Swanson's eye was black and a strip of plaster extended from under his cap onto his forehead. His face was swollen and discolored and a bandage covered his head, showing under his cap. If he only could get on first base, McCarthy told himself, there was hope, and, as the ball sped toward him he poked out his bat, dropped another bunt toward third base, and, by a terrific burst of speed he beat it to first base, sending Lucas to third. "Swanson batting for Holleran. Swanson will play shortstop, McCarthy third base, Pardridge in left field." McCarthy had determined to steal second base, but the chance never presented. The first ball that came whizzing toward the plate Swanson hit. It went like a rocket far out to left center field. Two speedy outfielders glanced at the flying ball, then turned and sprinted for the outer barriers. The ball soared on and on, and with a crash struck against the sign over the left field seats and fell back into the throng in the bleachers, and while the crowd cheered and groaned three Bears trotted around the bases to the plate. Swanson, running slowly and painfully, crossed the plate, with the score that put the Bears in the lead. He did not stop. Straight toward the box where Edwards and Baldwin sat, he went. His face was terrible. They saw him coming, and Baldwin, apologetic with fear, half arose, as if to cry for help. The gambler, white but still keeping his nerve, shrank back a trifle, but held his seat. Swanson walked straight to them. For an instant he towered over them threateningly, then he said: "Good afternoon, gentlemen, I hope you're glad to see me." CHAPTER XIX _Swanson to the Rescue_ When Silent Swanson aroused himself from the effects of the blow on the head from the beer mallet in the hands of the treacherous bartender, he sat up feebly and found himself in semi-darkness. "Someone crowned me with a crowbar," he muttered to himself as his brain gradually began to work normally. "They must have kicked me after I went down." A faint groan from the heavy shadows near him startled him into a realization of what had happened. He felt around for a moment and his fingers touched the body of a man huddled against a wall. "It must be Ken--and he's hurt," he muttered, and crept toward his companion. Swanson worked over him, shaking and speaking to him and presently Kennedy stirred and sat up against the wall. "Where are we? What happened?" he inquired in a bewildered manner. "Search me," replied Swanson mournfully. "I was just getting ready to swing the haymaker on that big fellow when the house fell. I think someone beaned me from behind with a brick and then kicked us around. Ouch--my ribs feel stoved in." "I'm sore all over," moaned Kennedy. "That fellow didn't do it all by himself, did he?" "I have a dim recollection of hearing someone tell him to fix us right," replied Swanson. "I may have dreamed it."