ANOTHER GAME
There was silence for a time among the cadets of the football
team--silence broken only by the whirr and hum of the machinery as it
ran free, for the gasolene had been shut off. Under the big tires
crunched the small stones and gravel of the road.
"Can't you start the motor and hold her back on the reverse?" shouted
Dick above the noise.
Simpson shook his head.
"I'd rip her all to pieces if I did," he answered. "Queer about that
brake rod snapping. That's not in my department, but I'd like to get
hold of the man that inspected and tested it," he added grimly. "I'd
break him!"
Dick looked into the faces of his chums. There was a quiet, strained
look in all of them, but none of them showed craven fear. He glanced at
his father, and Mr. Hamilton smiled at his son.
"I guess we won't be behind hand now," he said.
"No," and Dick shook his head. Then he glanced over the side of the
truck and noted how the trees were slipping by. They were going at
ever-increasing speed.
Luckily they met no other vehicles on the hill, or there might have been
trouble. The auto drivers in the rear, finding they could do nothing
were keeping up as close as they could, to render any assistance if
possible.
It was well that the speeding truck was strongly and ponderously made,
and that it was hung low, otherwise it would have toppled over. As it
was they all swayed from side to side dangerously, tossing the occupants
against one another.
"Good practice for the coming game," remarked Dutton.
"I hope it doesn't take their nerve," said Mr. Martin in a low voice to
his colleague. "This may have a fearful effect."
"Their nerves are good," declared the Princeton coach, "but I wish this
was over. There's a good bit yet to go, and we'll travel faster at the
end, for the hill is steeper there."
Mr. Martin silently nodded, and then looked ahead. As he did so he could
not refrain from a startled cry, for the hill took a sudden, steep dip,
and it seemed impossible for any auto not under control to make it
successfully.
Before any one could do anything, had it been possible, the car was at
the dangerous descent. Simpson drew in his breath sharply and grasped
the steering wheel with firmer grip.
"Whew!" whistled Paul Drew. "This is awful!"
Dick said nothing, but he moved up closer to his father. Fear was
clutching his heart, for he dreaded lest that all be killed.
"This is about the end!" gasped the driver, as the steeper part of the
hill came to an end. "The worst is over."
The cadets could now look ahead, and see a level stretch. They were
beginning to breathe easier.
"Once I'm on that I'll be all right," went on the driver. He reached it
a moment later, but the speed of the ponderous car was not checked much.
It had too great momentum.
Suddenly Dick gave a cry of fear, and pointed forward. They all saw it
at the same time. Three hundred feet away was a narrow bridge and at
that moment there appeared on it, turning in from a side road, a man
driving a team of horses attached to a light carriage. And, as the
cadets looked, the horses seemed possessed with sudden fright at the
view of the oncoming auto. They reared, and the driver had all he could
do to hold them in.
Then one animal, worse than its mate, kicked over the traces and, coming
down, got tangled in the harness. It fell heavily, right in the centre
of the bridge, dragging down its mate. The man leaped out to go to the
heads of the horses, and, as he saw the approaching auto he held up his
hand and shouted a warning.
"Stop! Stop!" he cried.
"I can't!" yelled back Simpson. "Cut the harness! Push the horses off
the bridge!"
The man was working frantically. Simpson gave a last desperate yank on
the brake lever. It was still out of commission, as he knew it would be.
There seemed to be no escape from the impending crash which might mean
death for a number of them.
"I'm going to jump!" cried George Hall, worming his way to the rear of
the truck, which was going almost as fast as when on the hill.
"Don't you do it!" cried Dick, with all the energy he possessed. "Here,
Simpson, turn into that hayfield! Make for the stack! Run the auto into
it! That will stop us without damage!"
"By gasolene! I believe you're right!" yelled the driver. "I'll do it.
It's our only hope."
"But the fence! The fence!" shouted Paul. "We'll smash into it!" for a
rail fence shut off from the road the field at which Dick had pointed.
"That fence!" yelled Simpson in supreme contempt. "I'll smash it into
kindling wood! Hold fast everybody! Here we go!"
A moment later he had swung the car toward the hayfield. Fortunately it
was on a level with the road, or the front part of the auto would never
have sustained the shock. Through the fence the ponderous machine
crashed as if it were paper. The next instant the big car plowed
straight into a big stack of hay.
Like so many rubber balls, the football players were thrown forward
against one another, and Dick and the two coaches were tossed out into
the fragrant timothy.
Then a cheer burst from the other cadets in the three following trucks
which had come to a stop. For they saw that their comrades were safe.
The man on the bridge had succeeded in disentangling his horses and they
were now quiet.
Simpson leaped from his seat, which he had managed to maintain, and
looked under the truck.
"I knew it!" he cried. "Brake rod busted. Oh, if I had the man who made
that!"
"Can we go on?" asked Dick anxiously as he picked himself up from the
hay.
"Wouldn't dare to without this brake rod being fixed" replied the
driver. "There are more hills."
