eam would have the most games to its credit by the time they
had reached the Pacific coast.

The tension was relaxed somewhat when they reached Denver, where, for the
first time, instead of fighting it out between themselves a team picked
from both nines was to play the local club.

"Here's where we get a rest," sighed Mylert, the burly catcher of the
Giant team.

"It will be no trick at all to wipe up the earth with these bushers,"
laughed Larry Barrett.

"What we'll do to them will be a sin and a shame," agreed "Red" Curry, he
of the flaming mop, who was accustomed to play the "sun field" at the Polo
Grounds.

"It's almost a crime to show them up before their home crowd," chimed in
Iredell, the Giant shortstop.

But if the local club was in for a beating, they showed no special
trepidation as they came out on the field for practice. If the haughty
major leaguers had expected their humble adversaries to roll over and play
dead in advance of the game itself, they were certainly doomed to
disappointment.

The home team went through its preliminary work in a snappy, finished way
that brought frequent applause from the crowds that thronged the stand.

Before the game, Brennan, of the Chicagos, sauntered over to Thorpe, the
local manager, who chanced to be an old acquaintance.

"Got a dandy crowd here to-day, Bill," he said. "We ought to give them a
run for their money. Suppose I lend you one of our star pitchers, just to
make things more interesting."

"Thank you, Roger," Thorpe replied, with a slow smile, "but I think we're
going to make it interesting for you fellows, anyway."

"Quit your kidding," grinned Brennan, with a facetious poke in the ribs,
and strolled back to the bench.

The gong rang, the field cleared, and the visiting team came to the bat.
Larry, who had finished the season in a blaze of glory as the leading
batsman of the National League came up to the plate, swinging three bats.
He threw away two of them, tapped his heels for luck and grinned
complacently at the Denver pitcher.

"Trot out the best you've got, kid," he called, "and if you can put it
over the plate I'll murder it."

CHAPTER X

BY A HAIR

The pitcher, a dark-skinned, rangy fellow, wound up deliberately and shot
the ball over. It split the plate clean. Larry swung at it--and missed it
by two inches.

He looked mildly surprised, but set it down to the luck of the game and
squared himself for a second attempt. Thi