by Zane Grey
Chase left the judge and went to his room with his mind too full of plans to permit of sleep till late in the night. He awakened early, and breakfast being entirely superfluous, he hurried north to Elm Street and thence to the outskirts of town.
There was no mistaking the cottage, because it was the only one. Chase felt it was altogether out of the question for him to own such a place. The cottage sat back from the road on a little hill. It was low, many-gabled, vine-covered, and had a porch all the way ’round. A giant maple shaded the western side.
Chase went in. The first room was long, had a deep seat in a bay-window, and an open fireplace. He saw in fancy a fire blazing there on a winter’s evening. There was a dining-room, a kitchen, and a cozy pantry. Upstairs were four bedrooms. The west one, all bay windows and bright, would be for his mother; the adjoining one would be Will’s, and a little room in the back, from which he saw the grove and the river, would be his.
Then he punched himself and said, “I’m dreaming again.” He looked into the well in the backyard and straightway began singing “The Old Oaken Bucket.” He flew through the orchard and ran into the grove of maples. The trees, the fence, the hill sloped down to the river. There was a little fall and a deep pool and a great mossy stone.
“I’ve got to hurry back to the judge’s and be waked out of this,” muttered Chase. “What would Mittie think? He’d say there’d never be any hope of my coming down after this ascension.”
Chase started for town. He would run a little way, then check himself, only to break out into another dash. He got to Judge Meggs’s office before opening hours and sat down to wait. The time dragged. One moment he would call himself a fool, and the next he remembered the judge’s kindly eyes.
“Well, well, good-morning, Chase. The early bird catches the worm. Come in, come in. And how’d you like the cottage?”
Chase stuttered and broke out into unintelligible speech. Then he grew more confused and bewildered. He heard the kind voice and felt the kind hand on his shoulder. He remembered running breathlessly to the bank and drawing a sum of money. He signed his name to stamped papers. And then the judge was telling him that the property was his.
Chase finished this wonderful morning of mornings in his room. After a long time he got a logical idea of things. He had bought a property for eighteen hundred dollars, two hundred down and twenty each month until the debt was cancelled. The deeds were signed and stamped. And most strange and remarkable of all was to read the name of the former owner—Silas Meggs.
Chase spent another morning consulting carpenters, plasterer’s, paper hangers; and the next he presented himself at the store of Meggs & Co. He was told to spend his time for the present in the different oil-fields, familiarizing himself with men, conditions, and machinery. And the senior member of the firm added significantly: “You need not mention your connection with us for a while yet. Just be looking ’round casually. But be sharp as a steel trap. You may learn things of interest to us.”
Chase wondered what next would happen to him. There was certainly a thrill in the prospect before him. Such men as Judge Meggs and his brother would not stoop to the employing of a spy, but they might well have use for a detective. Chase had heard strange stories from the oil-fields.
* * * *
The oil-belt was a scene of great activity that summer. Strikes, unprecedented in the history of boring wells, had been made. All over the belt rose a forest of wooden derricks, with their ladders, and queer wheels, and enormous pump-handles ceaselessly working up and down. Pipes ran in all directions; huge tanks loomed up everywhere; puffs of smoke marked the pumping-engines sheltered in little huts; the ground was black and oily, and the smell of oil overpowering.
“Crude oil seventy cents a barrel!” ejaculated Chase, as he watched the great comical-looking handles bobbing up, some of them pumping a hundred barrels a day. “These oil-men get rich while they sleep!”
Chase found that as he was known in the factories and brick-yards, so was he known in the oil-fields. All gates opened to him. Every grimy workman found time to stop and have a word with him. The governor of Ohio could not have commanded the interest, to say nothing of the friendliness, accorded to the boy baseball player. It was not long before Chase appreciated his usefulness to Meggs & Co. He had a pleasant word for every worker. “Hello! I’m out looking over the oil-field. Say! That’s interesting work of yours. Tell me about it.”
