Lifting his hand in token that time was called, Moulton turned to the angered player and said, “I don’t want to make any trouble. If you don’t know any better――――” “I know what I’m talkin’ about!” interrupted the Bensonite. “I’m telling you I wa’n’t out on first.” “I called you out.” “I know ye did, but that doesn’t make it so, does it?” “Yes. Now leave the field and take your seat.” The silence among the spectators was tense as the eyes of everyone were turned toward the two boys. “That’s Jim Fuller,” said the farmer boy who, still holding his pitchfork in his hand, was standing beside Silas near third base. “He’s the best wrestler in Benson. That umpire doesn’t want t’ rile him.” “Don’t ye worry none ’bout th’ umpire,” retorted Silas promptly. “I rather guess he c’n give an’ ’count o’ himself if he has to.” Both became silent a moment as the protesting Benson player looking angrily at Moulton, finally said: “You’re a robber, but I’m goin’ t’ let ye have your way this time. But if ye call me out again when I hain’t out――why, jes’ look out for yerself. That’s all I’ve got t’ say t’ ye.” As the Benson player turned to seek the place where the fellow-members of his nine were seated, a derisive shout from the Rodman supporters greeted him and he instantly turned and faced the noisy crowd as he shook his fist at them. The game was resumed as Moulton quietly tossed the ball to Dan. Whether it was due to the excitement or because he was not keenly watching the batter Walter did not know, but the third batter rapped a ball feebly toward the short-stop and as Walter seized it and threw it high above the head of the first-baseman the runner gained second and then started toward third. “Get that ball! Don’t let th’ feller get third! I don’t want t’ give up a new saddle!” roared Silas. Walter heard the shouts of Silas above the wild yells of the dancing Bensonites, who were leaping and slapping their thighs and emitting wild shouts in their excitement. The first-baseman now had recovered the ball and threw it fiercely to overtake the runner. In his eagerness Walter leaped and caught the ball, which had been thrown high, and as he came down he fell directly upon the runner and both lay sprawling upon the ground. Wriggling from the place, the Benson player crawled over the intervening yard and lay with his outstretched hand grasping the third base. “Never touched me!” he shouted triumphantly. “He’s out,” said Moulton quietly. The player, however, doggedly seated himself upon the base and refused to move. “Get off the field!” shouted Walter angrily. “Don’t you know how to play ball?” “You’re the whole thing, are you?” tauntingly called the Benson player, who was calmly seated. “Maybe you’ve come up into the country to show us greenhorns how the game is played.” “I know enough not to dispute the umpire,” retorted Walter, his face flushing with anger.