Mac scored andAsh drew a throw to third base and beat it. Hehad a bad ankle, but no one noticed it in thatdaring run.``Watch me paste one!'' said Captain Spears,as he spat several yards. He batted out a fly solong and high and far that, slow as he was, he hadnearly run to second base when Carl made thecatch. Ash easily scored on the throw-in. ThenBogart sent one skipping over second, and Treadwell,scooping it on the run, completed a play thatshowed why he was considered the star of theBison infield.``Two runs, fellers!'' said Spears. ``That'ssome! Push 'em over, Rube.''The second inning somewhat quickened thepace. Even the Rube worked a little faster. Ellislined to Cairns in right; Treadwell fouled twoballs and had a called strike, and was out; McKnighthit a low fly over short, then Bud Wilersent one between Spears and Mullaney. Spearswent for it while the Rube with giant strides ranto cover first base. Between them they got Bud,but it was only because he was heavy and slowon his feet.In our half of that inning Mullaney, Gregg andCairns went out in one, two, three order.With Pannell up, I saw that the Rube held inon his speed, or else he was tiring. Pannell hitthe second slow ball for two bases. Vane sacrificed,and then the redoubtable Schultz came up.He appeared to be in no hurry to bat. Then Isaw that the foxy Buffalo players were workingto tire the Rube. They had the situation figured.But they were no wiser than old Spears.``Make 'em hit, Rube. Push 'em straight over.Never mind the corners. We don't care for afew runs. We'll hit this game out.''Shultz flied to Mac, who made a beautiful throwto the plate too late to catch Pannell. Carldeliberately bunted to the right of the Rube and itcost the big pitcher strenuous effort to catch hisman.``We got the Rube waggin'!'' yelled a Buffaloplayer.Manning tripled down the left foul line--a hitthe bleachers called a screamer. When Elliscame up, it looked like a tie score, and when theRube pitched it was plain that he was tired. TheBisons yelled their assurance of this and theaudience settled into quiet. Ellis batted ascorcher that looked good for a hit. But the fastAshwell was moving with the ball, and he plungedlengthwise to get it square in his glove. The hithad been so sharp that he had time to get up andmake the throw to beat the runner. The bleachersthundered at the play.``You're up, Rube,'' called Spears. ``Lam oneout of the lot!''The Rube was an uncertain batter. There wasnever any telling what he might do, for he hadspells of good and bad hitting. But when he didget his bat on the ball it meant a chase for somefielder. He went up swinging his huge club, andhe hit a fly that would have been an easy home runfor a fast man. But the best Rube could do wasto reach third base. This was certainly goodenough, as the bleachers loudly proclaimed, andanother tally for us seemed sure.McCall bunted toward third, another of histeasers. The Rube would surely have scored hadhe started with the ball, but he did not try andmissed a chance. Wiler, of course, held the ball,and Mac got to first without special effort. Hewent down on the first pitch. Then Ash lined toCarl. The Rube waited till the ball was caughtand started for home. The crowd screamed, theRube ran for all he was worth and Carl's throwto the plate shot in low and true. Ellis blockedthe Rube and tagged him out.It looked to the bleachers as if Ellis had beenunnecessarily rough, and they hissed and stormeddisapproval. As for me, I knew the Bisons werelosing no chance to wear out my pitcher. Stringerfouled out with Mac on third, and it made him soangry that he threw his bat toward the bench,making some of the boys skip lively.The next three innings, as far as scoring wasconcerned, were all for Buffalo. But the Worcesterinfield played magnificent ball, holding theiropponents to one run each inning.That made the score 4 to 2 in favor of Buffalo.In the last half of the sixth, with Ash on firstbase and two men out, old Spears hit another ofhis lofty flies, and this one went over the fenceand tied the score. How the bleachers roared!It was full two minutes before they quieted down.To make it all the more exciting, Bogart hitsafely, ran like a deer to third on Mullaney'sgrounder, which Wiler knocked down, and scoredon a passed ball. Gregg ended the inning bystriking out.``Get at the Rube!'' boomed Ellis, the Bisoncaptain. ``We'll have him up in the air soon. Getin the game now, you stickers!''Before I knew what had happened, the Bisonshad again tied the score. They were indomitable.They grew stronger all the time. A stroke ofgood luck now would clinch the game for them.The Rube was beginning to labor in the box; Ashwellwas limping; Spears looked as if he woulddrop any moment; McCall could scarcely walk.But if the ball came his way he could still run.Nevertheless, I never saw any finer fielding thanthese cripped players executed that inning.