CHAPTER XX.
ONE WHO WAS TRUE.
In less than two minutes after the resumption of play the spectatorsperceived that a great change had taken place in the home team, for theClearporters had returned to the field firmly resolved to redeemthemselves, and they went into the struggle with a snap and dash thattemporarily swept the visitors off their feet. Tricked by a crisscrossin the second scrimmage, Oakdale permitted Oakes to get round the rightend, Spotty Davis being effectively and easily blocked by Stoker, whileCrane let Butters through, and the left tackle of the locals flunghimself before Hayden, preventing a tackle.
The few shrill cries which had risen from the northern side of thefield became a chorus of shouts, and those shouts swelled into a roaras Oakes got past Eliot and raced onward, with a few pursuersstraggling out behind in a fruitless effort to overtake him.
Winton, who had lighted a cigar, chewed savagely at the weed and smotehis knee with his clenched fist.
“Just what I was afraid of!” he muttered.
Over the goal-line went Oakes for a touchdown, cheered wildly by thedelighted crowd beneath the blue banners. The ball was punted out andcaught, and Oakes held it for Ramsdal to lift it with a sure andhandsome kick over the crossbar.
“We can’t afford to let them repeat that performance,” said Eliotregretfully.
But the locals, retaining the ball after the kick-off, carried itfifteen yards in a swift dash before they were stopped. Having theircourage restored and being spurred on by Merwin, they lined up andlunged into the scrimmage before the visitors were wholly prepared, anda gain of nine yards through center might have developed into anothersensational run had not Eliot himself nailed the man with the pigskin.
Cheer after cheer was flung across from the northern side of the field.The visitors on the southern side answered bravely, yet not whollywithout a note of distress and alarm.
“Got yez going, me bhoy,” grinned Barney Carney into the face of BenStone. “Oi belave it’s our turrun now.”
He was not the only one who believed this; the whole team believed it.And when a body of contestants in any game get the idea that they arebound to succeed, it is doubly difficult to stop them. The Clearportershad talked it over; they had decided that the left wing of the visitorswas stronger than the right. Stoker had told them that Spotty Davis was“soft as mush.” Nevertheless, they were crafty enough not to betrayimmediately their plan to batter at that right end, and by shiftingtheir movements rapidly, they kept their opponents guessing. RoundDavis and through the line between him and Crane they occasionally shota runner for good gains, which carried them on again and again justwhen it seemed that they had been checked.
Eliot entreated Davis; he begged, and then he scolded. Spotty, feelingthe weight of the battering hurled upon him, swiftly lost heart; andwhen in a sort of blind despair he finally tackled a runner head on, hewas the one who remained stretched on the hard ground after the ballwas down.
“Come, Davis—come,” called Eliot, “get up and get into the game. Forgoodness’ sake, take a brace!”
Spotty groaned dolefully. “I can’t,” he whimpered, with a choke in hisvoice. “I can’t; I’m done up.”
Roger turned toward Winton, who lifted his hand in a signal, to whichthe Oakdale captain replied with a nod. Walker, Stone’s seatmate atschool, was promptly sent out by the coach; and the little fellow camerunning without hesitation, trembling with excitement, delightedbecause he was to have a chance in the game.
His head hanging, Davis staggered off the field and fell prostrate uponthe ground, hiding his face on his curved arm. “I was getting the wholeof it,” he mumbled chokingly. “They were bound to do me.” But no onepaid any heed to his muttering or to the tears he shed.
Stoker laughed at Walker, but the little chap soon demonstrated that hewas on the field to do his handsomest as long as he lasted; and,despite the greater weight of the opposing end, he was able to keep thefellow busy. For a time this change seemed to put a little new lifeinto the Oakdalers; but even though they got the ball, they could nothold it long, and, checked near the center of the field, they foundthemselves compelled to surrender the pigskin by kicking.
Clearport came back again with the dash and go which had sosurprisingly altered the run of the game. Merwin made a successfulquarterback run; Boothby gained a little ground through center; andthen Stone, breaking through Carney, slammed a runner down for a loss.Right on top of this the locals were penalized for holding, but therising courage of the visitors was dampened when the home team pulledoff a handsome forward pass that yielded double the distance needed.
Even though Oakdale fought every inch of the ground, being at lastfully aroused to the danger, Clearport repeatedly worked the crisscrosswith good effect and brought into play still another well-executedforward pass that landed them up against the goal-line, where, afterbeing held for two downs, they finally pushed the ball over by barelysix inches.
