Chapter 2 A SURPRISE

The water was icy and deep, and at this point the current was swift. The force with which the luckless occupants of the car had been propelled sent them far beneath the surface and some distance out into the stream.

A moment later their heads appeared above the water, and they struck out for the shore. Both were strong swimmers, and in a few strokes they reached the bank. Fortunately they had escaped striking any part of the car in their wild hurtling through space, and apart from the chill and wetting were unharmed.

From the mud at the river's edge, they dragged their dripping feet to the solid ground of the road. Then they stood still and looked at each other. The shock and suddenness of it all still affected them, but as they continued to look at the comical figure that each presented, with hair plastered over their faces and clothes clinging to their bodies, their sense of the ludicrous got the better of them and they burst into laughter.

"Talk about scarecrows!" gurgled Jim, as he dragged a wet handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face in a vain attempt to dry it.

"None of them have anything on us," admitted Joe, as he threw off his coat and wrung one dripping trousers leg after the other.

"If only the team could get a snapshot of us now, they'd kid us for the rest of our natural lives," remarked Jim.

"You said it," agreed Joe. "But now," he added more soberly, "just let's take a look at what it was that so nearly killed us or crippled us for life."

They made their way to the mass of timber in the road. At first Jim thought that it might have fallen off some wagon, unknown to the driver. But a closer examination showed that this was an error. The timbers were piled in a way that could have been done only by human hands, and what made this certain was the fact that rocks had been placed on either side to prevent the logs from slipping. It was a formidable barrier, and if the car had dashed into it at the rate it was going, the occupants would almost certainly have been killed.

"Whoever put those timbers there meant harm," said Joe solemnly, when the examination had been completed.

"It looks that way," agreed Jim. "Whoever did it was a scoundrel who ought to be in jail."

"It might have been the work of a crazy man," suggested Joe.

"As crazy as a fox," rejoined Jim, looking squarely into his chum's eyes.

"What do you mean?" asked Joe, in some perplexity.

"I mean," said Jim, carefully weighing every word, "that the man who put that mass of timber there was just as sane as you or I. I mean that he intended that some one should be seriously hurt. I'll go even further. That man meant to injure Joe Matson, whom he hated with a deadly hatred."

"You mean that Braxton did it?" cried Joe.

"I mean that Braxton did it," replied Jim quietly.

They stared at each other with strange emotions stirring in their hearts. And while they stand there, as if turned to stone, it may be well, for the benefit of those who have not read the earlier volumes of this series, to trace the fortunes of Baseball Joe up to the time that this story opens.

Joe Matson was born in a little inland village of the Middle West, and grew up in a pleasant home amid wholesome surroundings. His first experience in the great national game, where he was destined to become famous as the greatest pitcher of his time, was gained on the simple diamond of his home town, and his natural aptitude was such that he soon became known as a rising player all over the county. What obstacles he met and surmounted at that time are related in the first volume of the series, entitled: "Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars."

Some time later, when playing on his school nine, he had considerable trouble with a bully who tried to down him, but found out, as so many trouble makers did later on in life, that Joe Matson was not easily downed. He put into his playing all that experience, combined with his native ability, could teach him, and he served an apprenticeship that stood him in good stead when later he went to Yale. The trials and triumphs of his school experience are told in the second volume of the series, entitled: "Baseball Joe on the School Nine."

With the natural buoyancy of youth, Joe had hoped when he entered Yale that he would have a chance to show his mettle in the box in some of the great annual games that Yale played with Harvard and Princeton. There were many rivals, however, for the honor, including those who had already won their spurs in actual contests. But Joe's light was not made to shine under a bushel, and one day when the cohorts of Princeton came down in their orange and black prepared to "tie the can" to the Bulldog's tail, Joe got his chance and sent a very bedraggled Tiger back to his lair in Princeton. How Joe won gloriously is told in the third volume of the series, entitled: "Baseball Joe at Yale."

