A GREAT STRUGGLE
"Don't worry, he'll be all right presently. No, his leg isn't
broken--only a slightly sprained ankle. He lost his senses because of
the collision shock, as much as from the pain. He's coming around all
right."
Dick heard these words as if in a dream. He felt a soft hand on his
head--he knew it was that of some girl, but for the life of him he could
not tell who it was. He was aware of the smell of pungent drugs, and
then he felt some one take hold of his ankle. He uttered a little moan
of pain. Then he heard another voice saying, as he opened his eyes:
"Oh, Mildred, he's conscious now."
"Yes, Mabel," answered another girl, and then Dick knew who she was
without looking up into the face of the young lady who hastily withdrew
her hand from his head.
"Miss Hanford," murmured the young millionaire, as he recognized the
girl over whom he and Dutton had so nearly fought a duel in our hero's
early cadet days.
"Oh, I'm so glad you know me!" she exclaimed. "Mildred Adams and I were
passing along the street just when that dreadful automobile crash came.
It's a mercy you weren't all killed."
"Indeed it is!" chimed in Miss Adams. "But Mabel kept her nerves
splendidly. She lifted your head, and then she sent me for a doctor."
Dick looked around to observe that he was in the rear room of a drug
store, and that a man, evidently a physician, was standing by, regarding
him with a professional air.
"Well, young man, how do you find yourself?" asked the doctor.
"Pretty well, as long as nothing is broken."
"No, you're all right that way. You had a lucky escape."
"How is my uncle?" asked the lad anxiously.
"Only a slight cut. The drug clerk is putting some plaster on it. Shall
I call him in?"
"Will I be able to play football Saturday?" There was a querulous note
in Dick's voice.
"Humph! That's all you lads care about. As soon as you crawl through a
knot hole without getting killed you want to rush off to battle. Play
Saturday? Well----" The doctor paused.
"I've just _got_ to!" cried Dick. "We meet Haskell--it means a lot to my
team. I've got to play!"
"Well, I guess we can fix you up if you wear a leather bandage on that
ankle. It might be a good deal worse. I'll take another look at it."
"We'll tell that elderly gentleman--your uncle--that you are all right,
and ask him to come in here," said Miss Hanford. "Come, Mildred."
They withdrew, and as the physician was tightening the bandages on
Dick's ankle Mr. Larabee entered. His appearance was not improved by a
large piece of sticking plaster over his right eye, and he looked more
aggressive than ever.
"I told you how it would be if we rode in one of them automobiles!" he
exclaimed. "It's all your fault, Nephew Richard, and you'll have to pay
the doctor bills. I shan't, and what's more I shan't pay that driver
either. He ought to be more careful."
"Please don't get excited," begged the doctor, with a regard for Dick's
nerves.
"I'm not excited!" cried Uncle Ezra, "but I know my rights and I want
'em, too! I'm not excited, but I'll have the law on that murdering
villain of an automobile man! I'll sue 'em both. I'll collect damages.
We'll see if there's any justice in this land!" and he smote his
clenched right fist into the open palm of his left hand. "I'll have my
rights. I'm not excited, but I'll have justice."
"All right, Uncle Ezra," spoke Dick calmly. "Is the chauffeur hurt?"
"I don't care whether he is or not. I'll have the law----"
"I'm all right--only some bruises. It was that other fellow's fault, he
was on the wrong side of the street. Are you all right, Mr. Hamilton?"
asked the chauffeur, at that moment entering the room. He knew Dick,
having driven him about many times.
"Glad you're not injured," spoke the lad. "Is your machine in shape to
run? I want to get back to the academy. The fellows may hear about this
and think I'm worse hurt than I am. Can you take me back?"
"Sure. Only my front lights, and some of the glass windows were smashed.
I'll run you back."
"Nephew Richard, do you mean to say you're going to ride back in that
miserable man's machine?" demanded Mr. Larabee.
"Why certainly," replied the young millionaire calmly, as he arose from
the couch on which he had been lying. The doctor assisted him. "Why
shouldn't I go back that way. I don't want to use my ankle more than I
have to before the game."