Then a grimy face would break into a smile. “Howdy, Chase. I were just thinkin’ about the team. Close race, ain’t it? But we’ll put it all over Columbus next week. I’ll be there Saturday an’ hope you knock the socks off one. Work, this’s rotten work I’m on here. Don’t need to be done at all.” And the baseball fan would tell the baseball player details of work that a superintendent could not have dragged from him. Every engineer and prospector and driller cared to rest and talk to Chase. The boy was bright and pleasant; but the magic halo of a ball-player’s fame was the secret of his reception. So it was that he learned things, and surprised the senior member, and won an approving word from the judge.
Chase did not visit the same part of the oil-fields twice. The wide belt extended a hundred miles toward Lima and beyond; it would have required months to go over it all. One morning he went out to see a new well, called “The Geyser,” just struck, and reported to be the biggest well in the fields. He found a scene of great excitement. Embankments had been thrown up three feet all around the well to catch the jet of oil.
There was a lake of oil three feet deep; in some places it broke over the embankment. With more than his usual luck he met an Irishman who had come to him during one of the games and tried to give him part of a wager he had won on Findlay.
“Hello, Pat. Somebody’s struck a dandy, eh?”
“Sure it’s the ould man hisself. Coom ’round, let me show you. He blowed the bloomin’ derrick a mile, but we got him under control now.”
“Who are the owners?”
“Dean & Pitman Co.,” replied Pat.
Chase pricked up his ears. He knew that this Dean was Marjory’s father. He had learned the firm was in a bad financial strait, having repeatedly backed unproductive ventures. When he saw the lake of oil he had a warm glow of pleasure; he was glad for Marjory’s sake.
“What’s the flow? Must be a regular river.”
“Flow? He’ll flow a hundred thousand barrels a day fer a while, an’ thet without a pump.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Chase.
“It’s to bad, to bad! Sich a grand well!” said Pat. “But he’ll niver last.”
“Why not?”
Pat winked mysteriously, but offered no explanation. Chase left him and talked with the other men. He found that the land on which the well had been struck belonged to Findlay farmers, and a lease of it had been sought by one of the greatest oil companies in the world. Chase’s next move was to find out from the farmers thereabouts if there was any unleased land adjoining. There was one plot of ground, hilly, rocky, unpractical for boring, that stood close to the field of “The Geyser,” and which had just been leased by a large company.
Chase strolled over the field and to his great surprise was ordered off. Then a man evidently in authority recognized Chase and countermanded the order, giving as excuse some trifling remark about thieves. Chase did not believe the man. He sauntered ’round, as if he were killing time, talked baseball with the men, and remained only a short while.
But once out of sight he started to run, and he never stopped till he reached the trolley-line. He boarded a car, rode into town, leaped off, and again began running. At the office of Dean & Pitman a boy said Mr. Pitman was out of town and Mr. Dean at lunch. Then Chase once again took to his heels.
Breathlessly he dashed upon the porch and knocked on the door of the Dean house. Marjory opened it and uttered a cry at sight of Chase. “Where’s—your—father?” he demanded.
Marjory turned white and began to tremble. The blue eyes widened. “P-papa—is—is a
t lunch. Oh—Chase!”
“Tell him I want to see him quick—quick!” His sharp voice rang clearly through the house. A chair scraped and hurried steps preceded the appearance of Mr. Dean, a little weather-beaten man, of mild aspect.
“What’s this?”
“Mr. Dean, I’ve been out to the oilwell. The field next to yours has been leased by the Monarch Co. They are drilling day and night, and they know they can’t strike oil there. It’s a plot to ruin ‘The Geyser.’ They’ll sink a thousand pounds of dynamite, explode it, and forever ruin your well. Come on. You haven’t much time. They’re nearly ready. I saw everything. It’s a cold fact. But you can hold them up. We’ll get Wilson, the expert, and an officer, and stop the work. Come on! Come on!”
CHAPTER XV
THE GREAT GAME
On the third day of the last series between Columbus and Findlay, the percentage of games won favored the former team by several points. If Columbus won the deciding game, which was the last on their schedule, they would win the pennant. If Findlay won, the percentage would go to a tie; but having three more games with the tail-end Mansfield team they were practically sure of capturing the flag.
