In the eighth the score was 8 to 6. The Bisons
had one scratch hit to their credit, but not a
runner had got beyond first base. Again Rube
held them safely, one man striking out, another
fouling out, and the third going out on a little fly.

Crash! Crash! Crash! Crash! The bleachers
were making up for many games in which
they could not express their riotous feelings.

``It's a cinch we'll win!'' yelled a fan with a
voice. Rube was the first man up in our half of
the ninth and his big bat lammed the first ball
safe over second base. The crowd, hungry for
victory, got to their feet and stayed upon their
feet, calling, cheering for runs. It was the moment
for me to get in the game, and I leaped up,
strung like a wire, and white hot with inspiration.
I sent Spears to the coaching box with
orders to make Rube run on the first ball. I
gripped McCall with hands that made him wince.

Then I dropped back on the bench spent and
panting. It was only a game, yet it meant so
much! Little McCall was dark as a thunder cloud,
and his fiery eyes snapped. He was the fastest
man in the league, and could have bunted an
arrow from a bow. The foxy Bison third baseman
edged in. Mac feinted to bunt toward him
then turned his bat inward and dumped a teasing