Free The Dog That Stole Home by Matt Christopher Page B

and
     snapped it to Mike at second, and then Mike relayed it to first.
    A double play!
    “Okay!” cried Coach Wilson, clapping like crazy. “Let’s do it! Let’s break the tie!”
    Mike realized he was the third man up. Heart pounding, he watched Omar fly out, then the second batter, Monk Solomon, swish
     at three pitches.
    “Belt it, Mike,” said Harry calmly. “A home run will do it, you know.”
    “Sure,” said Mike as he stepped to the plate. “It’s easy enough from the sidelines!” He gripped the bat and waited for the
     first pitch.
    Crack!
He laced the pitcher’s first throw to deep right center field. The crowd cheered as he bolted around the bases. For a moment
     he thought he’d hit a homer, but Coach Wilson held him to a triple.

    “Attaboy, Mike!” said the coach, slapping him on the shoulder. “A little more speed and you might have made it home!”
    Rich Gates was up next. He’d struck out his last time at bat. There was no telling what would happen now.
    “Mike, listen,” Harry’s voice entered his head.
    “Yeah?” Mike answered, concentrating on the pitcher.
    “Here’s your chance to score,” Harry said. “Listen to me, and listen closely.”
    Harry got up and walked over to third base. He stopped just behind Mike.
    “You’re going to steal,” Harry said.
    Mike stared down at Harry.
    “Steal? I can’t!” he cried. “Not in Little League!”
    “You can… when the pitcher doesn’t have the ball,” growled the Airedale. “Now get ready! When I give the signal, give it all
     you’ve got!”

    “You’ve lost your marbles! I’m not fast enough to beat the ball!” Nevertheless, he crouched with his hands on his knees. Heart
     racing, he waited for the next pitch. I don’t know who’s crazier, me or that dog, he thought.
    “We’ll talk about that later,” Harry chuckled. “Get ready!”
    The Arrows’ pitcher stepped onto the mound, glanced at Mike, then turned his attention to Rich.
    “Ball!” boomed the ump.
    Then, just as the Arrows’ catcher was in the act of tossing the ball back to the pitcher, Harry yelled: “Catch me!”
    Then he took off, bolting toward home. A split second later, Mike was after him. It had never been so important for him to
     tag Harry!

    Mike was halfway to home plate when the Giants’ fans began to shout, “Go, Mike, go! Faster! Faster!” His mother’s voice rang
     above the rest.
    He was within five feet of the plate when he saw the Arrows’ catcher covering the plate, his mitt ready for the catch.

    “Hit it!” yelled Harry.
    Mike did. His hand touched home plate just as the catcher reached up for the ball. There was an endless moment of silence
     before the umpire called the play.
    “Safe!”
    The crowd exploded into one of the loudest roars Mike had ever heard. Grinning, he stood up and brushed the dirt off his uniform
     as his teammates swarmed around him.

    “Unbelievable!” cried Omar, slapping him on the back. “I’ve never seen anyone run so fast.”
    “I’m surprised you didn’t trip over your dog,” Coach Wilson said, smiling. “It almost looked like he was daring you to beat
     him.”
    Mike looked down at Harry, who grinned and winked.
    The two teams shook hands and then headed to their dugouts.
    “How’d you get out, anyway? That’s what I’d like to know,” Mike asked Harry as he picked up his glove.
    “Well…,” Harry chuckled.
    Mike turned to see his mother approaching.
    “Mike, that was amazing,” she said, ruffling Harry’s fur.
    “Thanks, Mom. And thanks for bringing Harry!”
    “Well, I didn’t have much choice. I’d never seen Harry look so depressed,” she said.
    “Depressed?” echoed Mike. Harry stood up on his hind legs, put his forepaws over his eyes, and whined like he’d lost his best
     friend.

    “See?” cried his mother, throwing up her hands.
    Mike burst out laughing.
    “You’re crazy, you know that?” he snorted.
    Harry moved one paw and peered up at