“HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!”
Clif found himself beside Lemuel John when he got back to the bench.
Lemuel John was enjoying――enduring would be a better word――his first
big game as a player, and he was considerably wrought up. For that
matter, so was Clif, and Clif was not exactly a tyro. The usual
ecstatic cheering died down and Carlson sent the ball away on a long
journey into the south. Wolcott was unable to advance by rushing
from her seventeen and punted to Wyndham’s forty-six. The Dark Blue
revealed her campaign then and there by returning the kick on first
down. The Brown’s safety man was caught napping and chased the ball
over the line. From the twenty Wolcott reeled off six around Drayton
back at left end, and made it first down on the next try when the whole
backfield concentrated on Breeze. But a second attempt to negotiate
the enemy’s left end failed, and, after two thrusts at Cotter, Wolcott
again punted from her thirty-seven.
Ogden made the best of Carlson’s poor pass and kicked to Wolcott’s
twenty-eight, the wind aiding a weak punt. Wolcott chose to make a
fair catch and the ball was stepped forward to her forty-three when
Couch interfered. Wolcott used a fake kick to throw the pigskin to her
right end, who was unguarded, but the wind aided the opponents and the
pass grounded. A second attempt, across the line, went for two yards,
Sproule nailing the receiver. On a cross buck Breeze was put out of
the way and Wolcott plowed through for five. With something less than
three yards to go, the Brown faked a kick and threw a long pass across
the field. Her left half caught, ran eight yards and was tackled hard
by Stiles. Time was called and Coach Otis sent Williams in at right end
for Couch. Wolcott twice gained through the Wyndham left and made first
down on a delayed pass with quarter going inside right tackle. The ball
was now on Wyndham’s thirty and the Dark Blue’s adherents were shouting
hoarsely for Wyndham to hold.
Smythe was sent back to left guard and Tom relieved Stiles. A minute
later, after Wolcott had smashed once at the defenders’ center,
Longwell replaced Cotter after the latter had failed to respond to Dan
Farrell’s first-aid treatment. Cotter was helped off to a loud cheer
from the stand. Wolcott got four yards on two attempts at the line and
then shot her full back past Williams for three more, taking the ball
to the twenty-three. A tall half back retreated to the thirty-five
yards and surveyed a rather difficult angle. The Wolcott quarter knelt
on the thirty-two and patted the sod smooth. Cries of “_Block that
kick!_” drowned the signals as the ball shot back. The pass was good
and the quarter quickly and deftly cocked the pigskin, but the wind was
still a factor and the ball started away with too much elevation and,
after pausing undecidedly in the air, descended well short of the goal
line and to the right of the posts. And when it came down Tom was under
it.
An instant later Clif was on his feet, waving his arms as well as that
shoulder pad would allow him to and shouting at the top of his lungs.
And Lemuel John was shaking both clenched fists at the speeding runner
and talking pure Wyoming at him. After all, it was rather simple,
that run of Tom’s. For only a moment at the beginning of the race
was the outcome in doubt. He was almost stopped by a Wolcott tackle
before he had found his stride, but after that, while a hastily formed
interference cut a path for him, and when the interference had been
left behind, he had a clear field to the Wolcott goal line. He was
pursued all the way by the enemy’s fleetest runners, but he ran the
race of his life and at the end of it a clear ten yards separated him
from the nearest adversary.
Wyndham stood on her feet and went wild, stark, staring crazy, and
the cheer leaders shouted and waved in vain. The pandemonium that was
let loose had neither rhythm nor coherence, but it was whole-souled
and prodigious! After a while the leaders did manage to evoke several
thunderous pæans, the final one waning a trifle toward the end as
Houston prepared for the try-for-point. Wolcott was savage and
desperate and Houston’s foot never touched the ball. The whole Wyndham
left side caved in and the Brown poured through the breach. But six
points looked very large just then and Wyndham was triumphant.
The quarter had ended during Tom’s eighty-nine-yard scamper, and Tom,
for one, was probably glad of the minute’s respite. The blue cohorts
shouted and waved and thumped each other on the back, and every one on
that particular side of the gridiron was very, very happy. As though to
emphasize the triumph the long white banner above the stand unwrapped
itself from the mast and whipped out in the breeze, displaying to the
gaze of the Wolcott supporters the legend “No Defeats!”
