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I gripped my seat strangling the uproar within me. Where was the applause? The fans were silent, choked as I was, but from a different cause. Cless crossed the plate with the score that defeated New York; still the tension never laxed until Burt beat the ball home in as beautiful a run as ever thrilled an audience.
"Watch me do this," said he; "you'll hev trouble if you don't git the hang of the diamondhitch." "What's the mustang's name?" I inquired. "Never had any," replied the former owner. "Then it's Hal." I thought how that name would please my brother at home. "Climb up. Let's see if you fit the stirrups," said Cless. "Couldn't be better."
Evidently I must pack and find the trail. The pony had wandered off into the woods, but was easily caught a fact which lightened my worry, for I knew how dependent I was upon my mustangs. When I had tried for I do not know how long to get my pack to stay on the pony's back I saw where Mr. Cless had played a joke on me. All memory of the diamond-hitch had faded into utter confusion.
For an instant, approaching doom could not have been more dreaded. Magoon scored. Cless was rounding second when the ball lit. If Burt was running swiftly when he turned first he had only got started, for then his long sprinter's stride lengthened and quickened. At second he was flying; beyond second he seemed to merge into a gray flitting shadow.
When he had been curried and brushed he would be a little beauty. I was trying to coax him to me when Buell returned with a man. "Thet your pick?" he asked, as I pointed. "Well, now, you're not so much of a tenderfoot. Thet's the best mustang in the lot. Cless, how much for him, an' a pack-pony an' pack-saddle?" "I reckon twenty dollars'll make it square," replied the owner.
"You see, it's a smart lick of a ride to Penetier, and I want to get there before dark," he explained, kindly. I could have shouted for very glee when I saw the black mustang saddled and bridled. "He's well broke," said Cless. "Keep his bridle down when you ain't in the saddle. An' find a patch of grass fer him at night. The pony'll stick to him." Cless fell to packing a lean pack-pony.
On the way he talked so fast and said so much that I was bewildered before we got there. The office was full of men, and Cless shouted to them. There was the sound of a chair scraping hard on the floor, then I felt myself clasped by brawny arms. After that all was rather hazy in my mind.
Then I started the pony toward Holston. He was tired and I was ready to drop, and those last few miles were long. We reached the outskirts of the town perhaps a couple of hours before sundown. A bank of clouds had spread out of the west and threatened rain. The first person I met was Cless, and he put the pony in his corral and hurried me round to the hotel.
Magoon, the slugger of the Phillies, slugged one against the left field bleachers, but, being heavy and slow, he could not get beyond second base. Cless swung with all his might at the first pitched ball, and instead of hitting it a mile as he had tried, he scratched a mean, slow, teasing grounder down the third base line. It was as safe as if it had been shot out of a cannon.
This nearly made me drop with amazement. I had only about seventy-five dollars left, and I had been very much afraid that I could not buy the mustang, let alone the pack-pony and saddle. "Cless, send round to Smith for the lad's outfit, an' saddle up for him at once." Then he turned to me. "Now some grub, an' a pan or two." Having camped before, I knew how to buy supplies.
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