THE FIRST QUARTER.
Warren and Forest, the Barville ends, raced along in a desperate dash,
closing in as the ball began to fall. Rodney Grant was waiting for the
oncoming pigskin, balanced ready for action, his arms outstretched. He
made a clean, fair catch, and was off like a broncho of his native
state, quirt-stung and spur-jabbed. On one side Warren was blocked off,
but on the other Forest came in like a charging fury and flung himself
at the Texan. Down they went on the thirty-yard line, with the other
players converging toward that spot.
Remembering Stone’s admonition to hustle and line up without loss of a
moment, the Oakdale boys strained every nerve to get quickly into
position for the first scrimmage. This was their opportunity to show
Barville right off the reel what real snappy aggression meant.
“Lively! lively!” urged Stone; and, ere the line of the locals seemed
fully formed, Sage began barking the signal. He spat out the numbers
sharply, every one clear and distinct, and Oakdale went into Barville
like a whirlwind before the visitors were fully set for defence. The
result was a gain of eighteen yards, made in a style which seemed to
carry the Barville boys completely off their feet, with the exception of
the sturdy fullback, Copley, who yanked down the runner and prevented
what had promised to be a clean break through the defence, and what
might have given the man with the pigskin a running chance to score.
The home crowd went wild over this apparently demoralizing attack of the
Oakdale boys, and there were many who, forming a hasty judgment,
declared their conviction that the locals outclassed the visitors.
Sanger, who knew Stone as a rather slow and methodical chap, had not
imagined for a moment that the Oakdale captain would spur his team to a
point of such rapid aggression. The Barville leader, however, was not
slow to grasp the fact that he had made an error in judgment, and his
voice was heard calling sharply to his somewhat disorganized men as he
ordered them to get into position to stop the next charge. Copley came
up somewhat dazed by the shock of the collision with the runner; but the
latter was even more dazed, and was so long about finding his place in
the formation that Barville was given sufficient time to make ready for
defence.
Three stingy yards were all Oakdale could make on another line plunge;
and when, following this, a round-the-end run promised more satisfactory
results, the argus-eyed referee dismayed the shrieking adherents of the
team by penalizing the locals for holding.
Barville took heart at once and fought Oakdale tooth and nail, until the
latter team was compelled to kick rather than take the chance of losing
the ball on downs. Stone, who had a lusty leg, booted the pigskin into
the enemy’s territory, where Larry Groove, the left halfback, scooped it
on the jump, dodged Hopper, and came all the way back to the center line
before he was slammed to the turf. Of course this gave the Barville
crowd its chance to cheer madly, and their cries mingled with the
Oakdale plaudits for the tackler.
“Ginger up! ginger up!” Lee Sanger was calling, as he crouched behind
Bart Rock, the center. “Signal! signal!” Then he reeled off a few sharp
numbers, and the youthful contestants leaped at one another like tigers.
Again and again they crashed together, but Oakdale stubbornly held its
ground until an unexpected fluke—a bad pass and a muff—gave Sage a
splendid opportunity. The ball came bounding to his very feet, with
Rollins and Tuttle blocking off two of the enemy, the only ones who
seemed to realize just what had happened, and Fred had time to scoop the
ball up and a fine chance to get away with it for a run.
Instead of doing so, Sage stared for a moment at the pigskin, as if he
did not realize what it was. And when he awoke from this brief spell of
numbness and started into life and action, it was Nelson who flung
himself on the oval, to be pinned down by Hope, who had finally bucked
Tuttle aside.
In this manner, through the faltering of Sage, Barville, although she
lost the ball, stopped what might have been a gain of ground by the
locals.
Piper, who seemed to see everything, saw this, although he was too far
away at the time of the fumble to get his hands on the pigskin. Sleuth
glared at Sage.
“Something wrong,” he panted to himself. “First time he ever did a thing
like that.”
“Wake up! wake up!” Stone was calling sharply. “Positions! Get ready!
Come on, Sage, give us the signal.”
“Signal!” said Sage, and then he paused, as if collecting his thoughts.
“Signal!” he repeated. “5-11-16-24.”
It was the former line-bucking play, which, through experience thus
quickly obtained, Barville was ready to meet. Instead of a gain, the
result was a loss of two yards, the visitors actually bearing the line
of the home team back.
As the tangled mass of men untwined, following the blast of the whistle,
Sage heard Stone calling in his ear:
“Vary it, Fred. Something else; something else, quick!”
The quarterback gave himself a shake. The men were hopping into the
line-up, and the Barvilleites, now equally alert and ready, were
planting themselves for defence. Straight old-fashioned line-bucking,
with no varying plays, had already become ineffective, and Sage gave the
signal for the double pass and the criss-cross. The ball went to Nelson,
who shot toward the right, Grant closing in as if to support him, but
passing across his very heels and taking the pigskin as he passed.
Cooper blocked the right end off. Piper put his body into the right
tackle and bore him in the opposite direction. A hole was opened at
precisely the proper moment, and through it went the Texan at full
speed.
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[Illustration:
THE FULLBACK CAME CHARGING ACROSS, FORCING RODNEY
TOWARD THE SIDE LINE.—Page 156.]
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The main body of the enemy’s back field had been led into starting in
the wrong direction. The right halfback, who was one of these, saw
through the play a moment too late to reach Grant. The fullback,
however, came charging across, forcing Rodney out toward the side line.
It seemed that the Texan would be run out of bounds, but ten feet from
the border of the field he deceived the charging fullback by a sudden
half-pivoting swerve, and the would-be tackler’s fingers barely scraped
his canvas jacket as he shot by.
The crowd rose and roared, for Grant was flying over the chalk marks
with giant strides, followed by the players of both teams. Head thrown
back, nostrils expanded, Rodney covered the ground as if his very life
depended on it.
“Touchdown!” howled the excited Oakdale spectators. “Touchdown!
touchdown!”
There was no preventing it. Over the Barville goal line went Grant,
planting the ball favorably for a goal. He did not seem to hear the
school cheer, which, with his name tagged at the end, came rolling
across the field. His manner was grim and businesslike; his attention
was entirely centered upon the matter in hand.
There was no need to punt the ball out. Brought forth properly by the
referee, it gave Oakdale a most favorable chance to boot it over the
bar, and Stone performed the trick.
As the teams changed positions on the field, the Oakdale captain found
time to rest his hand for a moment on the shoulder of Sage and speak a
few low, hasty words to him. In response Fred nodded.
Soon they were at it again, but Barville, apparently nothing
disheartened, resumed the struggle more fiercely and grimly than ever.
The tide of battle ebbed and flowed, neither side gaining any great
advantage, until presently a long, shrill blast of the whistle announced
the end of the first scrimmage.
As the boys jogged off the field, Chipper Cooper gave Piper a slap on
the back, crying:
“Well, we put one across on ’em all right.”
“Yes,” nodded Sleuth; “but Sage lost an opportunity for us before that.
He isn’t right to-day. There’s something the matter with him, or I’m a
dunce.”