Late that night, Henry crept through the woods, carrying a bat in his hand. The waning gibbous moon cast a silvery glow over the narrow trail of rough and rooted terrain.

Behind him, Big Willy followed with a burlap sack that held a couple dozen old baseballs. Together, they made their way toward the black bunkhouses. If the vandals showed up tonight, they'd be ready for them.

The high pitched trill of crickets filled the air. In the distance, a night-heron released a series of sharp squawks every now and then.

Henry was surprised Willy was able to move around so quietly. Looking back at his big buddy, he wondered if there was a little cat in his blood. Henry had assumed Willy was just as determined as him to catch these hooligans in the act. But seeing the nervous twitch in Willy's cheek, maybe not.

They emerged from the woods and scurried about fifty feet to the side of the first bunkhouse, pressing their backs against the building.

Henry looked up at Willy and raised an index finger to his lips.

Willy nodded, remaining quiet.

Slowly, Henry peeked around the corner of the building.

"There they are," Henry whispered. "Look!"

Big Willy peered over Henry's shoulder.

Henry pointed to the three white men with paint brushes on the side of house number four.

Wait!

Henry recognized them. They were the same men who had been sitting with Clayton during the second Pioneers game; the last one they'd lost. Clayton and these men had hollered from the stands and gotten the home umpire to call him out.

Henry and Willy moved back along the side of the bunkhouse, out of sight of the vandals.

"There's only three of them," Henry whispered. "And they don't have guns."

Big Willy looked unconvinced. "You sure about that?"

"I'm sure," Henry said. "They're not Vigilantes either. We can take them."

"I don't know," Big Willy said, "Maybe we should get some help."

Henry furrowed his brow. "There's no time for that. We have to act now. Are you with me or not?"

Willy sighed. "With."

"Good!" Henry said before peeking around the corner of the bunkhouse again.

The vandals continued to paint up the side of the bunkhouse four, dipping their brushes into one of the two cans of white paint that sat on the ground between them.

During their mail runs, Dale had pointed out each of these men.

There was Hans Schiller, a lean five-foot-ten German. His brother Karl looked like a circus strongman, and he was almost as big and tall as Willy. The stocky fellow in the middle was Ralph Garvey, an assistant supervisor at the mill.

The men were whispering amongst themselves, their voices too low to make out the words.

Henry turned to Big Willy. He set his bat down and pointed at the sack.

Willy lowered the bag to the ground. "I sure hope you're right about this."

Me too, Henry thought. He removed two baseballs from the sack and handed them to Big Willy. Then he grabbed a couple for himself. He met Willy's huge round eyes. "Remember the plan?"

Willy gave a shaky nod. "I remember."

Henry stepped away from the building and fired the first baseball like a shot out of a cannon.

The ball struck Garvey's right hand. The paintbrush flew out of his grasp and fell to the ground.

Garvey let out a cry and clutched his hand. "What the bloody hell?!"

By the time the other men had turned to Garvey, Willy had already unleashed the second ball.

It struck Hans in his ribs so hard, he let out a shrill cry and doubled over. Then he started mumbling something fierce in German.

Henry and Willy rocketed the remaining two balls. One whacked Karl in the hip. The other nailed the side of his left knee, and the big man dropped to his other knee, grimacing in pain.

Henry marched towards Clayton's men, bat in hand. The thought of having to use it made Henry sick to his stomach. But if these vandals gave him any trouble, he wouldn't hesitate to start swinging away. He'd do whatever was necessary to protect himself and his best friend, who walked beside him with two baseballs in his giant hands.

"Don't move!" Henry shouted, trying to sound tough. He pointed the bat at Garvey. "Don't make me use this. And in case you haven't noticed, I've got Big Willy with me. Trust me, you don't want to see him when he's angry."

Garvey and Hans just stood there as Henry and Big Willy came to stop a dozen paces away. Henry didn't want to give them a chance to take the bat away. Karl got back up and rose to his full height. From the look in his eyes, the big German looked like a wild dog waiting to be released into a ring.

Garvey glared at Henry. "You're in way over your head, Louis."

Henry felt a rush of confidence as he waved the bat. "How do you figure? The way I see it, I got all the leverage."

Click-click!

The sound came from behind. A gun getting cocked. Henry froze as his heart started to thump.

"What were you saying about leverage?" Hans said.

Henry groaned on the inside.

"You jigaboos are in a whole heap of trouble," said the man from behind, his voice deep and as mean as a rattlesnake about to strike.

Henry recognized that voice. Ed Bracken! More than once, the man had taunted him with racial epithets too vulgar to repeat.

In his mind, Henry could see the man's face – a pit bull with a crewcut. For an instant, Henry considered spinning around and batting that gun away. Then he realized it would have been a bad idea with an even badder outcome.

"Drop the bat," Bracken said. And those baseballs too, you dumb gorilla."

Henry released the bat. It thudded against the grass, a sound that made him want to puke. He was completely defenseless now.

Willy complied too, letting the baseballs fall to the ground. One of them bounced backwards and rolled towards Bracken.

