Two more pitches, and the batter was out on strikes. The next player
fouled to Ted. Little Falls' first turn at bat had been a sorry failure.

Cheers came from the spectators as Don walked to the bench. Somebody
yelled, "Take off your hat, kid." He flushed, and doffed his cap, and sat
down with crimson face.

"Come on," cried Ted. "Give Don a run and this game will be sewed up."

But it wasn't until the third inning that Chester tallied. Then she
scored three runs in a rush. Ted led off with a three-bagger. After
that came a single, an out, a base on balls, another out, and a long
two-bagger. Marty Smith, with the crowd imploring him to keep up the good
work, struck out on three pitched balls, and not one of them was worth
offering at.

"Too bad," said Ted. "If that fellow could only hit he'd be a star."

Meanwhile, Little Falls had not yet scored. Nor did she tally in the
fourth. Don, today, was master of the situation.

He came to the bench. Up to this point, the touch and go of battle had
held him at a tension. Now, with the game comparatively safe, he relaxed.
He paid attention to things he had been too busy to notice before--the
afternoon shadows, for instance.

The shadows told his practiced scout eyes that it was about four o'clock.
Unconsciously he began to figure. If Tim had started at one o'clock, he
should have reached Danger Mountain an hour ago--