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Rival Pitchers of Oakdale

<h3> CHAPTER XXVI. </h3> <h3> THE PLUNGE FROM THE BRIDGE. </h3> Herbert was introduced to Foxhall and Snead. The former, with goggles pushed up on his forehead, pulled off his gauntlet glove to shake hands, saying he was mighty glad to meet Dade Newbert's chum, of whom he'd heard so much from Newbert's lips. "Yes," gurgled Snead, as he also shook hands; "according to Dade, you're a warm old scout. Get right in here with me, and hang on when Foxy turns on the juice, for there'll be something doing. I imagine we'll touch only a few of the very elevated spots on our way back, judging by the way he cut it out coming over. If you're nervous——" "Don't worry about me," said Rackliff, as he settled himself beside the fat fellow. "I'm simply dying for something to stir up my blood and set it circulating." Foxhall adjusted his goggles, switched on the current, and pressed a button that started the engine. "Ho! ho! We're off!" cried Newbert. "Just watch 'em rubber when we zip down through town. There's a bump this side of the bridge; hang on when we strike it, Herb." Foxhall turned the car, yanking it round in a see-saw that was hard on transmission and brakes and tires, and started with a jerk that gave a snap to the necks of his three companions, cutting out the muffler as he shifted swiftly through the gears into direct drive. When the main street was reached the reckless youth scarcely slowed down at all to take the turn, and the car came near skidding into the gutter. "Isn't he the careless creature!" laughed Snead. "He always drives this way, and he's never had an accident." Past Roger Eliot's home and the white Methodist church they whizzed, the automobile gathering speed on the down grade and obtaining enough momentum to carry it a considerable distance even though the power should be cut off and the brakes applied sufficiently hard to lock the rear wheels. With the discordant electric horn snarling a demand for a clear road, the foolish young driver tore up the dust through the very heart of the village, regardless of his own safety and absolutely ignoring the safety or rights of others. The postoffice spun by on the left; the machine shot across the small square; down the steepest grade of the hill it flew toward the bridge. Despite the fact that he pretended to be as serene and unconcerned as his companions, who, perhaps, did not realize the danger, Herbert Rackliff was not fully at his ease; for he knew that such driving through a place where there were intersecting streets with blind corners was folly indeed. As the bridge was approached the road swung to the left. At the very end of the bridge an old building cut off the view of the greater part of the structure from any one approaching from the main portion of the village. The "bump" of which Newbert had given warning was struck with sufficient force to send the boys bouncing from their seats, and the shock seemed to disturb Foxhall's hold on the steering wheel, for the car swerved unpleasantly. The young driver brought it back with a yank, and then—— "Look out!" screamed Herbert, jumping up in the tonneau. A woman of middle age, seated in a rickety old wagon, with a child on either side of her, was driving a young and half-broken horse into Oakdale. The young horse snorted, attempted to turn round, and then began to back up, cramping the wagon across the bridge. The woman struggled vainly with the reins, in a perfect panic of terror, and the children screamed, clinging to her. Foxhall knew he could not stop the car, and to his credit let it be said that he did his best to avoid striking and smashing the wagon—and succeeded. Success, however, was costly; for, in attempting to turn aside and shoot past, the wheel was pulled too sharply, and the machine struck the wooden railing of the bridge, through which it cut as if the railing had been built of cardboard. Dade Newbert was the only one who managed to leap from the machine ere it crashed through that railing and shot off in a clean leap for the water below. Unimpeded by any barrier, Newbert jumped, struck the ground, plunged forward, and went sliding at full length almost beneath the wheels of the old wagon. Rackliff tried to jump, but he was on the wrong side, and the tonneau door bothered him; however, as the machine fell, with Snead sitting paralyzed in his place and Foxhall clinging to the wheel, Herbert succeeded in flinging himself out over the side. Surprising to relate, Dade Newbert was not seriously hurt, and, still retaining a certain presence of mind, he scrambled back from the wagon wheels and sat up on the bridge, covered with dirt, a rather woe-begone spectacle. He was still sitting thus when the horse, having turned about at last without upsetting the wagon, went galloping away across the bridge; and he continued to sit there until some boys came running down from the village, shouting as they ran, and asked him if he was hurt. Then Dade scrambled up. "Oh, mercy!" he gasped. "Don't mind me. I'm all right. The other fellers—they'll be drowned!" He ran to the side of the bridge and looked over. Foxhall was swimming toward the nearest bank, with Snead puffing and blowing behind him; but Rackliff, who had struck on his stomach sufficiently hard to have the breath knocked out of him, was being carried away by the current, struggling feebly. With the idea of leaping in to help Herbert, Newbert pulled off his coat; but before he could make the plunge some one flung him aside with the sweep of a muscular arm and went shooting headlong like an arrow toward the surface of the river. People were running toward the bridge from various directions. Some of the boys started down to help the swimmers out when they should reach the shore; but no one else ventured to plunge into the river. The one who had made that unhesitating