"Both of you, turn around," Bracken said. "Real slow."

Henry and Willy turned slowly.

Bracken aimed his revolver at Henry's heart. He wore an army uniform and a smug look on a face that Henry wanted to knock off. To his left, stood two henchmen. One looked like a wild-haired rat with beady eyes. The other resembled an angry ostrich with thick eyebrows. Both were garbed in army gear, their rifles trained on Willy.

Bracken smiled. "Seems like you boys are trespassing on private property. I could shoot the two of you right now, and no white court would find me guilty."

Henry tried to ignore the drumming in his temples. He couldn't believe the mess he'd gotten himself into. Not to mention Willy.

Moments later, there was a loud bang of a door opening wide. It had come from bunkhouse four. A myriad of footsteps trampled down the porch steps and scuttled around the corner.

Ganlik appeared first, tall and imposing.

Henry admired the man – a natural-born leader for the black bunkhouse workers. Henry enjoyed their conversations, always centered on ways of finding peace between blacks and whites. But this was a different situation, and Henry wondered how he'd react.

Ganlik stopped when the rat and the ostrich whirled their rifles at him. He raised his arms to his sides, and the dozen colored men with snarling faces and balled fists held their positions.

Ganlik said, "Please don't hurt Henry."

Bracken kept his gun pointed at Henry's chest. "This is none of your business, old man. Get back inside."

Ganlik stood a little taller. "We will not let you harm our friend."

Bracken didn't seem to like that answer. He lowered his gaze to the ground, thinking hard about something maybe. Then cruelty gleamed in his eyes, and he kneeled down and picked up the baseball by his foot. "Old man, if you and your black friends don't return to your bunkhouse by the time I count to three, I promise you, someone is going to get shot. Maybe even a couple of someones."

Ganlik crossed his arms, refusing to budge.

Henry's heart raced faster. His plan had completely backfired. And now, Willy, Ganlik, and all these innocent mill workers were in danger.

Bracken tossed the ball up and caught it on the way down. "One!" Then he met Henry's nervous stare with a sly grin. "Louis, you better talk some sense into King Negro over there. If I have to shoot one of them, like the king, it's going to be all your fault."

"Ganlik, you should all go back inside," Henry said, his emotions a mix of rage and fear.

"No!" Ganlik said. "We will not be terrorized any longer."

Bracken tossed the baseball up again. This time a little higher. The ball came back down and smacked against the palm of his hand. "Two!"

Henry glanced up at Big Willy, and he looked plenty scared. Henry's heart plummeted. He didn't even have a backup plan. Why'd he have to be so foolish?

Bracken cut his eyes at Henry again. "Last chance, or shits going to fly."

Henry looked at Ganlik with pleading eyes. "You don't have to do this."

"Faith," Ganlik said. "I have faith that good will come out of this."

Bracken snickered. "Faith can't stop a bullet." He gave the baseball a final toss and it rose about six feet into the air. The ball slowed and was on the way down when a shot rang through the air ... and the baseball exploded into a cloud of dust, red pieces of string, and leathery rags.

Henry jumped. Everyone jumped.

"What the ...?" Bracken cried.

Henry's heart stirred as he strained his eyes in the direction of the shot. Who had fired that?

A figure emerged from the darkness ... a hunter.

Dale!

"I guess I'm nothing," Dale said with a toothy grin. He had a rifle aimed at Bracken, one eye looking into the oversized scope. "This is a Ritter Special Model 10 rifle. With this scope, it can take that scraggly hair off the bottom of your left earlobe from one hundred yards out."

Henry let out a quiet sigh of relief, and his lips curled into a smart-assed grin. "What he really meant to say was, you can lay down your weapons."

Bracken gave Dale an evil glare. "You're making a big mistake siding with these Negroes."

Dale cocked the rifle. "You heard the man: weapons down."

Bracken grumbled. "Put 'em down, boys."

Clayton's men lowered their firearms to the ground.

The mill workers rushed past Ganlik, contentment in his expression. They picked up the weapons and directed them at the vandals. An energetic chatter stirred among the workers.

"You got this, Henry," Dale called out. "Just like you planned."

Henry sent Dale a thankful nod. He looked over at Willy. The big guy gave him a wide-eyed glare as if to say, why didn't you tell me about this plan of yours? Henry would have to explain to him later that this really wasn't his plan all along. Then again, maybe not.

Steadying his nerves, Henry approached the vandals.

"You boys are going to leave now," he said. "But I got a message for your boss. You tell Clayton we know he's behind all of this. And if he doesn't stop, he's going to find himself in a whole heap of trouble."

Author's Note

We have a new winner!

By far, this has been the most challenging chapter to write.

The biggest challenge was dealing with the number of characters and making sure everyone was involved in the chapter.

It's not perfect, and yes it will go through more revisions in the future, but I think it gets the story across.

This scene is a major setup for Chapter 98. I can't mention the actual chapter title as it's a bit of a spoiler.

Thanks so much for your ongoing support! I definitely means a lot.

Thanks!

Tom