A DESPERATE STRUGGLE
"We've got our work cut out for us," said Melvin grimly, as, after their
brief rest, the teams lined up for the third quarter.
"Don't worry, Mel, we've just begun to fight," was Fred's reassuring
answer.
The fighting blood of both teams was up now, and they scrapped like
wildcats for the slightest advantage. Twice during the period, Fortune
seemed about to smile on the home team, but each time the smile faded
into a frown, and the hearts of their supporters went down into their
boots.
Once, on the Lake Forest thirty-yard line, the home boys tried out a
trick play that Professor Raymond had taught them. The ball was passed
to Fred, apparently for him to make a drop kick. But instead of doing
this, he started to skirt the end. The opposing halfback thought that
this was a fake to draw in the end. He hesitated to come in, therefore,
and in the meantime Fred kept on running behind the scrimmage line,
until the halfback did not dare to wait any longer, as it seemed to be a
dead sure thing that Fred was going to circle the end. In the meantime,
Melvin had had time to get down the field, and Fred turned about
swiftly, just as the halfback reached out for him, and sent the ball
like a shot to Melvin. It was a pretty play, and nine times out of ten
would have got by, but just as it had almost reached Melvin's
outstretched hands, Barton, the opposing left tackle, touched it with
the tips of his fingers, just enough to deflect it from its course.
Ensley grabbed it, and it was Lake Forest's ball.
"What do you think of that for luck?" growled Slim disgustedly.
"They're sure getting all the breaks," agreed Billy.
"Never mind, fellows!" sang out Melvin. "Buck up. We'll beat them yet."
But the gloom of the Rally Hall rooters became still deeper a few
minutes later, when a beautiful drop kick of Fred's that was going
straight for the goal was blown by a puff of wind just enough to graze
the post on the wrong side.
There was no more scoring in that period, and the quarter ended with
Lake Forest still in the lead.
"Now, fellows," said Melvin, as they came out to do or die in the last
quarter, "it's our last chance. Go at them and rip up their line. Go
through them like a prairie fire. We won't try drop kicking. Even if we
got a goal from the field, they'd still be ahead, and the time's too
short to make two of them. The only thing that'll do us any good is a
touchdown. We _must_ win! Hammer the heart out of them! Tear them
to pieces!"
And the boys responded nobly. They charged hard and played fast. They
plunged into the lines of their opponents like so many wild men. Every
member of the team played as though the victory depended on him alone.
Down the field they went, in one desperate raging charge that carried
all before it. Only once did they fail to make their distance, and even
then they got the ball back promptly.
But time was on the enemy's side. They fought back savagely and
contested every inch. Six, eight, ten minutes went by, while the ball
was traveling down the field, and when the teams faced each other, pale,
panting, covered with dust and sweat, on Lake Forest's ten-yard line,
only three minutes of playing time remained.
All the spectators now were on their feet, yelling wildly, and the
tumult was fearful.
"Brace, fellows, brace!" screamed Eggleston, the Lake Forest captain.
"Throw 'em back! Don't give an inch!"
Melvin selected Fred for the final plunge.
"Go to it, old scout," he said. "This is the third down. For heaven's
sake, make it."
Fred's eyes were blazing.
"Watch me," he said.
Billy made a perfect snap to Melvin, who passed the ball to Fred like a
flash. Haley and Ames made a hole between left guard and tackle, and
Fred, with lowered head, plunged in like a battering ram. The whole team
piled in after him, and when at last he was downed, he had gained six
yards of the coveted space.
Dizzy and bruised, he rose to his feet.
"We've got 'em going!" yelled Melvin. "One more does it!"
"Hold 'em, boys, hold 'em!" shouted Eggleston. "This is their last
down."
"Rushton! Rushton! Rushton!" the stands were shouting.
"They're counting on you, you see," said Melvin.
Fred's muscles grew taut, and he braced for one final effort.
Once more the ball was passed, and, like a thunderbolt, he went into the
line between centre and guard.
The whole Lake Forest team threw themselves upon him, but there was no
stopping him. Ploughing, raging, tearing, he went through them and over
the line for a touchdown!
"Look at that!"
"Great work! Hurrah!"
Rally Hall had won the game in the last minute of play!
The stands went crazy, and after the goal had been kicked, making the
final score ten to seven, the crowd swept down over the field, hoisted
Fred upon their shoulders and marched up and down yelling like Indians.
It was all he could do to get away from them and to the shower baths and
dressing rooms of the gymnasium.
Here he met with another ovation from the team itself. They were all in
a state of the highest delight and excitement at winning the game that
had seemed so surely lost, and they insisted on giving him the chief
credit for the victory.
"Nonsense," he protested, "I didn't do a thing more than any one else.
It takes eleven men to win a football game."
Professor Raymond was warm in his congratulations, and even Dr. Rally,
who had seen the game from a portion of the stand reserved for the
teaching staff, so far unbent as to stop for a moment and tell him that
he had done "very well, very well indeed."
"Say," murmured Slim, after the doctor had passed on, "even Hardtack is
human. He's got something beside ice water in his veins."
"Sure!" assented Billy, "I'll bet the old chap's tickled to death to see
Rally Hall put one over on Lake Forest."
Eggleston, the captain of the Lake Forest team, who had a few minutes
before train time, also was generous enough to come in and shake hands
with his conquerors. He was a fine, manly fellow, and took his beating
like a gentleman.
"You sure have a dandy fullback," he said to Melvin. "You've been pretty
foxy in keeping him under cover. We hadn't any idea what we were going
up against."
"Isn't he a pippin?" said Melvin enthusiastically. "You'd have copped
the game all right, if it hadn't been for him."
"He's some line bucker," assented Eggleston. "I got in his way once, and
he stood me on my head. You might as well try to stop an express train."
"It's hard to flag that kind of a train," laughed Melvin.
"Sure thing," grinned Eggleston. "Well, so long. I'll just have time to
get to the station. We'll try to even things up next year."
As the boys were strolling back to the Hall, they passed Andy Shanks and
Sid Wilton talking earnestly together. They were so absorbed that they
did not see Fred and his companion.
"Wonder what they're hatching up now?" laughed Fred.
"Some mischief, I'll be bound," answered Granger. "It isn't the first
time I've seen them putting their heads together lately, and somehow or
other, I rather think it has to do with you."
"Nonsense!" said Fred lightly.
"Maybe it's nonsense and maybe it's not," replied Melvin soberly. "I
know Andy pretty well, and I'm dead sure he'll never forget the show you
made of him before the other fellows. At any rate keep your eyes wide
open and look out for squalls."
"I'll take a chance," laughed Fred.
"Don't take too many," Melvin warned him. "Of course, I may be wrong,
but I have a feeling that he's out to do you."
Melvin was a better prophet than he knew.