``Ash--Mac--can you hold out?'' I asked, whenthey limped in. I received glances of scorn formy question. Spears, however, was not sanguine.``I'll stick pretty much if somethin' doesn'thappen,'' he said; ``but I'm all in. I'll need arunner if I get to first this time.''Spears lumbered down to first base on aninfield hit and the heavy Manning gave him the hip.Old Spears went down, and I for one knew hewas out in more ways than that signified byCarter's sharp: ``Out!''The old war-horse gathered himself up slowlyand painfully, and with his arms folded and hisjaw protruding, he limped toward the umpire.``Did you call me out?'' he asked, in a voiceplainly audible to any one on the field.``Yes,'' snapped Carter.``What for? I beat the ball, an' Mannin'played dirty with me--gave me the hip.''``I called you out.''``But I wasn't out!''``Shut up now! Get off the diamond!'' orderedCarter, peremptorily.``What? Me? Say, I'm captain of this team.Can't I question a decision?''``Not mine. Spears, you're delaying thegame.'' ``I tell you it was a rotten decision,'' yelledSpears. The bleachers agreed with him.Carter grew red in the face. He and Spearshad before then met in field squabbles, and heshowed it.``Fifty dollars!''``More! You cheap-skate you piker! More!''``It's a hundred!''``Put me out of the game!'' roared Spears.``You bet! Hurry now--skedaddle!''``Rob-b-ber!'' bawled Spears.Then he labored slowly toward the bench, allred, and yet with perspiration, his demeanor oneof outraged dignity. The great crowd, as oneman, stood up and yelled hoarsely at Carter, andhissed and railed at him. When Spears got tothe bench he sat down beside me as if in pain, buthe was smiling.``Con, I was all in, an' knowin' I couldn't playany longer, thought I'd try to scare Carter. Say,he was white in the face. If we play into a closedecision now, he'll give it to us.''Bogart and Mullaney batted out in short order,and once more the aggressive Bisons hurried infor their turn. Spears sent Cairns to first baseand Jones to right. The Rube lobbed up his slowball. In that tight pinch he showed his splendidnerve. Two Buffalo players, over-anxious,popped up flies. The Rube kept on pitching theslow curve until it was hit safely. Then heavinghis shoulders with all his might he got allthe motion possible into his swing and let drive.He had almost all of his old speed, but it hurtme to see him work with such desperate effort.He struck Wiler out.He came stooping into the bench, apparentlydeaf to the stunning round of applause. Everyplayer on the team had a word for the Rube.There was no quitting in that bunch, and if I eversaw victory on the stern faces of ball players itwas in that moment.``We haven't opened up yet. Mebbee this isthe innin'. If it ain't, the next is,'' said Spears.With the weak end of the batting list up, thereseemed little hope of getting a run on Vane thatinning. He had so much confidence that he putthe ball over for Gregg, who hit out of the reachof the infield. Again Vane sent up his straightball, no doubt expecting Cairns to hit into adouble play. But Cairns surprised Vane andeverybody else by poking a safety past first base.The fans began to howl and pound and whistle.The Rube strode to bat. The infield closed infor a bunt, but the Rube had no orders for thatstyle of play. Spears had said nothing to him.Vane lost his nonchalance and settled down. Hecut loose with all his speed. Rube stepped out,suddenly whirled, then tried to dodge, but the ballhit him fair in the back. Rube sagged in histracks, then straightened up, and walked slowlyto first base. Score 5 to 5, bases full, no outs,McCall at bat. I sat dumb on the bench, thrillingand shivering. McCall! Ashwell! Stringer tobat!``Play it safe! Hold the bags!'' yelled thecoacher.McCall fairly spouted defiance as he facedVane.``Pitch! It's all off! An' you know it!''If Vane knew that, he showed no evidence ofit. His face was cold, unsmiling, rigid. He hadto pitch to McCall, the fastest man in the league;to Ashwell, the best bunter; to Stringer, thechampion batter. It was a supreme test for a greatpitcher. There was only one kind of a ball thatMcCall was not sure to hit, and that was a highcurve, in close. Vane threw it with all his power.Carter called it a strike. Again Vane swung andhis arm fairly cracked. Mac fouled the ball. Thethird was wide. Slowly, with lifting breast, Vanegot ready, whirled savagely and shot up the ball.McCall struck out.As the Buffalo players crowed and the audiencegroaned it was worthy of note that little McCallshowed no temper. Yet he had failed to grasp agreat opportunity.