"Well, all I've got to say is that you're more foolhardy than I thought
you were, and I wash my hands of the whole affair," said Uncle Ezra
bitterly. "I'm going back home and report to your father. I'm sorry I
couldn't do anything with Mr. Duncaster, but he is an obstinate man. And
what's more, I won't pay hire for that automobile, either."
"Yes, you will!" cried the driver.
"That will be all right," spoke Dick quickly, making the driver a
concealed motion, which the man understood.
"I'm going back to Dankville," went on the crabbed old man, "and I hope
I never have to leave it again. My nerves are all shattered by what I've
gone through, and if I'm a physical wreck as I expect to be after this
accident I'll sue you for heavy damages," he threatened, to the auto
driver.
"Go ahead," was the calm reply. Then, after he had bidden Dick a rather
cool good-bye, Uncle Ezra departed. He did not ask for the sandwiches
for his lunch, and Dick wondered at it.
"A strange character--rather strong-willed I should say," observed the
physician, when Uncle Ezra had gone.
"Yes," agreed Dick simply. He rather thought his uncle might have
remained to see that he got to his room safely. But since the attempted
kidnapping affair there had been more coldness than ever between Dick
and his aged relative.
"Are you feeling strong enough to be moved?" asked the doctor.
"Oh, yes, and I'm much obliged to you."
"You also have the young ladies to thank," spoke the medical man with a
smile.
"Oh, of course," assented our hero. He managed by the help of the
chauffeur to limp out to the waiting taxicab. Miss Hanford and Miss
Adams were in the drug store.
"I can't thank you enough for your first-aid-to-the-injured services,"
said Dick with a smile, as he shook hands with the young ladies. "It
was very good of you."
"Oh, you're not done with us yet," said Miss Hanford gaily. "I've
telephoned for my cousin Harold, and he's going to go to the academy
with you. He'll be here in a few minutes. Here he is now," she added, as
a tall, good-looking lad entered the store. Mabel introduced him to
Dick, and though our hero insisted that he could get along well enough
with the help of the chauffeur, Harold Johnson insisted on accompanying
him in the cab.
"Let us know how you are?" called Mabel after them, as they started off,
the crowd that had gathered dispersing, now that the excitement was
over.
"Well old man, you certainly had a time of it!" exclaimed Paul Drew,
when young Johnson had safely delivered his charge and departed. "What
are you trying to do, anyhow?"
"I don't know. It all came so suddenly there was no time to do anything.
I'm sorry about Mr. Duncaster though. I wish Uncle Ezra had not butted
in, for now it will make it all the harder for me when I try again to
get that stock."
"Are you going to try again?"
"Surely. Dad needs it. But I'm not going to worry about that now. We've
got to devote all our attention to the Haskell game."
"Do you think you can play?"
"I'm going to!" declared Dick fiercely.
He received visits from every member of the eleven and most of the
substitutes before taps that night, and they were all relieved when they
found that the young captain's injuries were not as severe as had at
first been reported.
Dick was not able to practice the next day, but the following one he was
on the gridiron, and he was delighted to find that, aside from a little
stiffness, his ankle did not trouble him.
"Fellows, this is your last chance," declared Coach Martin, the day
previous to the great Haskell game. "Make good now and----"
"To-morrow," put in Mr. Spencer with a smile. "And don't forget that
you're going to win!"
In spite of a slight pain in his ankle, Dick never ran the team to
better advantage than he did in practice that day.
"Oh, for to-morrow!" he exclaimed to Paul in their room that night.
What crowds there were! They overflowed the grandstands and surged upon
the space around the Kentfield gridiron. They stood several deep along
the ropes stretched to keep them back, and still they poured through the
entrance gates to the delight of the cadets.
"We'll make some money all right off this game!" exulted Manager
Hatfield. "And we need it, even if we have a millionaire on the team."
"No, we can't expect Dick to do it all," said Paul.
"He's mighty good to hire the coaches," commented George Hall. "Oh,
say, if we can only win! Has the Haskell bunch arrived yet?"
"No, but they'll soon be here. Come on, our fellows are going to get in
practice."
