depended.

The car dashed along at rapid speed, and as they came near Hebron Joe roused himself from his reverie. The darkness was disappearing, and in the faint light of the spring morning they could see a steep hill a little way ahead. At the side of the road ran a little river, of whose murmur they had been conscious for some time, although in the darkness they could scarcely see it.

“Here’s where we’ll see whether Hank was bragging overmuch about this car,” remarked Joe, as he tightened his grasp on the wheel and put his foot on the accelerator. “I’ll give her a good start and see how she can climb.”

The car gathered speed as it neared the bottom of the hill. Joe peered forward, and then from his lips came a startled shout.

Directly in front of them, completely blocking the road, was a mass of heavy timbers. To strike them at that speed meant maiming or death!

At one side of the road was a steep cliff. On the other side was the river.

Joe’s brain worked like lightning. There was but one chance. He swung the wheel around, the car crashed through a fence at the side of the road, suddenly stopped short, and Joe and Jim were sent headlong into the river!

CHAPTER II
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