Though he enjoyed his college days at Yale, stood high in his studies, and was popular with his mates, he felt that he was not cut out for one of the learned professions. His mother had hoped that he would be a clergyman and had been urgent in having him adopt that profession. But Joe, though he respected the noble aims of that calling, was not drawn to it. It was the open air life that he craved and for which he was fitted, and the scholastic calm of a study had little attraction for him. He felt that he had it in him to win supremacy in athletic fields.

His mother, of course, was greatly disappointed when she learned how he felt, but she was too wise to insist on her plan when she realized that it was contrary to his special gifts. She knew very little about baseball, but she had the impression that it was no place for an educated man. The fact, however, that so many college men were entering the ranks of professional baseball was made the most of by Joe, and she finally yielded to his wishes.

His chance was not long in coming, for he was soon picked up by one of the scouts who are always looking for "diamonds in the rough," and was offered a contract with the Pittston team of the Central League. The League was a minor one, but Joe had already learned that a man who proved that he had the makings of a star in him would soon have an opportunity with one of the majors. How speedily his ability was proved and recognized is narrated in the fourth volume of the series, entitled: "Baseball Joe in the Central League."

From the bushes to the National League was a big jump, but Joe made it when he was drafted into the ranks of the St. Louis Cardinals. The team was in the second division when Joe came into action, and was altogether out of the running for the championship. But Joe's twirling was just what it needed to put new heart and life into it, and before the season ended it had climbed into the first division and if the race had been a little longer might have made a big stroke for the pennant. The story of the team's climb, with all its exciting episodes, is told in the fifth volume of the series, entitled: "Baseball Joe in the Big League."

McRae, the crafty and resourceful manager of the New York Giants, had had his eye on Joe all the season, and when the race was ended he made an offer for him that the St. Louis management could not refuse. Now, indeed, Joe felt that the ambition of his life was in a fair way to be realized. McRae had intended to bring him along slowly, so that he could be thoroughly seasoned, but circumstances put on him the heft of the pitching, and how fully he justified his manager's confidence is narrated in the sixth volume of the series, entitled: "Baseball Joe on the Giants."

After the winning of the National League Championship by the Giants, came the World Series with the Boston Red Sox, who had won the title that year in the American League. The Sox were a hard team to beat, and the Giants had their work cut out for them. In addition to the strain of the games in which he was slated to pitch, Joe had to contend with the foul tactics of a gang of gamblers who had wagered heavily on the Sox and did all they could to put Joe out of action. But his indomitable will and quick wit triumphed over all obstacles, and his magnificent pitching in the last game of the series won the World's Championship for the Giants. The story of that stirring fight is told in the seventh volume of the series, entitled: "Baseball Joe in the World Series."

During these experiences, Joe had not escaped the toils of Cupid. Mabel Varley, a charming young girl, had been rescued by Joe at the moment that a runaway horse was about to carry her over a cliff. The romantic acquaintanceship thus begun soon grew into a deep affection, and Joe knew that Mabel held the happiness of his life in her hands. Jim Barclay, also, a promising young Princeton man and second string pitcher for the Giants, who was Joe's special chum, had grown very fond of Clara, Joe's pretty sister, and hoped that some day she would promise to be his wife.

The World Series had scarcely ended before Joe and Jim were invited by McRae to make a trip around the world with the Giant and All-American teams. They were eager for the chance, and their delight was increased when it developed that there were to be a number of wives of the players in the party so that Mabel and Clara could go along.

The teams played in Japan, in China, and in many of the cities of Europe, and the experience would have been a thoroughly happy one for Joe, had it not been for the machinations of men who were trying to form a rival league and had by the meanest trickery secured Joe's signature to what afterward turned out to be a contract. How Joe finally unmasked the plotters and had the satisfaction of giving the ringleader a tremendous thrashing is narrated in the preceding volume of the series, entitled: "Baseball Joe Around the World."

And now to return to Joe and Jim, as they stood in their dripping clothes on the country road in the growing light of the spring morning.

For some seconds after Jim's startling statement, Joe stood as though rooted to the spot. Then he pulled himself together.

