God, I thought, this is it.
THWAAAAACKKK!
A burly man in front of me screamed and nearly folded over backward. A cloud of dust rose from him. Behind him, George cocked his bat and looked for a new target. I saw Mac and Allison, too. As our attackers turned to meet the new threat, I jumped one from behind. The next minutes were a jumble of straining bodies and brutal sounds. I pried a deckhand off Sweasy and slammed him against the bulkhead. Harry, back on his feet, threw a timely rolling block to save Allison from being blindsided. Gould snatched away a knife that had stabbed him in the shoulder and snapped its owner’s arm over his knee like kindling. I was having trouble landing clean punches. Mostly it was a matter of wrestling and gouging in the too-narrow space.
Then, suddenly, straddling several inert bodies on the deck, only Stockings were upright in the cabin. Panting, we looked at each other. Sweasy bent over Andy and worked to free him, intoning, “I’m sorry, pal, I’m sorry, Andy, I’m sorry,” a litany which struck me as oddly uncharacteristic.
“We gotta move,” said Allison, peering through the doorway.
“Folks’re comin’ out everywhere. I think the roughs went to the Texas deck.”
“Where’s that?” I said.
“Above, by the pilothouse,” Harry said.
“Pleased to see you fellers,” said Andy, standing unsteadily. The gag had left raw marks by his mouth. “All I’ve been hearing is how these sharps on board’ll clean up today.”
“Let’s get to the grounds,” Harry said. “Before anything else happens.”
We were almost to the gangplank when George sniffed noisily and said, “Where’s that coming from?”
We stopped as the acrid smell of burning wood and paint reached us.
“FIRE!” somebody bellowed above.
A crush of people began to swarm around us. The narrow passageways jammed within seconds. Half-dressed men shoved furiously. Near us a woman cried out in pain and fear. I saw some of the deckhands we’d just fought forcing their way through, no longer concerned about us. A contagion of terror was about to erupt.
“WAIT!” boomed Harry, brandishing his bat. “FIRST THE LADIES!”
It was a generous use of the term, considering the women in question. To my amazement, it worked. He jangled their Victorian conditioning enough to halt the rush—and our cocked bats doubtless helped. Harry guided the disheveled woman to the gangplank himself and made sure others were allowed to pass to the front. “There’s time for all!” he cried repeatedly.
He was nearly wrong. By the time we stepped on the gangway ourselves, tongues of flame licked high in the black clouds billowing from below. “Hurry, get off before the boilers go!” Sweasy yelled, voicing what we all feared.
My feet no sooner touched the dock than there came an enormous CRUMP! The boat lurched violently, then a booming explosion hurled me forward. A fiery column erupted between the tall stacks, bending them outward; they toppled into the pall of smoke. The decks were buckling, the entire bow section a roaring inferno. Through the smoke I saw dim shapes plunging overboard.
Along the landing a chorus of bells and whistles sounded. One horse-drawn fire pump arrived, then another. A neighboring steamer was hosed down to protect it from the searing heat. That was about all that could be done. The Mary Rae was doomed.
“Say,” exclaimed an onlooker, “ain’t you the Red Stockings?”
“We’re the Haymakers,” George told him.
“Come on,” Harry said, pulling us away. “We face them in less than an hour.”
We moved toward our wagon.
“Singular how that fire broke out just when it did,” Andy said grimly.
“Sure is,” I said. I had no idea how Le Caron had reached the Mary Rae so quickly or how he had managed to ignite the fire. But I hadn’t the slightest doubt he was responsible.
“How’d you find me?” Andy asked as we rumbled away from the landing.
I explained how we’d gotten the threatening note, lured Le Caron into the open but failed to capture him, and forced Andy’s whereabouts from the accomplice. I started to get the shakes as I thought about how close we’d come to catastrophe.
“Thought I’d be stuck in there forever,” he said. “They seemed to figure that with me out of the match, we didn’t stand a sucker’s chance.”
“Probably true.”
“Naw, Harry’d’ve let you lick ’em again.”
“I’ll be content letting you do it.”
He grinned. “How’re the odds running?”
“They dropped this morning,” I said. “Now it’s us to win by ten runs.”
He whistled. “The ones I heard on that boat were plungin’ heavy on the Haymakers. Talkin’ tens of thousands. No wonder the odds fell some—but they’re still good for them.” He leaned close. “Sam, I think they’re playin’ other angles. I heard ’em say, ‘It’s in the bag, they took the money.’”
“‘They’? Meaning Stockings?”
He nodded slowly. Possibly it was my imagination, but it seemed that Sweasy, sitting nearby, was being studiously casual. I had a feeling he was straining to hear. “Any names?” I said.
Andy shook his head and whispered, “But I heard one say, it cost a pretty penny, but he’ll deliver the game to us like on a tray.’”
“Who’d they mean?”
He hesitated, then, “They said the signal’d be for the first two tosses to go wild.”
That left little doubt. Now I knew where Brainard had gotten his money.
“We can’t tell Harry,” he whispered. “Acey’d be finished.”
Sweasy shifted position, glanced our way. My mind raced. I tried to put aside shock and just deal with the logistics of the situation.
“I may have an idea,” I whispered. “Don’t say anything yet, okay?” He looked relieved. “You bet.”
It took us half an hour to crawl the last quarter mile west on Seventh. If we hadn’t been so banged up we’d have gotten out and walked—except that it wouldn’t have been any faster. Crowds swarmed every thoroughfare, jammed all sidewalks. The city seemed