Wyndham now had only to defend, but that might prove no easy task, for
Wolcott had the wind behind her and would play with the desperation
of a team who has all to gain and nothing to lose. Wyndham chose to
kick off and Carlson sent the ball low and far. But the Dark Blue ends
couldn’t cover that kick and a Wolcott back made twelve yards after
the catch. The Brown uncovered everything she had then, and she had
several things unsuspected of the adversary. One was a reverse play in
which the quarter back, with a tackle preceding him, ran wide around
the short end, the attack being apparently aimed the other way. Wolcott
used this to advantage until, after many yards had been lost, Wyndham
solved it. Wolcott ripped through Smythe and inside Weldon, found a
weak spot at Williams until that youth was relieved in favor of Wells
and twice used short forward heaves for five- and six-yard gains. It
took Wolcott eight minutes to reach the Dark Blue’s thirty-four yards,
and there the tide was turned.
Time was called for a Wolcott half back, and Coach Otis seized the
opportunity to send a fresh center in and to substitute Tom with
Whitemill. Clif was trying hard to catch the coach’s eye, but he didn’t
succeed. Ellison, at center, steadied the Dark Blue line at once,
and two attempts by the enemy to make ground between tackles yielded
but three yards. On third down the Wolcott full back smashed past
Longwell for six more, however, placing the pigskin inside Wyndham’s
thirty-four. Wolcott wanted that last yard badly and had no desire
to yield possession of the ball almost within striking distance of
the goal. Yet she doubted her ability to make first down by straight
rushing. She solved the problem to her own satisfaction by faking a
forward pass, with full back throwing, and developing an end-around
play. Perhaps the trick might have succeeded had she chosen her
right end to carry, but she didn’t, and Drayton spoiled a very neat
attempt by refusing to believe too implicitly in the pass. When the
enemy runner sought to cut in Drayton was awaiting him. He let the
interference pass and then took the man with the ball, and Wolcott,
when the chain was trailed off the field again, had missed her distance
by some inches.
Wyndham tried the Wolcott left tackle for a scant yard and then punted.
The punt went too high for the best results and the wind shortened it,
bringing it down just beyond midfield. And from there, with some six
minutes remaining, Wolcott launched her final and supreme offense.
She brought in fresh reserves first; a new quarter, a new full back,
two linemen; and, not many plays later, again switched quarter backs.
She no longer placed much reliance on trick plays, but smashed
hard on tackles and left guard positions, using straight bucks for
the most part. There was no doubt but that Wyndham was weakening.
Wolcott crossed the Dark Blue’s forty in four plays and went on to
the thirty-four in two more. There, however, a fumble by the quarter
brought a moment’s pause in her advance. She recovered the ball for an
eight-yard loss and the offending player was returned to private life.
Mr. Otis, half a dozen yards along the bench, cupped his hands and
spoke a single word to Clif.
“Goddard,” he said.
Wolcott went on desperately, retrieving her loss and three yards more
by an unexpected and well-worked double pass that put her on the
defenders’ thirty-one. From there to the twenty she smashed four times
at Smythe, and when the referee waved to the linemen Smythe was of very
little present use. Greene took his place, and at the same time Clif
went in for Weldon. “You’ve been asking for it all the afternoon,” said
“G. G.” dryly. “Go ahead and show me. Dan says you can stand the gaff,
but I’d save that bad shoulder all I could.”
Time was running fast now and Wolcott knew it and played like so many
demons. Wyndham knew it and longed desperately for the horn. She could
safely pull in her secondary defense now, for the enemy had settled
down to hammer-and-tongs football. Why should she risk a forward pass
when she could make ten yards in four downs? And why should she attempt
a field goal when only a touchdown could avert defeat? It was the
Wyndham secondary defense that saved the day more than once, since the
line was weakening fast. Captain Jeff was into everything and played a
hero’s part that afternoon. But the enemy drew nearer at every play,
fighting not only Wyndham but time. Back on her twelve yards, the Dark
Blue called a halt. Both teams were plainly tuckered, yet not a player
left his feet. Less than two minutes remained, but two minutes was more
than enough to turn what had seemed a certain victory into a tie or a
defeat for the Dark Blue. New men came on for both teams; Jackson for
Houston, Craigie for Desmond, Coles for Longwell, on the Blue’s side.
Then the whistle blew and the final struggle began.
Wolcott had one down left with which to reach the ten yards and she
used it in trampling over Greene, and again the chain was moved on.
Clif had forgotten that he wore a shoulder pad, forgotten that he had
ever had a broken collar bone. He remembered little except that his
back was close to the last white line and that Wolcott must not reach
it. Sim Jackson was fairly beside himself, croaking supplications and
insults almost in a breath. Captain Ogden, ready to drop, reeled weakly
down the line, thumping backs and pleading hoarsely. Clif found himself
saying “No Defeats! No Defeats!” over and over as he dug his cleats
anew and settled himself.
