Tony stared. “I — I don’t know!”
“Look at his mouth!”
Froth was at the corners of the dog’s open jaws.
“He doesn’t look good to me,” said Tony huskily. “But how do you know he’s mad? Ever see a mad dog before?”
“No. I — I just feel it!”
“Me, too.”
Bobby’s heart hammered. He didn’t dare move. He knew that Tony was trembling beside him, too.
“I think we’re in his way,” said Tony. “He wants to get above the waterfall.”
The dog took a step toward them. His lips curled up a little more. Another growl broke from his throat.
The boys stepped back. But they were definitely in the dog’s way. They could not go either side. The water prevented them on their left. The high, rocky wall stopped them on their right.
Bobby felt sweat stream down his face.
“What are we going to do, Tony?”
8
TONY didn’t answer immediately. He was listening to something. A moment later he said, “Bobby! Somebody’s coming!”
A man came into view around a bend a short way down the creek. Other men were behind him. Two of them held large nets at the end of poles. A third man held a shotgun.
“Now I’m sure it’s the mad dog!” cried Bobby. “Those men are looking for him!”
The dog’s head lowered. He took another step forward.
Bobby backed up against Tony. “I think he’s going to charge, Tony!”
They backed against the wall.
The men saw them. They saw the dog, too, and started forward slightly faster.
“Don’t move, boys,” one of the men said. “That dog is mad.”
As if we didn’t know, thought Bobby.
But what could the men do? That dog had run away from them before. It would run again. The man with the shotgun would not dare shoot. Not with Bobby and Tony in front of him.
Bobby held his breath. There wasn’t much space between them and the water. The dog could run past them easily enough. But maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe, being mad, it would attack them. Bobby shivered as he thought about it.
The men were walking slower, now. They advanced closer and closer. They wore high-topped shoes which were good for walking on rocks like these.
Suddenly, the dog’s ears perked up. He looked behind him.
Bobby’s heart skipped a beat. What would the dog do now?
Quickly, the dog turned his head back toward the boys.
“Here, Rex!” said the nearest man softly. “Here, Rex! Come here, boy!”
Just then Tony moved from Bobby’s side — and stood directly in the path of the dog!
“Tony!” Bobby shrilled. “Get back here!”
“Sh!” said Tony. He remained still, looking straight at the dog. His lips were pressed into a thin line. You could tell he was scared, but he stood there just the same.
He’s crazy! thought Bobby. He shouldn’t do that!
“Here, Rex, boy,” the man said again. He was three or four feet away from the dog, now. “Come here, boy.”
The dog looked around again. Then he looked at Tony. He seemed confused. He stopped growling.
“Here, Rex. Easy, boy. Just take it easy, now.”
The man took another step forward. He whipped the net over the dog’s head. The dog yipped in anger. He fell back on his rear legs and tried hard to free himself. The other man dropped his net and rushed forward. He grabbed hold of the dog’s collar. The dog kicked hard, but the grip on his collar was too much for him. The net was taken off and a muzzle put over his face.
Bobby took a deep breath and let it out. Boy! What a close call that was!
The men looked at the boys and grinned. The man who held the dog said, “Thanks, boys, for helping us catch my dog. Rex got bit by a rabid fox while I was out hunting with him. I got the fox all right, but Rex got rabies from the bite.”
Bobby shook his head. “Boy! He sure gave us a scare!”
The man chuckled. “He gave us a scare, too. A mad dog might do anything, you know.” Then he looked at Tony with pride. “You were mighty brave to get in the path of Rex like that, kid. You were taking a chance doing that.”
“I guess I was,” said Tony quietly. “But if he came after me, I was ready to jump aside.”
Bobby grinned at him. Nobody would have done what Tony had done. That took a lot of nerve. Except, maybe, Kirby. Kirby had a lot of nerve, too.
“What are your names, boys?” the man asked.
“I’m Tony Mandos and this is Bobby Jamison,” said Tony.
The man opened his mouth in surprise. “Well, what do you know? I know your dads.”