Out on the field trotted the Kentfield eleven, with the score of
substitutes, wrapped, Indian-like in blankets, squatting on the side
lines, until such time as they would be needed to form some opposition
for the Varsity.
This soon came, for the coaches, after putting the boys through some
recently evolved formations, called on the scrub. Then the practice was
harder.
A roar burst from a thousand throats as the Haskell team trotted out,
for they had brought many supporters with them. Then came cheer after
cheer--cheers for Kentfield and for their opponents.
"They're a husky lot all right," observed Dutton grimly, as the
Kentfield cadets ceased their practice to "size-up" their foes.
"And beefy," added John Stiver.
"Oh, say, don't get heart-disease so soon," advised Dick with a laugh.
"Wait until you see us walk through 'em."
The preliminaries were soon arranged, and luck was with Dick for he won
the toss and selected the east goal, with what wind there was in his
favor. This gave the ball to Haskell to be kicked off, and a few minutes
later, the twenty-two sturdy youths took the field. Dick placed his men
with care, and gave an anxious look all about him, as the Haskell centre
"teed" the new yellow ball on a little mound of earth on the middle
line.
Shrilly blew the whistle, and a moment later there was a dull "thump!"
as the toe of the big centre rush found the pigskin, and sent it well
into Kentfield's territory. Ray Dutton caught it, and, tucking the
spheroid under his arm he sprinted down over the chalkmarks, gathering
speed at every stride.
"Cover him, fellows! Cover him!" yelled Dick, and the right half-back's
supporters gathered in front of him as well as they could. But the
opposition streamed through. Dutton ran on until in front of him loomed
Peters, the gigantic right guard of Haskell, and then the plucky cadet
ran no more, for he was heavily thrown. But the ball had been carried
back to Kentfield's forty-yard mark.
"Line up, boys!" yelled Dick. "Go through 'em now."
He stooped down behind Jim Watkins, and began calling the signal for
Stiver to circle Haskell's right wing. Back came the ball, and Stiver
got it on the jump, but so fast did the opponents of Kentfield stream
around to meet him that he did not gain more than three yards.
"They're strong!" murmured Dick with a bit of despondency in his voice,
for he had seen how in vain his men hurled themselves against the
stone-wall-like line of Haskell.
"So much the more credit if we beat them!" whispered Paul.
The captain was half decided on a try around the other end, but a
movement in the line told him this was almost suspected so he called for
a fake kick with Dutton to take the ball.
The spheroid came back true, and John tucked it against his chest as,
with head well down, he hurled himself forward. But the hole was not
there, and once more the enemies of Kentfield got through so that only
two yards were made.
"We've got to punt," thought Dick, as he gave the signal.
Straight and true the ball sailed from the toe of Hal Foster's shoe--far
into the territory of Haskell, so far indeed that their full-back had to
retreat to gather it in. Back he sprinted, protected by his eager mates.
"Get to him, boys! Get to him!" pleaded Dick, and into the knot of
players rushed Beeby, Drew and Hall. Hall was shoved aside and Paul Drew
was put out of business, but Beeby dodged through, and, a moment later,
his powerful arms circled his man--the man with the ball. Down they went
in a heap.
A few seconds later the offensive tactics of Haskell were in operation,
and powerful they were. First came a smashing attack between left guard
and centre that netted five yards. Once more the line was bucked, and
through left guard and tackle came hurtling the man with the ball.
Another gain was netted around right end, and then came a line play on
the other side. Kentfield was being pushed back, and thus far her
opponents had found no necessity for kicking.
"Hold 'em! Hold 'em!" pleaded Dick. "Brace!"
His men tried, and with such power on the next play that only one yard
was made.
"That's it!" cried the captain gleefully.
On the side lines the coaches watched the struggle.
"I'm afraid they're too much for 'em," murmured Mr. Martin regretfully.
"Yes, perhaps, but the game is young yet, and it's full of chances.
Besides, did you note the brace they took?"
"Yes--it's great--we'll have a fine team before the season is over."
