TIBERIUS SMITH
was very hard to stand there and watch him go it all alone.
"‘Can you keep it up?' I stammered.
"‘Hard work playing against nine men and the umpire,' he replied, cheerfully, sending in one that was so full of ginger as almost to cause the batter's eyes to pop out of his head.
"The sun was sinking now and Tib motioned to it and signed for a rest. But old Beetle Brows howled out a negative reply and significantly pointed to the bowmen. Then he gave them some order and they straightened up.
"‘Listen, Billy,' gasped Tib. 'When the night comes it will come all at once and in two seconds be as black as your immediate future. Be ready to cut down the grass to the river when I let him hit it.'
"‘They'll shoot the minute he hits,' I cried, in anguish.
"‘My dear boy, they are going to shoot anyway. He's crooked. He's tipped 'em off to turn me into a pin-cushion when the sun-rays say good-night. But it's one of the bombs, not the ball, I'm going to let him hit. So be ready to place yours where they'll do the most good. Are you on?'
"I said I was, and just as the sun dipped, Tib prepared to throw an easy straight. Our lives this time depended entirely on the batter's making a hit.
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