The excitement in and about Findlay was intense. Stores and shops and fields closed before noon that Saturday. The pride of Findlay rose in arms. Class was forgotten in loyalty to the common cause.
The Pastime Ball Park opened at one o’clock and closed at two-thirty packed to its utmost capacity. Hundreds of people were left clamoring outside. The grandstand made a brave picture.
Quality was out in force today. The mass of white and blue of the ladies, and their bright moving fans and soft murmuring laughter lent the scene that last charm which made it softly gay. Out on the bleachers and in the roped off side-lines was a dense, hilarious, coatless, and vestless mob. Peanuts flew like hail in a storm. From one end of the grounds to the other passed a long ripple of unrestrained happiness. The sky shone blue, the field gleamed green, the hour of play was at hand. The practice of both teams received more applause than average games; and the batting order, at last posted on the huge black-board, elicited an extra roar.
FINDLAY
Winters..................3B
Thatcher................CF
Chase....................SS
Havil....................LF
Benny....................2B
Ford.......................1B
Speer...................... RF
Hicks.....................C
Castorious.............P
COLUMBUS
Welch.....................LF
Kelly.....................SS
Horn.....................C
Wilson..................3B
Harvey.................CF
O’Rourke...............RF
Starke....................2B
Hains....................1B
Ward...................P
Umpire, O’Connor.
Mac threw up his hands when he saw the name of the umpire. The truth of the matter was that Mac was in a highly nervous state. Managing a ball-team was only one point less trying than governing an army in the field. The long campaign had worn Mac out. “Silk!” he exclaimed. “I wired the president to send any umpire but Silk. He’s after us!”
Then Cas put on Algy’s coat of white and blue and sent him out. Algy knew his business. As the gong called the Columbus players in from practice, Algy pranced ’round the diamond. When he reached the plate Cas, who had stepped from the bench, called sharply to him. Algy promptly stood up on his hind legs.
“That’s for Findlay!” yelled Cas to the stands.
Then Algy made a ludicrous but valiant effort to stand on his head.
“That’s for Columbus!” yelled Cas. The long laughing roar of the delighted crowd attested to the popular regard for the great pitcher and his dog.
“What’ll we take, the field or bat?” asked Mac, beginning to fidget. “Hev you lost your nut?” inquired Enoch, softly. “Bat! The bat! Now, fellers, git in the game. We’re all on edge. Ward has always been hard for us to beat, but if we can once git him started, it’s all off.”
“Chase, come here,” said Mac; then he whispered, “I can’t keep it. Burke, the Detroit manager, is up in the stand. For Lord’s sake, break loose today. Mannin’ sez to me just a minute ago thet if you git two hits in this game your average’ll go over 400. I oughtn’t to tell you, but I can’t help it.”
“I’m glad you did,” replied Chase, with his fingers clenching into his bat.
“Ward’s got steam today,” growled Mittie-Maru. “You guys want ’er perk up!”
“Play ball!” called Silk. The crowd shouted one quick welcoming cry and then subsided into watchful waiting suspense.
Enoch hit a fly to Kelly, and Thatcher went out, Wilson to Hains. Chase sent a slow grounder towards short. Wilson fielded the ball as quickly as possible and made a good throw, but Chase, running like a deer, beat the ball to first. The eager crowd opened up. Havil, however, fell a victim to Ward’s curves.
For Columbus, Welch hit safely, Kelly sacrificed, sending the fleet left-fielder to second. On the next play, he stole third, and then scored on Horn’s long fly to Havil. Wilson fouled out. Findlay 0, Columbus 1.
Mac began to fidget worse than ever and greeted Cas with a long face. “Wot’s the matter with you? Ball doesn’t seem to hev any speed.”
Cas deigned not to notice the little manager.
When Benny got a base on balls, Mac nudged the player next to him and brightened up. “Bunt, Ford,” he said, and when Ford laid down a neat sacrifice Mac nudged the player on the other side. “Thet’s good; thet’s good!” Speer hit safely, scoring Benny. Thereupon Mac jammed his elbow into Enoch’s ribs and bubbled over.
