Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant Part 18

"Do you think he's trying to throw games? He's been pitching funny ball lately," asked Kennedy. "I've had to fight him in every game to get him to pitch fast."

"What I think and what I can prove are different things," growled the shortstop. "I've got my suspicions. Now we're after proof. Come on.

If he was to meet anyone there the one he was to meet is in ahead of him."

The players walked to the corner, crossed the street and went into the saloon without an effort at concealment. The place appeared empty, save for a bartender who was was.h.i.+ng gla.s.ses behind the bar, and a heavy, coa.r.s.e-featured man lounging near the end of the bar with a half-consumed high ball before him.

"Gimme a beer," ordered Swanson, throwing a coin onto the bar; "what you have, Ben?"

"Make it two," replied Kennedy.

There was no sign of Williams, and only a narrow doorway, leading somewhere toward the rear, gave a clue as to his probable egress from the barroom.

The bartender, having rung up the amount of the sale on the cash register, exchanged a few words in a low tone with the man at the end.

Then he strolled back and stood near where Swanson and Kennedy were wasting time over their drinks.

"We were expecting to meet a friend here to-night," remarked Swanson, deciding to take a new tack with the bartender. "Rather tall, slender young fellow. Has anyone been in?"

"Young fellow came in a while ago something like that," replied the bartender. "Seemed to be expecting someone, but turned around and went out. Maybe that was him."

They knew he was lying, and Swanson, without changing expression, said:

"Must have thought he was in the wrong place, or too early. Maybe he'll come back. We'll stick around awhile."

Had they known what was transpiring in the private room just beyond the doorway their interest would have been greater. The big man who had stood at the end of the bar had gone at the first opportunity and was reporting to Easy Ed Edwards, who grew venomous with hate, while Williams sat shaking with fright.

"I knew they'd get on. If they report to Clancy I'm done for," he said.

"Shut up," ordered the gambler angrily. "They haven't seen you and they don't know I'm here. Who are they, Jack?"

"I don't know dem," said the ex-fighter. "Dey's a big, husky lookin'

guy, a Dutchman, I guess, wid a blue suit"----

"It's Swanson," said Williams. "He's been looking at me as if he knew something for two or three days. He has followed me here."

"De oder one is a smaller, wiry sort o' guy. Got on a light suit"----

"It must be McCarthy," whined Williams. "He's always with Swanson.

They're looking for me. I wish I had kept out of this."

"Listen," ordered Edwards coldly. "This fellow McCarthy is the one we want. If we can get him out of the way it'll be easy and I can get even with that big, fat lobster, Baldwin, for trying to double cross me. Jack, you go out there and get in a mix-up with them and take a poke at the little fellow that'll keep him from playing ball for a week. Is the bartender a friend of yours?"

"One of me best pals," replied the ex-fighter. "Leaf it to me. I'll land de punch dat'll fix dat fresh, young guy."

The fighter strolled back to the barroom and resumed his stand at the end of the bar, eyeing the two ball players. As he tapped the bar the bartender walked to him.

"I'm goin' to start somethin'," said Jack in a low tone. "Ed wants me to punch de head offen dat youngest one."

"That big guy looks hard to handle," commented the bartender. "Make it quick. I don't like no rough house here. The license ain't any too safe now."

"I'm going back to see what's there," whispered Kennedy to Swanson.

"You stick here. I'll bluff it through."

He walked toward the door leading back from the bar and started to pa.s.s through it.

"Here, young feller," said the bartender, "where you goin'?"

"Washroom," replied Kennedy, keeping on through the door.

"Naw you don't. Come back outen there," ordered the fighter angrily.

"Who appointed you boss?" asked Kennedy belligerently.

"Well, I'm boss anywhere I goes," declared the big fellow. "Youse stay outen there. D'ye hear?"

He grabbed the ball player by the arm--and at that instant Kennedy swung. His fist caught the bruiser squarely on the mouth and he reeled back, then, with a bellow of rage, he sprang at Kennedy.

With a roar of anger Swanson hurled himself into the fray. Kennedy's fist had caught the ex-fighter and cut his cheek open and blood spurted upon both as they fought, the frail part.i.tion swaying under their weight. Swanson leaped with his arm drawn for a knock-out blow, just as Jack's right caught Kennedy upon the jaw and dropped him to the floor helpless. The blow the Swede had aimed at the fighter hit him upon the shoulder and slid over his head, and Jack, whirling, faced his new adversary. Swanson sprang to close quarters with the giant and his fist thudded home. Jack, groggy and already half spent from his exertions, clinched and hung on. The Swede, now a man gone mad with the l.u.s.t of battle, shook him off, hurled the giant backward against the part.i.tion, and, crouching, he prepared to swing his right, waiting for the opening to the jaw, while Jack, groggy and half dazed, covered his head with his arms and swayed. The blow never landed. Suddenly it seemed to Swanson as if the worlds were cras.h.i.+ng around his head.

Bright stars danced before his eyes, his knees gave way beneath him, and with a foolish laugh he sank to the floor and rolled, helpless, beside his fallen comrade. His last recollection was of hearing a telephone bell jangling somewhere.

The ringing of the telephone bell that Swanson heard as he lapsed into unconsciousness was the call of Barney Baldwin for Ed Edwards. The gambler, who, with his frightened companion, had heard the sounds of the terrific struggle in the barroom sink into silence, spoke rapidly for an instant, then, as Baldwin said: "They've got the wrong man," he hung up the receiver with an oath and leaped toward the doorway. He emerged upon a tableau showing his slugger, half dazed and hanging to the part.i.tion for support, two figures inert upon the floor and the bartender coolly walking back toward the bar, carrying a heavy bung-starter in his hand, that explained the sudden ending of the fight.

CHAPTER XVIII

_Two Missing Men_

The disappearance of Silent Swanson and Ben Kennedy brought consternation to the ranks of the Bears, consternation that increased as the hour for starting the first game of the series against the Jackrabbits drew near. McCarthy, returning to the rooms after his surprising interview with Helen Baldwin, was determined to tell his chum all that had taken place and to explain as well as was possible the position in which he found himself. He planned to urge Swanson to go with him to Clancy, and for that reason he postponed taking the manager into his confidence.

He hastened downstairs to breakfast, half expecting to find his chum waiting for him in the dining room with an account of the night's events. He finished breakfast in a troubled state of mind, and, after wandering around the lobby for nearly an hour in the vain hope that Swanson would appear, he encountered Noisy Norton, who appeared disturbed and distressed.

"Say," said Norton, "seen Kennedy?"

"No--seen Swanson?"

"They went out together," said Norton, with an unusual burst of conversation.

"Didn't Kennedy come home either?" asked McCarthy in fresh alarm.

"No."

They sat silent for some time, then Noisy said:

"Something wrong."

"What'll we do?" asked McCarthy anxiously.