lumber yard.”

Like a flash Joe turned and headed the crowd that rushed in the direction pointed out.

And while he is thus racing along, it may be well, for the benefit of those who are not yet acquainted with this clever young pitcher, to mention the previous books of this series in which “Baseball Joe,” as he was affectionately known, has taken a leading part.

The beginning of his career on the diamond is told in the first volume of the series, entitled: “Baseball Joe of the Silver Stars; Or, The Rivals of Riverside.” Here Joe had his first real experience in the box. He had to fight hard to make good, but he did it, and soon became widely known in that section as one of the best of the amateur pitchers. There were many things that sought to hinder him, but he worked like a Trojan and brought his team to the front.

In “Baseball Joe on the School Nine,” we find Joe in that same gritty way of his “making” the school team. There were rivalries here of a different kind than he had met before, and the bully of the school succeeded for a time in making things very unpleasant. But Joe had the “class” as a ball player that was bound to make itself felt, and in a great crisis he rose to the emergency and at the last moment brought victory from defeat.

From Excelsior Hall, Joe went to Yale, and his career in the great university is told in the third volume of the series called “Baseball Joe at Yale; Or, Pitching for the College Championship.”

Traditions are very strong at Yale and one of them that is seldom broken is that no Freshman shall play on a ’Varsity Team. No matter how good he is, he has to win his spurs first on his class team before he can aspire to the ranks of the ’Varsity. Joe had to undergo his apprenticeship, and a hard one it was. But his light could not be kept under a bushel, and by sheer force of merit he finally captured the attention of the leaders in athletics. A combination of circumstances put it up to him to pitch for Yale against Princeton in the deciding game of the season at the Polo Grounds, and although the test was a severe one the “Yale bulldog” scored a glorious victory over the “Princeton tiger.”

But, despite the successes he had won, Joe was not altogether happy at Yale. His good mother wanted him to study to be a minister, but, while Joe appreciated what a noble calling it was, he did not feel himself cut out for a preacher. Though bright enough in his studies, he was not a natural scholar. Outdoor life had strong attractions for him, and his love for baseball combined with his natural abilities in that direction made him feel strongly inclined to take up professional baseball as his regular vocation.

His mother was grieved and almost shocked by this decision of his. She had longed to see her boy in the pulpit, and she had the mistaken feeling, shared by many good women, that there was something that was almost disreputable in being a professional ball player. But Joe was so earnest in his conviction that it was better to be a good ball player than a poor professional man, whether doctor, lawyer or minister, that his mother was reluctantly won over to his view.

Joe’s chance was not long in coming. That last great game he pitched for Yale had been seen by Jimmie Mack, manager of the Pittston team of the Central League. He scented an acquisition for his nine and made Joe an offer that was too good to reject. His struggles and triumphs in that league are told in the fourth volume of the series called “Baseball Joe in the Central League; Or, Making Good as a Professional Pitcher.”

But Joe’s ambition kept pace with his progress. He was not satisfied to be merely a “minor leaguer.” He dreamed of “making” one of the “Big Leagues”—National or American, it did not matter which—but he knew how hard it was for a minor to break in. His delight can be imagined then when he learned that he had been drafted into the St. Louis club of the National League. His stirring adventures in this new field are narrated in the fifth volume of the series entitled: “Baseball Joe in the Big League; Or, A Young Pitcher’s Hardest Struggles.” Hard struggles indeed they had proved to be, but the same determination that had won for him so far carried him triumphantly through these also, and he had had the satisfaction of helping his team finish in the first division. From a “second string” pitcher he now stood among the first, and his name had become well known all over the country.

He had been very tired when he came back to the old home town to spend the winter, and the rest had never seemed more grateful to him. But now he was expecting very soon the call of his team to go with them to a southern training camp, to prepare for the coming season, and for some time past he had been faithfully training in the Riverside gymnasium, where we found him when this story opened.

He was a fast and seasoned runner—any one in a big league has to be, or he would not last long—but it seemed to him he had never run as fast and hard as now when he was rushing toward the lumber yard. He knew that what was to be done had to be done quickly. And he shuddered, as he thought of the helpless baby in the grasp of a lunatic.

He had soon outdistanced his companions. Now he was getting close to the lumber yard. It was in an isolated section of the town, down near the railroad tracks which ran alongside of it. Here there were but few footmarks, and Joe could easily make out the long prints of a man’s feet pointing straight for the yard.

Another minute and Joe had entered the yard. He wound his way in and out among the piles of lumber, hoping at every turn to catch sight of the madman.

Suddenly he heard a shout that came from somewhere above him. He looked up and saw a sight that seemed to turn his blood cold.

There, on an enormous pile of lumber that towered thirty feet into the air, stood a man holding a baby in his arms. He had caught sight of Joe and hailed him as though he wanted to have a talk with him. But just then a torrent of men, young and old, who had followed Joe, poured into the yard, and a yell went up as they saw the tall figure outlined against the sky.

In that wild yell the madman scented danger. He lifted his helpless burden high above his head.

“Keep back!” he shouted. “If you don’t I’ll throw the baby on the railroad tracks!”

CHAPTER III
A CRACK SHOT

There was a cry of horror from the crowd. To be hurled to the tracks from that height meant instant death for the little one.

Several of the men had started to climb the lumber pile, but when they heard the madman’s threat they stopped instantly. The man above saw that his words had taken effect and he laughed shrilly. But he still held the baby high in the air.

For a moment there was a hush of fear and indecision. Then Joe took command of the situation. His baseball experience had taught him to think quickly and act instantly.

“That’s all right,” he sang out to the crazy man. “You can keep the baby if you want to. We just want to have a quiet little talk with you.”

The madman hesitated, looked about a little uncertainly, then slowly lowered the infant and held it cradled in his arms.

“That’s right,” approved Joe heartily. “You and I are the only sensible people here. These lunatics down here were making such a noise that I couldn’t make you hear me. Now we can talk.”

“Ha, ha!” cried the lunatic, delighted at the