plunge was Rodney Grant. Springer, who had reached the spot a moment ahead of Rod, saw Grant as he shot downward with hands outstretched and palms pressed together. "Wh-why didn't I do it?" muttered Phil. "I didn't th-think quick enough." He saw Grant's head appear above the surface and beheld the Texan striking out toward Rackliff with strong strokes that sent him forging through the water. The gathering crowd on the bridge began to cheer the rescuer. "Of course!" whispered Phil savagely. "It's another feather in his cap! He'll help the chap out of the drink, and everybody in town will say it was a nervy and daring piece of heroism. Oh, I'm slow! I lost my chance!" At that moment his bitterness toward Grant was so intense that he felt he could unhesitatingly go to any extreme to injure him. His lips curled back from his teeth in a semblance of a snarl; he watched the Texan reach the spot where Rackliff's head had an instant before disappeared from view, saw him likewise plunge beneath the surface, and beheld him rise, farther down the stream, with the still weakly struggling fellow secured by a grip upon his coat collar at the back of the neck. Deftly the rescuer swung Herbert round, face upward, upon his back, and, holding him thus, with mouth and nose above the water, began swimming toward the nearest shore. The rapidly increasing crowd of spectators on the bridge cheered still more vociferously. "It's getting to be a regular sus-stunt of his, this rescuing people from drowning," muttered Springer. "Hear them yell! Bah! What fools people are! Why didn't I think quick enough to get ahead of him!" A short distance below the bridge Foxhall was wading out of the water, disdaining assistance. Snead, however, did not spurn the hands extended to him when he came floundering and gurgling toward dry ground. A dozen persons were running down toward the point for which Rodney Grant was heading, all eager to take some part in the exciting rescue. Of the boys who had rushed to the scene, Springer was the only one who remained on the bridge. He waited until he beheld Grant stand on his feet in shallow water and wade toward the bank, bearing Rackliff in his arms. "I don't propose to hang around and see them slobber over him," he whispered hoarsely; "so I think I'll beat it, get a move on, dig." As he turned away his eyes fell on a folded sheet of paper lying at his feet, and within three feet of the paper he discovered a pocket notebook. He picked up the paper and the notebook. "Some one of that bunch dropped these," he decided. "Oh, but they were lucky to come out of this scrape alive! I think this will cuc-cure that idiot Foxhall of doing fancy stunts with his old man's gas cart." Mechanically he unfolded the paper. There was writing upon it, and Phil was suddenly chained in his tracks as his senses took in the meaning of those several short sentences, each of which was written on a separate line: "Bat held in right hand means hit and run. "In left hand, try the steal. "In both hands, perpendicular, play safe. "In both hands, horizontal, will sacrifice. "In right hand, handle down, squeeze play." This was as far as Phil read, but the list covered the entire page, being condensed, with the lines very close together, at the bottom, evidently in order to get everything on that side of the sheet. Springer's eyes threatened to pop out of his head and his under jaw sagged. "Great snakes!" he gasped. "These are our playing signals!" For a short time he stood there dazed, unconscious of the excitement near at hand, deaf to the cheering of the crowd. He had thought at first that the paper, like the notebook, must be the property of one of those boys who had occupied the automobile, but, with the discovery of what was written on that paper, he slowly arrived at the conclusion that his original conviction was erroneous. The writing looked familiar, too, although at that time he could not seem to recall the person whose chirography it resembled. "The notebook," he finally decided; "that may tell who it belongs to, for doubtless the same chap dropped both." On the fly leaf of the notebook he found the name of Dade Newbert. He had refolded the paper, and was still staring at the name written in the notebook when Newbert himself, greatly excited, rushed toward him, crying: "I say, that's mine! Dropped it out of my coat pocket when I pulled the coat off. Give it to me." He was still carrying his coat in his hand. "Then you're Nun-Newbert, are you?" questioned Springer, who until this day had never set eyes on the chap. "Yes, yes. Gimme that! The paper, too. Have you——" "Just picked them up," said Springer coolly, as he surrendered the folded paper. "Lul-looked in the book to see who it belonged to, that's all." Newbert seemed to take a breath of relief. "I didn't know but you had been—— Oh, fudge! I dropped them only a minute ago. Say, we've kicked up a rumpus around here, haven't we? That fellow who pulled Rack out of the drink saved me from getting a soaking, as I was just going overboard after Herb. Rack thought he wouldn't take a bath this morning, but he did, just the same. Ho! ho! ho!" The cause for the laugh seemed to be nervousness and excitement rather than mirth. "Rackliff!" muttered Springer, struck by sudden conviction. "Old chum of mine. Don't suppose this little experience will do his cold any good, I got Orv Foxhall to come over here for Herb this morning with old man Foxy's bubble that's down there at the bottom of the canal, where it's liable to stay for some time. I reckon we'll all travel back to Wyndham by steam cars." He turned and ran toward the crowd that was coming up from the scene of the rescue. "Rackliff!" muttered Springer once more. He knew now who had written those signals on that sheet of paper. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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