Mr. Phillips, the next batter, had one hit to his credit and, as Sam had discovered, liked a low ball. So Porter fed him high ones and got two strikes and one ball on his. Then came a foul and a second strike. Porter wasted one then and the score was two and two. Sam called for a fast one and Porter tried it. Unfortunately, Mr. Phillips outguessed him and when the ball came along he met it squarely for a long fly into left. Mr. Gifford was after it like a shot, but he had to run back a dozen yards and when he finally got his hand on it he failed to hold it. The best he could do was to recover quickly and throw to third in time to hold the second runner there. Walters scored and the game stood 4 to 1. With runners on second and third, things still looked dubious for The Wigwam, and Porter made them more so by utterly failing to locate the plate with the first three deliveries! Hanford, who was up, swung his bat and stepped back and forth in the box. Sam signalled a straight ball and got it for a strike. Hanford let it go past unchallenged, for he had two more chances and was waiting for the last one. Again Porter essayed a fast one in the groove, but this time he failed and Mr. York waved Hanford to first. The bases filled, Mount Placid cheered exultantly and the grey-shirted coachers danced and yelped; and the base-runners too did their level best to rattle the pitcher. Mr. Williams was at bat now and Sam had what he would have called a “hunch” to the effect that Mr. Williams was dangerous at this stage of affairs. While Porter sent the first delivery in, a curve that failed to win approval from Mr. York, Sam studied the runners on the bases. At third, Walters was taking a good lead on the wind-up, but hugging the bag safely at other times. On second Mr. Connell was watching the baseman carefully in spite of his seeming recklessness. At first, though, Hanford, feeling safe from attack, was leading a good twelve feet. Sam tossed the ball back to Porter. “Keep after him, George!” he called. Then he stooped, dropped his mitt between his knees, and gave the signal. But it was a closed fist that Porter saw, and that called for a throw-out. Porter walked to the side of the box, picked up an imaginary pebble and tossed it away. Then he tugged at his cap, wound up and sped the ball four feet wide of the batsman and straight into Sam’s waiting mitt. One step forward toward first, a quick throw, and the trick was won! Frantic shouts of warning from coachers, a desperate slide to the bag by Hanford, a scurry for the plate by Walters! But Murdock had been ready. At the instant the ball had settled in Sam’s mitt he had run toward the bag. The throw was perfect and Murdock caught it, fell to one knee and let Hanford slide into the ball as he tried for safety!