“You do?” Bobby’s brows shot up.
“Sure do. I’m Ben Watkins. Tell them I said hello. So long, boys. We have to be going. And thanks again for your help.”
The men walked down the creek, then climbed the bank to the road.
Bobby sighed with relief. He felt tired from the excitement of coming face to face with the mad dog. “Want to go back, Tony? I think I’d better get home.”
“Okay.”
They returned to Tony’s house. Terry dashed around a corner, his ears perked up and his short tail whipping back and forth. He nipped playfully at Bobby’s pant legs.
“Hey, cut that out!” said Bobby. “Come on. We’re going home.”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Tony. “My mitt’s gone.”
Bobby stared. “Isn’t it on the porch?”
Tony searched the porch carefully. “I don’t see it.”
Bobby turned a suspicious look at Terry. Terry stood with his front legs spread apart, his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth and his tail snapping back and forth like a short whip. If Terry was guilty of taking the glove, he certainly did not show it. But, who except Terry could have taken it?
Bobby helped Tony look for the mitt. They searched around the house and all around the yard. They could not find it.
A car turned into the driveway. Tony’s parents were home.
Bobby’s heart ached. Only a little while ago he had wanted to take Tony’s glove and hide it somewhere so that Tony could not use it in a ball game. Now, he wanted to find it more than anything. He had learned to like Tony a lot in the last hour or so. Tony was very different than Bobby had expected him to be. He was better than just all right. He was — well, he was pretty wonderful.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” Bobby said seriously. “If you can’t find it, I’ll be back tomorrow and help you look for it.”
Tony pressed his lips tightly together. He said, “We play the Mustangs tomorrow. If I don’t find my glove, I’ll have to borrow one from somebody.”
Bobby thought a moment. “If you were only a lefty, then you could use Kirby’s. I’ll help you borrow one, Tony, but first let’s look some more tomorrow.”
Bobby scolded Terry on the way home. Terry must have understood; his ears drooped, and he wagged his tail very slowly.
Bobby told Kirby and Ann about the mad dog. Then he told them about Tony’s missing mitt. They searched for it the next morning. They covered the ground thoroughly around Tony’s house. But, no mitt.
It was almost noon when the three of them — Kirby, Ann, and Bobby — returned home. Bobby was very sad. He felt as though he was responsible for Tony’s missing mitt.
Kirby started at first base for the Redbirds that afternoon in the game against the Mustangs. He got on base once on an error. In the bottom of the third inning, Tony took Kirby’s place. The first baseman for the Mustangs let Tony use his glove.
Bobby hoped that no grounders would come down to him at short. He’d been thinking about Tony’s missing mitt. But with men on second and third a high, bouncing ball was hit down between short and third. Bobby ran to his right. He caught the ball. He took it in his bare hand and very carefully tried to throw a perfect peg to Tony.
He heaved it. The ball sailed high — and wide. Tony jumped off the base after
it. He still could not reach it. The ball hit the grass behind first and the runner went to second. The men on second and third scored.
The next man flied out to end the inning. The score was 6-3, with the Redbirds on the short end.
Bobby sat way at the end of the bench in the dugout. He felt pretty awful about that peg. Kirby came and sat down beside him. He looked strangely at Bobby.
“You didn’t throw that ball wild on purpose, did you, Bobby?” he asked quietly.
Bobby stared at him as if he had been hit with a rock. Then he looked at some of the others who were watching him. He saw by their faces that they were thinking the same thing!
“Of course not, Kirby!” he whispered huskily. “I — I could never do a thing like that!”
Coach Barrows stopped in front of Bobby and said, “I think you probably tighten up out there, Bobby. Loosen up! And don’t hurry your throw, unless you have to.”
9
BOBBY wished that Coach Barrows would take him out of the game and put someone else in. After what Kirby had said to him, and the way the other boys looked at him, he did not feel like playing any more. How could they ever think he would throw a wild peg to Tony Mandos on purpose? That was crazy!