Smash and bang went the attack on Dick's line. He did all that mortal
captain could do to infuse some of his own strength and courage into his
men, but it seemed that it was not to be. Down the field the ball was
rushed until it was within thirty yards of the Kentfield goal.
"Touchdown! Touchdown!" demanded the crowd in sympathy with Haskell.
"Hold boys, hold!" yelled the Kentfield adherents and they sang cheering
songs and gave their school war-cries.
"Don't let 'em through!" almost tearfully pleaded Dick, though it seemed
that a score was inevitable. "Brace! Brace!"
Once more a hammer-like attack, and the ball was on Kentfield's
twenty-two yard line. Then it looked as if at the next play either a try
for goal would be made, or that some lucky player on Haskell would smash
through and dodge his way to a touchdown.
But something happened. Through some miscalculation when Haskell's
quarter got ready to pass the ball on the next play he found his man
missing, through inattention to the signal. Thereupon the quarter ran
with it himself, without having covered the necessary five yards to one
side. This carried with it a penalty which sent the ball back to
Kentfield's thirty-seven yard line, and Dick breathed easier. The almost
inevitable was postponed for a little while.
A forward pass was next attempted by Haskell, but the memory of the
recent fizzle must have been on the minds of her players, for the ball
was juggled. Perkins, the left guard fell on it, and then, after a
hurried line-up, Matthews, the full-back, tried for a goal from the
thirty-five yard line.
The ball rose well, for he was amply protected, and a yell of delight
came from a thousand throats as Haskell's supporters thought they saw
their side scoring. But Matthews did not have good aim, and the ball
struck the posts and bounded back where Dick got it.
"Our ball!" cried Dick in delight, as the pigskin was brought out to
the Kentfield twenty-five yard line.
"Are you going to kick?" whispered Paul.
"No, we'll buck the line again. I think they're tired."
The captain's judgment was vindicated, for on a wing shift Ray Dutton
went through for ten yards, and at this unexpected breaking up of the
powerful line of Haskell there were roars of delight from the home
crowd.
Again Dick sent a man smashing through with the ball, and the opponents
were tumbled to one side, for the Kentfield guards and tackle were
fierce now with the desire for revenge, and they tore great gaps in the
ranks of the men before them.
A fake kick gained another substantial distance, and then misfortune
came, for there was holding by some of Dick's men, and they lost the
ball on a penalty. But so far had they advanced it into the territory of
their enemies that the Haskell captain ordered a kick. Dick saw their
game now.
"They think to tire us, for, they think I'll begin smashing their line
again. Then, at the close of the half they'll knock us all apart," he
reasoned as he helped form interference for Foster, who had caught the
ball.
"Instead of that we'll kick!" instantly decided Dick. "That will keep
the ball in their territory, but if they send it back I'll chance some
more smashes."
He called to the full-back to boot the leather forward, and back it came
with unerring aim. It was somewhat of a surprise to Haskell, and they
were a bit demoralized, for they had not expected such fierce playing,
nor such good generalship. Then followed another punt from the Haskell
full-back, and Stiver caught the ball.
"Rush it back!" ordered Dick, his voice scarcely heard above the tumult.
Stiver was shortly downed, but Kentfield had the ball, and once more
began to smash at the line with all the fierceness of which she was
capable. Haskell was plainly taken by surprise, but they held their
opponents to advantage and in two downs only ten yards were gained. A
kick was inevitable, and it came.
This time, after rushing the ball back until downed Haskell tried some
new tactics. They worked a neat forward pass, and an adaptation of the
wing shift so that in a few minutes Kentfield's goal was again menaced.
"Now's the time to hold again!" cried Dick, and hold they did, until
Stiver was injured and had to leave the game. Ford Endton was called in,
and then the smashing went on once more.
Slowly Kentfield was being pushed back, and about all Dick could hope
for was the whistle that would announce the end of the half, for that
would save being scored on.
Once more fate came to his aid. There was off-side play on the part of
Haskell, and one of her men was detected "slugging". As a result
Kentfield got the ball, and her opponent was penalized ten yards. Dick
promptly ordered a kick, and the pigskin was sent whizzing down the
field into Haskell territory.