``Ash, I couldn't see 'em,'' he said, as he passedto the bench. ``Speed, whew! look out for it.He's been savin' up. Hit quick, an' you'll gethim.''Ashwell bent over the plate and glowered atVane.``Pitch! It's all off! An' you know it!'' hehissed, using Mac's words.Ashwell, too, was left-handed; he, too, wasextremely hard to pitch to; and if he had a weaknessthat any of us ever discovered, it was a slowcurve and change of pace. But I doubted if Vanewould dare to use slow balls to Ash at that criticalmoment. I had yet to learn something of Vane.He gave Ash a slow, wide-sweeping sidewheeler,that curved round over the plate. Ash alwaystook a strike, so this did not matter. Then Vaneused his deceptive change of pace, sending up acurve that just missed Ash's bat as he swung.``Oh! A-h-h! hit!'' wailed the bleachers.Vane doubled up like a contortionist, and shotup a lightning-swift drop that fooled Ashcompletely. Again the crowd groaned. Score tied,bases full, two out, Stringer at bat!``It's up to you, String,'' called Ash, steppingaside.Stringer did not call out to Vane. That wasnot his way. He stood tense and alert, bat on hisshoulder, his powerful form braced, and hewaited. The outfielders trotted over toward rightfield, and the infielders played deep, calling outwarnings and encouragement to the pitcher.Stringer had no weakness, and Vane knew this.Nevertheless he did not manifest any uneasiness,and pitched the first ball without any extramotion. Carter called it a strike. I saw Stringersink down slightly and grow tenser all over. Ibelieve that moment was longer for me than foreither the pitcher or the batter. Vane took histime, watched the base runners, feinted to throwto catch them, and then delivered the ball towardthe plate with the limit of his power.Stringer hit the ball. As long as I live, I willsee that glancing low liner. Shultz, by a wonderfulplay in deep center, blocked the ball andthereby saved it from being a home run. Butwhen Stringer stopped on second base, all therunners had scored.A shrill, shrieking, high-pitched yell! Thebleachers threatened to destroy the stands andalso their throats in one long revel of baseballmadness.Jones, batting in place of Spears, had goneup and fouled out before the uproar had subsided.``Fellers, I reckon I feel easier,'' said the Rube.It was the only time I had ever heard him speakto the players at such a stage``Only six batters, Rube,'' called out Spears.``Boys, it's a grand game, an' it's our'n!''The Rube had enough that inning to dispose ofthe lower half of the Buffalo list without anyalarming bids for a run. And in our half, Bogartand Mullaney hit vicious ground balls that gaveTreadwell and Wiler opportunities for superbplays. Carl, likewise, made a beautiful runningcatch of Gregg's line fly. The Bisons were stillin the game, still capable of pulling it out at thelast moment.When Shultz stalked up to the plate I shut myeyes a moment, and so still was it that the fieldand stands might have been empty. Yet, thoughI tried, I could not keep my eyes closed. I openedthem to watch the Rube. I knew Spears felt thesame as I, for he was blowing like a porpoise andmuttering to himself: ``Mebee the Rube won'tlast an' I've no one to put in!''The Rube pitched with heavy, violent effort.He had still enough speed to be dangerous. Butafter the manner of ball players Shultz and thecoachers mocked him.``Take all you can,'' called Ellis to Shultz.Every pitch lessened the Rube's strength andthese wise opponents knew it. Likewise the Rubehimself knew, and never had he shown better headwork than in this inning. If he were to win, hemust be quick. So he wasted not a ball. The firstpitch and the second, delivered breast high andfairly over the plate, beautiful balls to hit, Shultzwatched speed by. He swung hard on the thirdand the crippled Ashwell dove for it in a cloudof dust, got a hand in front of it, but uselessly,for the hit was safe. The crowd cheered thatsplendid effort.Carl marched to bat, and he swung his club overthe plate as if he knew what to expect. ``Comeon, Rube!'' he shouted. Wearily, doggedly, theRube whirled, and whipped his arm. The ballhad all his old glancing speed and it was a strike.The Rube was making a tremendous effort.Again he got his body in convulsive motion--twostrikes! Shultz had made no move to run, norhad Carl made any move to hit. These veteranswere waiting. The Rube had pitched five strikes--could he last?``Now, Carl!'' yelled Ellis, with startlingsuddenness, as the Rube pitched again.Crack! Carl placed that hit as safely throughshort as if he had thrown it. McCall's little legstwinkled as he dashed over the grass. He had tohead off that hit and he ran like a streak. Downand forward he pitched, as if in one of his fierceslides, and he got his body in front of the ball,blocking it, and then he rolled over and over. Buthe jumped up and lined the ball to Bogart, almostcatching Shultz at third-base. Then, as Mac triedto walk, his lame leg buckled under him, and downhe went, and out.