He remembered that only yesterday he had wanted to take Tony’s glove and hide it. Thinking of that made him feel ashamed again. But he knew that if he had taken the mitt, he would not have kept it hidden very long. He would have returned it to Tony.
Dave Gessini, Mike Bliss, and Tony were up at bat in that order. Mike Bliss was a utility outfielder. He was a tall redhead with glasses. He was taking Jerry Echols’s place.
Dave pounded out a screaming single through second base. Then Mike got up and fouled the first two pitches. He tapped his bat against the plate a lot, and almost did not raise it in time for the third pitch.
“Ball!” said the umpire.
“He was lucky then,” said Kirby. He raised his voice and yelled at Mike, “Keep your bat up, Mike! Be ready!”
A chest-high pitch came in. Mike swung. Crack! The ball sizzled along the grass toward short. The Mustangs shortstop reached down. The ball struck the thumb of his glove and glanced away from him. He raced after it, but there would be no play.
Dave crossed second. He went past it a few steps, then returned to the bag and stood on it with both feet. Mike held up on first.
“Now’s our chance,” Kirby said. “Who’s up? Oh — Tony.”
Bobby saw him bite on his lower lip. He wondered what Kirby could be thinking. Was he hoping that Tony wouldn’t get a hit?
“Come on, Tony!” Kirby suddenly shouted. “Drive that apple out of the lot!”
Bobby didn’t know how to feel about Tony’s getting a hit. A hit would score a run or two, depending on how far the ball traveled. A hit would also help Tony have a better chance of being selected on the All-Star team. Yet, no matter how much Bobby liked Tony, he still wanted Kirby to be selected.
Crack! A long fly toward left field! The ball was going — going. It was GONE! It had sailed over the fence for a home run!
Horns blared. The Redbirds fans whistled and cheered. Tony’s long, powerful clout had tied the score.
Everybody in the dugout climbed out and shook Tony’s hand. Bobby felt funny inside. He didn’t know whether he was happy that Tony had knocked the homer or not. Sure, the score was tied now, 6-6. But Tony probably had made good his chances of being chosen on the All-Star team.
Cappie fouled out to the first baseman. Bobby, with two and two on him, lined a Texas leaguer to short. The shortstop speared it for the second out. Al Dakin wiggled at the plate, then blasted a beautiful double between left and center fields. He died on second when Toby Warren swung at a high pitch for his third strike, missing the ball by a foot.
The Mustangs pushed over a run in the bottom of the fourth to lead again. The Redbirds came to raps, eager to put on another rally. But the Mustangs held them.
In the sixth the Redbirds got a man as far as third. The Mustangs played great defensive ball, and held him there till the third out was called.
The Redbirds lost, 7-6.
“That’s all right, fellas,” said Mr. Barrows. “That was a great game. Nice sock, Tony. You really blasted that ball hard.”
Tony grinned shyly. “Thanks, Coach,” he said.
On the way home in Mr. Jamison’s car, Bobby said to Tony, “I’m sorry about that bad throw, Tony. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know you didn’t,” said Tony. “Forget it.”
“But everybody thought I did it on purpose,” said Bobby.
“On purpose?” Tony’s brows arched. “Why should you do it on purpose?”
Bobby met Tony’s eyes. He knew that Tony was sincere. He knew that, at least, Tony had never thought that Bobby had thrown the ball wild on purpose.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” answered Bobby.
But all the other boys thought he had a reason, he told himself. They believed he had done it to make Tony look poor on first base.
“I wish I could find my mitt, though,” said Tony worriedly. “I’m more used to it. It’s expensive, too. Dad paid about fifty dollars for it.”
“We’ll look for it after supper,” promised Kirby. “We’ll all come down and help again.”
Bobby looked at his tall, dark-haired brother. His face flashed a big, pleased smile.
After supper Bobby, Kirby, and Ann walked to Tony’s house. Terry went with them. He ran ahead of them all the way, his short tail snapping back and forth like a toy that was wound up too tight.
