was there first. Then bedlam! One
of my brothers was umpire and the captain
of the other team walked threateningly
out toward him, followed by two of
his men with base-ball bats. As I started
off myself towards them I saw, with the
corner of my eye, another brother of mine
start in a run from the left field, and I
wondered why a third, who was scoring,
sat perfectly still in his chair, particularly
as a well-known, red-headed tough from
one of the mines who had been officiously
antagonistic ran toward the pitcher's box
directly in front of him. Instantly a dozen
of the guard sprang toward it, some man
pulled his pistol, a billy cracked straightway
on his head, and in a few minutes
order was restored. And still the brother
scoring hadn't moved from his chair, and
I spoke to him hotly.

``Keep your shirt on,'' he said easily,
lifting his score-card with his left hand and
showing his right clinched about his pistol
under it.

``I was just waiting for that red-head to
make a move. I guess I'd have got him
first.''