Joe found himself the center of a joyous crowd when he reached his own bench. All were jubilant that they had escaped the humiliation of being whipped by a minor league team. "You've brought home the bacon, Joe!" chortled McRae. "We all did," replied Joe. "But we almost dropped it on the way!" he added, with a grin. CHAPTER XII A DASTARDLY ATTACK The tourists' train was scheduled to leave Denver at eleven-thirty that night, so that there was ample time after the game for a leisurely meal and a few hours for recreation for any of the party that felt so inclined. Some went to the theater, others played cards, while others sat about the lobby of the leading hotel and discussed the exciting events of the afternoon's game. As for Joe and Jim, their recreation took the form of long letters to two charming young ladies whose address, by coincidence, happened to be Riverside. Both seemed to have much to write about, for it was nearly ten o'clock before the bulky letters were ready for mailing. "Give them to me and I'll take them down to the hotel lobby and mail them," said Jim, as they rose from the writing table. "I don't know," replied Joe, as he looked at his watch. "Perhaps the last collection for the outgoing eastbound mail has already been made. What do you say to going down to the post-office itself and dropping them in there? Then they'll be sure to go." "All right," Jim acquiesced. "It's a dandy night anyway for a walk and I'd like to stretch my legs a little. Come along." They went out into the brilliantly lighted streets, which at that hour were still full of people, and turned toward the post-office which was about half a mile distant. As they were passing a corner, Jim suddenly clutched Joe's arm. "Did you see that fellow who went into that saloon just now?" he asked, indicating a rather pretentious café. "No," said Joe, dryly. "But it isn't such an unusual thing that I'd pay a nickel to see it." "Quit your fooling," said Jim. "If that fellow wasn't Bugs Hartley, then my eyes are going back on me." "You're dreaming," Joe retorted. "What in the world would Bugs be doing in Denver?" "Panhandling, maybe," returned Jim. "Drinking, certainly. But it isn't what he's doing that interests me. It's the fact that he's here." "Let's take a look," suggested Joe, impressed by his friend's earnestness. They went up to the swinging door, pushed it open and looked in. There were perhaps a dozen men in the place, but Hartley was not among them. "Barking up the wrong tree, Jim," chaffed Joe. "Maybe," agreed Jim a little perplexed, "but if it wasn't Bugs it was his double." They reached the post-office and after mailing their letters turned back towards the hotel. "It's taken us a little longer than I thought," remarked Jim, looking at his watch. "We won't have any more than time to get our traps together and get down to the train."