Haskell at once kicked back, but gained little, and then Dick called for
some more line plays. It was a bad move, as the ball could not be
advanced and Dick had to kick again. Then back at the wearied Kentfield
players came burrowing and boring their enemies, until our friends were
shoved back up the field.
Nearer and nearer to their own goal they were pushed, until the ball was
within five yards of it. Dick begged and pleaded, but it is likely that
not all the urging in the world could have prevented a touchdown, only
that the whistle blew, ending the half, and the tired players rushed
from the field.
"Well, we didn't score," remarked Dick somewhat gloomily to the coaches
who hurried out to him.
"Score? Nobody expected you would against that team!" cried Mr. Martin.
"But look what you did. You equaled them all around, and they couldn't
score on you."
"They feel worse than you do!" exclaimed Mr. Spencer. "You boys did
nobly. I fancy Blue Hill is trembling at this moment."
"I hope so," said Dick. "But I want to score next half."
The rest, and the words of praise showered on them from all sides at the
plucky game they had put up, did much to put heart into our heroes. They
went back into the contest with an eagerness that was a delight to the
coaches and their captain.
An exchange of kicks followed the second half initial send-off, and when
Dick's team got the ball they once more tried their bucking. The first
try, however showed that Haskell's line had been much strengthened, and
this was because several new players had gone in, whereas, with the
exception of two, the Kentfield team was the same.
"They're afraid of us!" Dick whispered in delight to Paul. "They held
out some of their best players--now they have them in. We're up against
the strongest team they have," and this was so.
Wishing to save his men as much as possible, Dick called for some
wing-shift and fake-kick plays that proved to be good ground-gainers.
But there was a fumble in one, and Haskell got the ball.
Her smashing attack proved the virtue of the new players, and in less
than ten minutes of play in the second half the ball had been shoved
over for a touchdown, and the goal was kicked.
"Oh, but that's tough!" sighed Innis.
"It might be worse!" said Dick, as cheerfully as he could. "We're
holding them well, considering the new men they have, but we're going
to score now."
He and his men made a good try for it. They got the ball on a fumble
after some play following the touchdown, and began to rush it back. For
a moment their attack was so irresistible that Haskell crumpled to
pieces. Then, maddened and ashamed at having a smaller-sized team treat
them thus, they braced, and the advance of Kentfield was stopped.
Again Haskell came smashing at Dick's line. He knew what it meant. They
were determined to have another touchdown and the plucky captain was
just as determined not to let them get it. But it seemed as if it must
come.
Smash, bang! Smash, bang! came the heart-breaking attack. Haskell was so
sure of herself now that she did not kick. But she was a little too
sure, for she held in the line again, and the ball came to our friends.
It was promptly punted out of danger, but instead of returning the punt
Haskell once more came back to the banging tactics.
"Another touchdown!" was the demand.
"Never! Never!" thought Dick in desperation.
The ball was within ten yards of his line. He knew there could be but a
few minutes more of play.
"Hold 'em fellows, hold!" he implored. "If we can keep 'em down to one
touchdown it's as good as a victory for us!"
Hold the Kentfield cadets did, though slowly but surely they were being
shoved back. They even dug their hands into the dirt until their nails
bled, but it seemed useless.
"Now boys for a touchdown!" called the Haskell captain with a laugh.
"We're going to get it, too!" he added, looking Dick straight in the
face.
The signal came. Into the line came smashing the man with the
ball--straight through a hole that had been torn with savage energy
between Drew and Watkins. Straight at Dick the man came, Haskell's big
guard. Dick tackled him like a tiger, and felt himself being bowled
over. A sharp pain shot through his injured ankle, and he knew the
bandage had slipped. But he also knew something else, for the ball had
bounced from the grasp of the guard and lay within reach of our hero.
He pulled himself from underneath the husky guard, though the pain in
his foot was excruciating, and like a flash was up. Then, before any one
knew what he was doing, he had booted the ball well down the field,
though the kick cost him unbearable pain. But he had saved another
touchdown against his team, for at that moment the final whistle blew,
and the great game was over.