From further down the field came an unceasing wave of sound. Over
and over and over it boomed, deep, measured, imploring: “_Hold ’em,
Wyndham! Hold ’em, Wyndham! Hold ’em, Wyndham!_”
The enemy surged again, the lines met, writhed and struggled for a long
moment. Then the whistle shrilled and the referee emerged from the
confusion. “Second down! About seven!”
Almost three yards that time, thought Clif in dismay as he crawled
to his feet again. They had come straight at him and he had failed!
Something hurt horribly somewhere, but he hadn’t time to think of that.
Wolcott was giving signals again. No, a whistle had blown. Some one was
coming on. For whom? Gosh, it was Lemuel John! Wyndham was cheering
now: “Rah, rah, rah, Parks!” “Rah, rah, rah, Greene!” Yes, Greene was
out, and here was Lemuel John, pale, earnest and startlingly big. Clif
took heart. If only the enemy would smash at left guard now!
But the enemy didn’t. A back slid off to the left and when the dust of
battle had settled the ball was close to the four yards. Almost three
yards at a time! Lemuel John could talk now, and he did. “Back yonder
they’re telling us to hold ’em, fellows!” shouted the big fellow.
“What do you say we do it? What have they got we ain’t? Not a thing,
pardners! Come on and heave ’em back!”
“That’s the stuff!” croaked Sim Jackson. “Don’t let ’em have another
inch, Wyndham! Hold ’em! You can do it! I’m telling you you can!
_Won’t_ you hold ’em, fellows?”
And from the stand came the measured slogan again, “_Hold ’em,
Wyndham!_”
Four to go and two downs! Wolcott was playing fast, for the timer’s
watch was ticking off the seconds at breakneck speed. Again the
attack came and again it was aimed at the left tackle. But this
time Clif wasn’t hurled before it. Something big moved forward and
met the onslaught. The attack paused. Then out of the mêlée strode
Lemuel John. He strode forward, and with him, held tightly, was a
struggling half back, the ball clutched to his stomach. The whistle
blew, but Lemuel John went on in spite of opposition, went on until he
was back near the ten-yard line. There he released the captive, set
him down very carefully on his feet and grinned into his convulsed,
sweat-streaked face.
“Try again, young feller,” said Lemuel John.
And Wolcott tried again, while the Wyndham stand still laughed
ecstatically, tried and failed utterly when a back sped the ball over
the line in a last desperate effort to conquer and Captain Jeff smote
it mightily to earth!
* * * * *
“Thought I’d drop in and see did you get damaged much,” drawled Lemuel
John as he came into Loring’s room and faced the Triumvirate after
supper that evening. He looked at Clif as he ended his statement.
“Not badly,” smiled Clif. “I thought the pesky thing was busted again,
but ‘Doc’ says no. He said things unfit for publication, though, and
asked me right to my face if I was――well, a particularly profane kind
of a fool!”
“Bet you couldn’t answer that,” chuckled Tom.
“Well, I didn’t know,” said Lemuel John, accepting Loring’s invitation
and easing his big frame onto the edge of a chair. “I saw you looked
sort of pained when I got there and I heard afterwards that you’d hurt
the shoulder again.”
“Parks,” said Tom―― “No, by heck, I’m going to call you Lemuel John!
Anyway, I was going to say that I’ll bet you anything you like, from a
doughnut to a covey of cows――I mean herd, don’t I?――that you could be
elected captain if they’d hold the election right now!”
Lemuel John smiled and shook his head. “You’re kidding, I guess. I
didn’t do anything. Didn’t have any chance to. I just fooled with that
kid a bit because I thought our fellows sort of needed a laugh. They
was――were all sort of excited, you know; kind of wrought-up like; and
I was scared they’d let those other fellows push that ball over before
they’d got hep to the fact that the other fellows wasn’t any better
than they was――were――was?” Lemuel John looked helplessly at Loring.
“Were,” said Loring gravely.
“Yeah. Well, that’s all there was to that. Guess folks did get a good
laugh, but, shucks, ’twasn’t anything to do.”
“Wasn’t it?” said Clif. “Well, it did the trick, just the same. Those
murderers were on their way to a touchdown, and no mistake!”
“I’ll say they were,” agreed Tom. “I was just closing my eyes so as
not to see the tragedy. And another thing, fellows: if Wolcott had got
that score she’d certainly have won, because that left half of hers
hasn’t missed but one ‘try’ this season. Lemuel John, you’re a poor
little half portion, and oughtn’t to be allowed to take part in such a
strenuous pastime as football, but you sure saved the old game!”
“Oh, shucks,” muttered Lemuel John.
THE END
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
_North Bank Series_
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Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.