"Here, you football fellows get in one of these other trucks. We'll pile
out and walk to the grounds--it's not far," called Percy Haddon.
"That's the stuff!" shouted Manager Hatfield. "We haven't any too much
time. Are you boys all right?"
"Sure," answered Paul with a laugh. "We're ready to play the game of our
lives."
"That's right!" came in a chorus from the others. Now that the strain
was over there was a bit of hysterical feeling, but it soon passed
away.
Little time was lost in making the transfer. The football team and the
substitutes got in one of the other trucks and were soon being whizzed
off to the grounds. The other two trucks, containing as many of the
remaining cadets as could squeeze into them, pressed on, and only a few
had to walk the remaining distance.
Simpson backed his truck out of the hayfield which had practically saved
a number of lives that day. Then the driver began work at repairing the
brake rod, his companions promising to return for him when they had
taken the cadets to the grounds.
Nor would Simpson accept any pay for the services he had rendered that
day.
"I've got stock in your road, Mr. Hamilton," he said, "though it is only
two shares. This was a good test of the trucks, and I'm glad only a
brake rod busted. It was better to happen now than after I had delivered
'em. I'm satisfied."
The Mooretown cadets were becoming anxious about the non-appearance of
their opponents, for the hour for the game was fast approaching, when
Dick and his players came running out on the gridiron. They were greeted
with a rousing cheer, for, though the rules called for the forfeiting of
a contest to the non-appearing team, the Mooretown cadets were true
sportsmen and hated to take this advantage.
"Jove! But I'm glad you fellows came!" cried the Mooretown captain as he
wrung Dick's hand. "We were horribly afraid you wouldn't show up. What
was the matter? I thought you were coming by special train."
"We were, but there was a mix-up and we had to charter these autos. But
we're here and we're going to beat you!"
"Yes, you are!" and the home captain laughed. "Well, I'll show you the
dressing rooms. We've got a smashing big crowd here to-day and the
weather is just right. It would have been a shame to disappoint 'em."
"Well, it's too bad to have 'em see you defeated, but it can't be
helped," said Dick with mocking seriousness and they both laughed. The
fright of the dangerous ride was fast passing away from all of the
Kentfield team.
They were soon in their suits and out on the gridiron practicing.
Meanwhile the Mooretown lads were at work with the ball, and the
Kentfield coaches were critically sizing them up.
"Not nearly as fast as our lads," declared Mr. Martin.
"That's right. I don't expect a walkover, but there ought to be no
question as to who is going to win--unless this auto affair has got on
the nerves of our lads."
The crowd continued to arrive. The grandstands were like some gorgeous
sunset in appearance, with the hats of the pretty girls, and the waving
of flags and banners. Cheers and songs, made music in keeping with the
day.
"Line-up!" came the cry, and when the whistle blew, and the ball was
kicked off, twenty-two figures clad in earth-stained suits made a mad
dash for each other. The game was on.
From the time of the first scrimmage Dick knew that his team had the
contest safe, for one smashing through the line of Mooretown told the
story. The men had over-trained and had gone "stale." On the other hand
the Kentfield lads were as fresh as the proverbial daisies.
"Take her along for a touchdown, boys!" ordered the captain, and down
the field the ball was worked in a steady succession of rushes. In vain
did Mooretown try to stem the tide against them. Once, when their goal
line was almost reached, they did brace, and Dick began to plan a trick
play. But it was not needed, for the next moment Dutton was shoved over
for the touchdown, and the crowd of Kentfield students went wild with
delight. The goal was kicked easily, and then began the hammer and tongs
work again.
Once again that half Kentfield made a touchdown, not as easily as at
first, for Mooretown had waxed desperate, but it was made. Not that it
was all "pie" to quote Dick, but they had the "measure" of their
opponents, and they began to see the championship looming clearly before
them.
Twelve to nothing was the score in favor of Kentfield at the end of the
first half, which came to a close with the ball once more almost over
the Mooretown line.
There were sore hearts among the players on the home team, and Dick and
his lads knew just how their opponents felt, but it was a fair game,
with no quarter and it was the fortunes of war.
"I'm afraid you're going to make good," said the Mooretown captain to
the young millionaire, as the second half started.
"We've just _got_ to," answered Dick. "We want that gold cup."
Hammering away again, the Kentfield lads advanced the ball. Mooretown
got it on a fumble once, and did some pretty work in punting, but it was
of no avail. Again they had the pigskin because of the penalty inflicted
on a too eager Kentfield player, and they made a desperate try for a
field goal, but it fell short.
After that there was no more danger to our friends, and they kept the
ball advancing by steady rushes, or, to rest his men, Dick would call
for a forward pass. Again and yet again was the Mooretown goal line
crossed, amid the frantic cheers of the Kentfield contingent, and when
the final whistle blew the score was twenty-nine to nothing.
"Victory!" cried Dick in exultation, as he hugged as many of his players
as he could. "Now for Blue Hill next Saturday and we'll have such a
feast as never was at Kentfield before!"