“Suppose some of his brothers or friends come with him?” Swain wanted to know. “Oh, well, we can get away with Bill before they realize what’s up. You fellows want everything too easy.” When, on the night before the game with Tuckerton, Bill Smith received a note, asking him to call at a certain hotel in the village, there to talk over baseball matters, the pitcher showed the missive to his brothers. “Looks sort of fishy,” decided Cap. “What name is signed to it?” inquired Pete. “Just says ‘Baseball Crank,’” was the reply. “I think it’s a joke.” “Are you going?” asked Whistle-Breeches. “Might as well. But I’m going to go easy, and take a look around before I go inside. Maybe I can turn the tables.” “Tell you what we’ll do,” broke in Cap. “What?” “We’ll all go with Bill. Then, if there’s any trouble we can help him. Maybe North or Mersfeld put up this game.” “That’s right,” agreed Bill. “I’ll be glad if you fellows will come along, though it may be straight after all.” So, after obtaining from the proctor permission to go to the village on condition that they would be back before locking-up time, the three Smith brothers, and Whistle-Breeches sallied forth. They never suspected there might be a joke perpetrated on them while on their way, rather expecting some game in the village, and so proceeded along the highway in careless ease, singing and joking. As they reached a lonely stretch of woods, just below getting into the village, three figures sprang out from the underbrush. Over their faces were strips of cloth, and at the first sight of the trio our friends drew back in some alarm, feeling they had met with a gang of highwaymen. “That’s the one—in the centre!” called a hoarse voice, and a grab was made for Bill. Before his brothers or Whistle-Breeches could rally to his aid he was borne off, struggling and kicking against his unknown captors. “Into the car with him—quick!” was the whispered order, and, ere the three lads left standing in the road had recovered from their astonishment, there sounded the chug-chug of an automobile, and Bill was whisked away. “Well, wouldn’t that get your goat!” gasped Cap, as he stood looking at the fast-disappearing red tail lamp of the machine. “They’ve got Bill!” “Come on after ’em!” yelled Pete, starting down the highway on a run. “We’ve got to rescue him!” CHAPTER XXV TO THE RESCUE “Here! Come back!” cried Cap. “What for?” demanded Pete, pausing in the darkness, and gazing first toward the disappearing red light and then toward where his brother stood. “You can’t catch an auto, no matter if you are a good base runner,” replied the older Smith lad. “Come here.” “That’s right, I guess there isn’t much use running,” admitted Pete dubiously, as he slowly returned. “But they’ve got Bill, and we ought to help him. Maybe they’ll hold him for a ransom.”