Tony came out of the house and they all started to look for his mitt.
“I bet it’s gone for good,” said Tony hopelessly. “I’ll never find it.”
“It’s Terry’s fault,” said Bobby. “He’s the one that carried it away.”
“Don’t blame Terry,” said Ann, in defense of the dog all three of them loved so dearly. “You brought him along with you.”
Bobby’s eyes lowered. Yes, that was true. It was his fault more than anyone else’s that Tony’s glove was missing.
Perhaps he should buy a new mitt for Tony. He could start selling magazines, or cut lawns to raise the money. Yes, that’s what he could do.
They searched underneath the porch, around Mrs. Mandos’s hollyhocks and rose-bushes, and in the garden. It was almost dark.
Suddenly Ann shouted, “Look! Look what Terry’s got!”
All the boys looked. There was Terry, trotting proudly from the direction of the road. And dangling from his mouth was Tony’s mitt!
“He must have had it hidden inside the culvert!” cried Tony happily. “Who’d ever think to look for it there!”
Kirby grinned as he took the mitt from Terry’s mouth. “All right, Terry. Nice work. But why didn’t you find it before?”
Ann’s face was bright with joy and relief. “I guess he just wanted us to sweat it out for a while.”
Bobby fell on his knees. He clutched the little terrier into his arms. He rubbed his face against the dog’s warm body. “You little mutt,” he said. “It’s a good thing you found that glove! You saved me a lot of hard work and money!”
10
DURING the next few days, before their upcoming game with the Seals, Bobby, Kirby, and some of the other members of the team practiced on the pasture field. Tony practiced with them. Bobby played his regular position at shortstop. Tony played first base when Kirby was batting.
Bobby, as usual, caught most of the grounders hit to him. Most of his pegs to first were pretty good. But on his wide or high throws, Tony often failed to catch them. Even his big-webbed mitt was not enough for him to snare those throws. His legs and arms just were not long enough. The throws had to be fairly close to him for him to make the catches.
But at the plate Tony was a slugger. Every time he batted he pounded the old apple a tremendous distance into the outfield.
Kirby was practically the opposite. He was tall. His arms and legs were rangy. He coul
d stretch far out and catch nearly all of Bobby’s wild pegs. But at the plate Kirby just could not swing the bat on the same line the ball came in on. He either swung over it or under it. Sometimes he met the ball squarely. When he did his face lit up like a Christmas candle. But the next time up he would strike out.
When the boys practiced on the pasture field again, Bobby didn’t go. He said he wanted to find some praying mantises to add to his collection. That wasn’t the real reason, though. He didn’t want to go because it hurt him to see Kirby swing at so many pitches at the plate and miss.
Bobby could hardly understand that. He had tried a long time to figure out why Kirby was such a poor hitter. Even choking up on the bat did not help him very much. It seems so easy to me, Bobby thought. I swing at the ball where I see it, and I hit it almost every time. Why can’t Kirby do that?
The sky was gray with scattered clouds on the day the Redbirds tangled with the Seals. Bobby pulled on his jersey and cap and got his glove from the clothes closet.
“What are you waiting for, Kirby?” he said. His brother was sitting in the living room, reading a book. “Mr. Gessini will be coming after us any minute.”
“I’m not going,” said Kirby, without glancing up from the book.
Bobby’s mouth fell open. “You’re not going?” His voice was almost a shrill cry. “Why not?”
“I quit,” said Kirby.
“You can’t quit!”
Kirby burst out of the chair with his book. He stomped heavily across the floor to his room. “Who said I can’t?” he said loudly, and slammed the door behind him.
Bobby’s mother entered the living room from the kitchen. She had a pen in her hand. She had been writing a letter to someone — maybe answering the letter she had received yesterday from her mother in Maryland.
She looked toward Kirby’s door, then turned wide, puzzled eyes at Bobby. “Did he say he has quit playing baseball?” she asked.
Bobby nodded. “That’s what he said.”
Long Stretch At First Base Page 4
