Locke opened the sixth by fanning Trollop, Grady, and Mace, one after another; and then, in the final half, he came first to bat for Kingsbridge. “Get back off the pan, you peanut-headed sample of nature’s carelessness,” rasped Hoover, ready to pitch. “Get back, or I’ll take a rib outer yer!” “I’m in my box,” returned Locke calmly. “Pitch the ball, sorehead.” With a murderous expression, Hoover scorched one straight at his rival, and Tom barely escaped being hit by a most amazing, lightninglike dodge. This brought the Kingsbridge crowd up howling wrathfully, and Locke, recovering his position at the pan, cried loudly enough for Hoover to hear: “Try it again, old boy――try it again, and they’ll be coming after you with war clubs and scalping knives.” Captain Harney ran out and grabbed Hoover. “Keep your head, Jock――keep your head,” he begged. “He’s won the crowd. He’s got ’em with him. You’ll start a fight that’ll mean busted heads if you hit him on purpose.” Already two constables, wearing their badges displayed, were having their hands full to keep back a few hot-headed ones, who seemed eager to charge upon the diamond to reach Hoover. CHAPTER XII THE “SQUEEZE PLAY” In a town like Kingsbridge, such a movement meant a general stampede, followed by a riot, in which more than one participant would “get his.” Harney continued to talk to Hoover until the raging pitcher, the freckles on his face seeming to stand out like innumerable islands in a grayish sea, promised to behave. The umpire seemed practically helpless. Locke had waited quietly. He gripped his bat, and squared away as he saw Hoover making ready. The ball came over the outside corner with a shoot, and Tom met it. It was a beautiful, clean single into right field. The crowd was still roaring when Labelle rushed forth to the pan, signaling that he would attempt a sacrifice. Locke was on his toes, and ready, and he started as Hoover began his short delivery. True to his signaled promise, the Canadian dropped a bunt in front of the pan, thus easily giving the runner ahead of him second, although he himself was cut down in his last jump for first. With one out, a runner on second, and Captain Larry Stark ready to wield the willow, the local crowd whooped it up like crazy Indians at a ghost dance, believing Kingsbridge had its chance to score. It was plain that the new pitcher, besides being fast on his feet and ready to take chances, had the faculty of leaping away almost at top speed with his first stride or two, and a long, clean single might enable him to score from second.