“Makin’ sausage agin? inquired the genial captain, with soft sarcasm. All the players had sore ribs from these jabs of Mac’s elbows. He had the most singular way, when the team was winning, of slipping from one end of the bench to the other, jabbing his appreciation of good plays into the anatomy of his long-suffering team. Cas never sat on the bench and Enoch, always forgetful, usually came in for most of the jabs.
Hicks made a good bid for a hit, but, being slow, could not get to first ahead of the ball. Speer went to third. Cas got a double along the left foul line, Enoch walked on balls, and Thatcher’s hit scored Cas. The Columbus second-baseman caught Enoch trying to get a lead off second. Findlay 3, Columbus 1.
All the while the crowd roared, and all the while Mac on the bench was going through his peculiar evolutions. “A bingo! Good!”—jab and jab—“Will you look at thet?”—jab and jab—“Keep after ’em!”—jab and jab—“Oh! Oh! Run, you Indian, run.”—jab, jab, jab.
Neither team scored in the third; Findlay failed again in the fourth, but Columbus tied the score. The game began to get warm.
With one man out, Chase opened the fifth with a hard hit to right. He believed he could stretch it into a double and strained every nerve. He saw the second-baseman brace himself, and without slackening his speed he leaped feet first into the air. He struck the ground and shot through the dust to the base. Just an instant after he felt the baseman tag him sharply with the ball. Lying there, Chase looked for the umpire. Silk came racing down, swept his right hand toward the side-lines and said, “You made a grand slide—but you’re out!”
It seemed then that Chase’s every vein burst with the mad riot of hot blood. He sprang to his feet.
“Out? Out? Why, he never touched me till after I hit the bag.”
“Don’t show off before Burke,” called Silk. “You’re out! Perambulate!” Chase stamped in his fury, but the mention of Burke cooled him. As he walked off, the whole Findlay team, led by Mac, made for the umpire with angry eyes.
“Go back! Go back!” yelled Silk. “To the bench! I’m running this game. To the bench or I’ll flash my watch!”
The uproar in the stands and bleachers gave place to an uproar back of
centre-field. A portion of fence suddenly crashed forward, and through the gap poured a black stream of yelling boys and men.
That one bad decision had served to upset Mac’s equilibrium, and he was now raging. Enoch reasoned with him, Cas swore at him, some of the other players gave him sharp answers. Mac was plainly not himself. He showed it in that inning when he discarded the usual signs and told the team to go ahead on its own hook. Havil and Benny failed to get on base, and once more the Columbus team trotted in to bat.
Then the unexpected, the terrible, happened. By sharp hitting Columbus scored five runs. Cas labored in the box, but he could not stem the torrent of base hits. A fast double play by Chase and Benny and a good catch by Havil retired the side. Findlay 3, Columbus 8.
A profound gloom settled over the field. The bleachers groaned and a murmur ran through the grandstand. Cas walked up to the bench and confronted Mac.
“I’m done,” said the great pitcher, simply. “My speed’s gone. I strained my arm the last game. You’d better put Poke in. He’s left-handed, and his speed will likely fool Columbus after my floaters. But say, I won’t go out till I get a chance to get after Silk. He needs a little jacking up. He wouldn’t give me the corners. I’ll make him sick. And, fellows, don’t quit.”
“Oh! We’re licked! We’re licked!” cried Mac. Anyone who saw his face would have known how hard he had worked and what the pennant meant to him. But his players evidently were not of the same mind. They were mostly silent with knitted brows and compressed lips. Mittie-Maru never wavered in his crisp, curt encouragement.
“Wot t’ ’ell! Wot do we care fer five runs? A couple of bingoes an’ Ward’s in the air. We kin win with two out in the ninth, an’ here we got enough time left to win two games. Stick at ’em! Don’t quit! Keep the yellow down! We’ll put this game on ice, all right, all right!”