"Come now, Jim, isn't that pretty far-fetched?" he said, with a forced laugh, in which, however, there was little mirth. "You haven't a shred of proof of anything of the kind."

"No," admitted Jim, "there isn't anything-yet-that would convince a judge or a jury. I'll agree that it wouldn't go far in a court of law. But just put two and two together. Yesterday afternoon we were talking about this trip. You distinctly mentioned the hill near Hebron. It was just after you spoke that I saw Braxton pass the door."

"Thought you saw," corrected Joe.

"All right, then," said Jim patiently, "let it go at that-thought I saw Braxton passing the door. Now just suppose for a minute that I was right and see what comes of it. The man who hates you worse, probably, than any man on earth-the man to whom you gave a terrible thrashing-knew that you would be driving a car just before daylight-knew that you would have to climb a hill-knew that as you got near it you'd probably put on speed to carry the car up-knew that an obstacle put near the bottom of the hill would almost certainly wreck the car and hurt the driver. Knowing all this, might not such a man as we know Braxton to be see his chance and take it?"

There was silence for a moment. Then:

"It certainly sounds strong the way you put it," Joe said thoughtfully. "But how on earth could Braxton get here in time to do all this? Think of the distance."

"It isn't so great a distance," rejoined Jim. "That is, if a man came straight across country in a speedy car for instance. It seemed long to us because of the roundabout way we had to go by train. Then too that was early in the afternoon, and Braxton could have had four hours' start of us. He's a rich man and probably has a fast car. He could have made it all right and got here hours ago."

"Yes, but even then," argued Joe, "he couldn't have done it all alone. It's as much as you and I can do together to handle these timbers."

"That's true," conceded Jim. "But he may have had one or more confederates with him. Money you know can do almost anything. I shouldn't wonder if that fellow Fleming helped him. He owed you a debt too, you remember, and the pair were as thick as thieves on the world tour."

"Well, it may be just as you say," replied Joe. "But I hate to think that any man hates me so badly as to try to injure me in such a cowardly way as that. At any rate, it won't do any harm for us to keep our eyes open in the future. But we've got plenty of time to think of that. Now let's get busy and hustle these timbers over to the side of the road so that nobody else can run into them. Then we'll take a look at the car."

They set to work with a will, and in a few minutes had removed the obstacles from the road.

"Now for the machine," said Joe, as he led the way to the river bank. "I've got an idea that what we owe Hank will put a dent in our bank rolls."

To their delight they found, however, that, apart from superficial injuries, the car seemed to be intact. The wind shield had been shattered and the mud guards were badly bent. But the axles seemed to be sound, the wheels were in place, and as far as they could judge there had been no injury to the engine. To all appearances the expenditure of a hundred dollars would put the car in good shape again.

But the wheels were so firmly imbedded in the mud of the shore that despite all their efforts they could not budge the car. They strained and pushed and lifted, but to no avail. Joe climbed into the driver's seat and set the engine going, but the car was stubborn and refused to back.

"Swell chance of our getting home in time for breakfast," grumbled Joe, as he stopped to rest for a moment.

"Lucky if we get there in time for supper," muttered Jim. "We'll have to go somewhere and borrow a shovel so that we can dig the wheels out of the mud."

But just at this moment they heard the rumbling of a cart, and running to the road they saw it coming, drawn by two stout horses, while the driver sat handling the reins in leisurely fashion.

They waved their hands and the cart came to a halt, the driver scanning curiously the two young men who had appeared so unexpectedly from the side of the road. He was a bluff, jovial person, and his eyes twinkled with amusement as he noted the wet garments that were clinging to their limbs.

"Been taking a bath with all your clothes on?" he asked, as he got down from his seat.

"Something like that," replied Joe, with a laugh, "but the bath came as a sort of surprise party. The road was blocked, and it was either the morgue or the river for us, so we chose the river."

"Road blocked?" repeated the newcomer, looking about with a puzzled expression. "I don't get you. Looks clear enough to me."

