“Yeah, but that was before I saw what a bunch of sissies these guys are. I think we won’t have any trouble with them.”
Smoke cut his horse over toward the field where the uniformed baseball players were throwing the ball around. Half-a-dozen kids were sitting on the top of a split-rail fence, watching the players.
“Who’s in charge here?” Smoke called when he rode up.
At Smoke’s call, one of the players threw a ball to another, put his glove in his back pocket, expectorated a wad of chewing tobacco, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then came over to talk to Smoke.
“I’m in charge here,” he said. “What do you need?”
“Is it true that you will give two hundred dollars to any team that can beat you?” Smoke asked.
“Well, to a degree, that is true,” the player said.
“What isn’t true?”
“We don’t just give the money away. You have to enter the contest. And enterin’ the contest is goin’ to cost you money.”
“How much?”
“Fifty dollars.”
“Fifty dollars?” Jules groaned. “Why does it cost fifty dollars?”
“Where do you think we get the money to pay those who beat us?” the player asked.
“Does anyone ever actually beat you?” Smoke asked.
“Not very often,” the ballplayer admitted.
“When can we play?” Smoke asked.
“As soon as we get the fifty dollars.”
“Smoke, I’m sorry,” Jules said. “I didn’t have no idea it was going to cost money to play.”
“That’s all right,” Smoke said, taking out the money and giving it to the ballplayer. “Here’s your money, mister,” he said. “Let’s play.”
“Yes.”
Chapter Eleven
Word spread quickly around town that there would be a baseball match between the professional players who called themselves the St. Louis Unions and an aggregate of players from in and around Big Rock. As a result, nearly all the town gathered to watch the game.
Baseball was not unknown in Big Rock. There had been games contested between men from Big Rock and teams from nearby towns. But this was the first time that a touring professional team had ever come to town, so interest was high.
“Do you think our boys have a chance of winning?” someone asked.
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” another answered. “But that won’t keep me from cheering them on.”
“No, me neither. I’d like to see those St. Louis boys get their comeuppance.”
The Unions, dressed in their white uniforms, were on the field giving a display of their skills by batting the ball, scooping it up from the ground, and throwing it sharply from base to base. After several minutes of such activity, the manager of the St. Louis Unions walked across the field to speak with Smoke.
“The game will commence in thirty minutes, and we will play by the Cartwright Rules,” he said. He handed Smoke a booklet. “If you don’t know the rules, they are in this book. Three strikes and you are out. Three outs and the other team comes to bat. When each team has made three outs, that will be an inning. We will play nine innings, unless the game is tied. Then we will continue to play until the tie is broken.”
“We know the rules, mister,” Pearlie said.
“Pearlie, Mr. Thayer is just extending a courtesy,” Smoke said.
“I think he’s trying to—to intimidate us,” Pearlie said, recalling Sally’s word. “But it ain’t goin’ to work, mister. It ain’t goin’ to work.”
“I will tell my players to go easy on you,” Thayer said as he turned to walk away.”
“Oh, I’d love for us to give his team a good beating,” Pearlie said.
“I wonder where Miss Sally is,” Cal said. “I thought she would be here to watch us play.”
“Maybe she don’t want to see us lose,” Mike said.
“Lose? We haven’t played the first pitch yet and you are already talking about losing. Now, that’s a fine way to look at it, don’t you think?” Jules asked.
“Well, come on, Jules, look at them people. They got them fancy clothes they’re a’wearin’. They got them fancy gloves.”
“They’ve provided us with gloves,” Jules said.
“Yeah, but they’re nothin’ like them fancy gloves they all got.”
“Here comes Sally now,” Smoke said. “I wonder what she’s carrying.”