``Call time,'' I called to Carter. ``McCall isdone. . . . Myers, you go to left an' for Lord'ssake play ball!''Stringer and Bogart hurried to Mac and, liftinghim up and supporting him between themwith his arms around their shoulders, they ledhim off amid cheers from the stands. Mac waswhite with pain.``Naw, I won't go off the field. Leave me onthe bench,'' he said. ``Fight 'em now. It's ourgame. Never mind a couple of runs.''The boys ran back to their positions and Cartercalled play. Perhaps a little delay had been helpfulto the Rube. Slowly he stepped into the boxand watched Shultz at third and Carl at second.There was not much probability of his throwingto catch them off the base, but enough of apossibility to make them careful, so he held themclose.The Rube pitched a strike to Manning, thenanother. That made eight strikes square over theplate that inning. What magnificent control! Itwas equaled by the implacable patience of thoseveteran Bisons. Manning hit the next ball ashard as Carl had hit his. But Mullaney plungeddown, came up with the ball, feinted to fool Carl,then let drive to Gregg to catch the fleeting Shultz.The throw went wide, but Gregg got it, and, leapinglengthwise, tagged Shultz out a yard from theplate.One out. Two runners on bases. The bleachersrose and split their throats. Would the inningnever end?Spears kept telling himself: ``They'll score,but we'll win. It's our game!''I had a sickening fear that the strange confidencethat obsessed the Worcester players hadbeen blind, unreasoning vanity.``Carl will steal,'' muttered Spears. ``Hecan't be stopped.''Spears had called the play. The Rube tried tohold the little base-stealer close to second, but,after one attempt, wisely turned to his hard taskof making the Bisons hit and hit quickly. Ellislet the ball pass; Gregg made a perfect throw tothird; Bogart caught the ball and moved like aflash, but Carl slid under his hands to the bag.Manning ran down to second. The Rube pitchedagain, and this was his tenth ball over the plate.Even the Buffalo players evinced eloquent appreciationof the Rube's defence at this last stand.Then Ellis sent a clean hit to right, scoring bothCarl and Manning. I breathed easier, for itseemed with those two runners in, the Rube had abetter chance. Treadwell also took those tworunners in, the Rube had a way those Bisonswaited. They had their reward, for the Rube'sspeed left him. When he pitched again the ballhad control, but no shoot. Treadwell hit it withall his strength. Like a huge cat Ashwell pouncedupon it, ran over second base, forcing Ellis, andhis speedy snap to first almost caught Treadwell.Score 8 to 7. Two out. Runner on first. Onerun to tie.In my hazy, dimmed vision I saw the Rube'spennant waving from the flag-pole.``It's our game!'' howled Spears in my ear,for the noise from the stands was deafening.``It's our pennant!''The formidable batting strength of the Bisonshad been met, not without disaster, but withoutdefeat. McKnight came up for Buffalo and theRube took his weary swing. The batter made aterrific lunge and hit the ball with a solid crackIt lined for center.Suddenly electrified into action, I leaped up.That hit! It froze me with horror. It was ahome-run. I saw Stringer fly toward left center.He ran like something wild. I saw the heavyTreadwell lumbering round the bases. I saw Ashwellrun out into center field.``Ah-h!'' The whole audience relieved itsterror in that expulsion of suspended breath.Stringer had leaped high to knock down the ball,saving a sure home-run and the game. He recoveredhimself, dashed back for the ball and shotit to Ash.When Ash turned toward the plate, Treadwellwas rounding third base. A tie score appearedinevitable. I saw Ash's arm whip and the ballshoot forward, leveled, glancing, beautiful in itsflight. The crowd saw it, and the silence broketo a yell that rose and rose as the ball sped in.That yell swelled to a splitting shriek, andTreadwell slid in the dust, and the ball shot intoGregg's hands all at the same instant.Carter waved both arms upwards. It was theumpire's action when his decision went againstthe base-runner. The audience rolled up one greatstenorian cry.``Out!''I collapsed and sank back upon the bench. Myconfused senses received a dull roar of poundingfeet and dinning voices as the herald of victory.I felt myself thinking how pleased Milly would be.I had a distinct picture in my mind of a whitecottage on a hill, no longer a dream, but a reality,made possible for me by the Rube's winning ofthe pennant.

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