"It wouldn't if you'd been here half an hour ago," replied Joe, and then, as the man listened with interest that soon changed to indignation, he recounted briefly the events of the morning.

"Whoever did that ought to be jailed," he burst out, when the boys had concluded their story. "And he can't be very far away, either. This road was clear when I passed over it last night. Jump in and I'll drive you into town and we can send out an alarm."

"Not much use of that I'm afraid," replied Joe. "The man or men may be fifty miles away by this time. But if you'll give us a hand to get this auto out of the mud, you'll do us a big favor."

"Sure I'll help you," said the friend in need, whose name they learned was Thompson. "I've got a spade right here in the cart. We'll dig around the wheels a little. Then I'll hitch a trace chain to the machine and my horses will yank it out in a jiffy."

A few minutes of work sufficed to clear the wheels. Then boards were placed behind them, the chain was attached to the rear axle, and the horses drew the car back into the road.

It presented rather a forlorn appearance, but the boys cared little for that. What they were far more concerned about was their own bedraggled condition.

"We match the car all right," remarked Jim disgustedly, as he looked at his own clothes and those of his companion.

"It will never do to let Mabel and Clara see us like this," responded Joe lugubriously.

"Don't let that worry you," laughed their new friend. "Just drive into town and stop at Eph Allen's tailor shop. It's pretty early, but Eph sleeps in the back of his shop and he'll let you in and fix you up in no time."

This was evidently the best thing to be done, and the young men, after repeated thanks to their newly made friend and with fullest directions as to how to find the tailor shop in question, jumped into the auto and started on the way back to Hebron.

"Old bus seems to work as well as ever," commented Joe, as the car moved on without any visible evidence of injury.

"That's one bit of good luck," replied Jim. "And it's certainly coming to us to make up in part for the bad."

They thanked their stars that it was too early yet for many people to be stirring in the town, and were relieved when they found themselves in front of Allen's shop. Eph must have been a pretty sound sleeper, for it took a good deal of knocking to wake him up, and when at last he thrust his tousled head through the door to ask what was wanted, he was not in the best of temper. But as soon as he learned the circumstances that had occasioned the early call, he became at once all interest and attention, and hustled about to put their clothes in presentable shape.

It was a fairly good job that he at length turned out after he had ironed and pressed their suits, though they had by no means the Beau Brummel effect with which the boys had planned to impress the girls.

By this time the sun had fully risen and Joe looked at his watch.

"Perhaps we'll be in time to catch them at breakfast yet," he remarked. "It's only about twenty miles from here to Riverside. Maybe they won't be surprised when we break in on them. They don't think we're within several hundred miles of them."

"Perhaps we ought to have telegraphed that we were coming," said Jim.

"It might have been just as well, I suppose," admitted Joe. "But that would have taken away the fun of the surprise. I want to see the look on their faces."

"Of course we won't say anything about what happened to us this morning," suggested Jim, as the machine bowled along over a road that with every minute that passed was growing more familiar.

"Not on your life," replied Joe earnestly. "None of them would ever have another easy minute. They'd be seeing our mangled remains every night in their dreams. All we'll tell them is that we had a little spill and got wet. But not a word about the blocked road or what we suspect regarding Braxton."

Before long they were passing the straggling houses that marked the outskirts of Riverside. Joe pulled his cap down over his eyes so that he would not be recognized and stopped by any of the people of the town, where he was regarded as something of an idol. All he wanted to do was to get to his family and Mabel, or, as perhaps he would have put it, get to Mabel and his family.

His ruse was successful, for there was no sign of recognition from the few he passed on the streets, and in a few minutes he brought the car to a stop in front of the Matson home.

The young men jumped out, and with Joe leading the way ran lightly up the steps. He tried the front door and found that it yielded to his touch. With his finger on his lips as a warning to Jim, he tiptoed softly through the hall to the door of the dining room.

The odor of coffee and bacon came to them and from the click of plates and cups, as well as the murmur of several voices, they knew that the family was still at the breakfast table.

Joe waited no longer but threw open the door.

"Hello, folks!" he cried.

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