Apparently the tide had turned most decisively, and it was not strangethat some of the easily discouraged Oakdalers felt that they weresurely beaten. If the captain thought so, however, he succeededmarvelously well in hiding his feelings, trying his best all the timeto brace his teammates up, encouraging the equally staunch, chiding afew who showed symptoms of wavering, and entreating one or two whoapparently had lost heart.
There was a hush as Ramsdal prepared to try for goal. The defenders,lined up behind the posts, crouched, ready to charge; and asClearport’s full back booted the ball Hayden leaped forward and upward,his open hands stretched high above his head. His fingers barely grazedthe leather, but did not check the flight of the ball; if anything,they lifted it a trifle and aided in shooting it over the bar.
The home crowd was still making a terrific uproar as the two teams oncemore spread out upon the field, and there was every reason why thatportion of the spectators should rejoice; for Clearport had won thelead by a single point, and the course of the game in the second halfseemed to promise beyond doubt that this lead could be held.
The moment the ball came again into the possession of the locals theyretained it and resumed their rushing tactics. Pounding their way intoOakdale’s territory, they marched on by short but sufficient gainstoward yet another touchdown, the line of the visitors being pierced atalmost every point save that defended by Ben Stone, which had beenfound practically invulnerable. Again and again it was the players inthe backfield, Eliot, Hayden or Barker, who checked the assaults andprevented still larger gains. Winton’s fears that Oakdale would proveweak in defense had surely been well grounded. To add to the dismay ofthe visitors, they were penalized for fowling on their own thirty yardline, and the distance thus lost made the situation seem absolutelyhopeless. Almost every spectator believed Clearport destined to addfurther points to her score.
In the darkest moment, however, with the locals beating Oakdale backagainst the goal-line, Fred Merwin fumbled. The ball, snapped to him byCorbin, twisted out of his fingers and bounded off to one side. Even ashe flung himself at it he saw a figure that had cut through BarneyCarney flash before him. The ball was scooped from the ground in amarvelous manner, and Merwin, having miscalculated, clutched at theheels of the fellow who had secured the pigskin—clutched but could nothold fast, even though his fingers touched the stocky ankles of BenStone.
How it was that Ben got that ball up from the ground and kept his feetno witness could tell. For two or three strides it seemed that he mustplunge headlong with it, and then he regained his equilibrium andbrought a gasping chorus of cries from the southern side of the fieldas he ran on toward Clearport’s goal. Nevertheless, he had given hisleft ankle a wrench, and every step hurt like the jab of a knife. Withhis teeth set, he hugged the ball beneath one arm, the other thrown outstiffly to fend off a dark figure he saw coming at him; and he left thewould-be tackler jarred, dazed and knocked to his knees.
Once more every spectator was standing, and from opposite side
s of thefield came cries of dismay and wildly palpitant shouts of joyousencouragement.
It was Boothby, the swift left half back of the locals, who slowly butsurely cut down the man with the ball. Had Ben found it possible to runbarely a trifle faster, he could have carried the pigskin over theline. As it was, he made a thrillingly sensational run, and Boothby,shooting at him from behind, brought him down less than fifteen yardsfrom Clearport’s goal. Slammed to the ground, Stone held fast to thehuge yellow egg, and the next he knew Eliot was patting him on the backand telling him how good he was.
With the two teams preparing for the scrimmage, the Oakdale captainmoved up and down behind the line, touching first one and then anotherof his comrades as he urged them to get into the play like fiends.
“We’ve got to do it right now,” said Roger, “and we can.”
Panting, Stone heard Sage calling the signal, and at the sound of thekey number every nerve in his body went taut as a bow-string; for itwas the play by which the most effective gains had been made in thefirst half—Hayden was to go through Clearport’s right wing with theball. Ben knew he was expected to make the opening for the runner. Ifthe work was well done, there was a chance that Bern might cover theremaining distance and secure a touchdown.
The remembrance of what had happened at the very finish of the firsthalf struck Stone like a blow between the eyes. He doubted not that itwas Hayden who had slugged him, yet now he was expected to assist thatfellow in a play which might give him the glory of winning the game.
Winning the game—that was it! that was everything! Nothing elsecounted. The fellow who would let a personal grudge interfere was notworthy to wear an Oakdale uniform.
Tuttle snapped the ball, and Stone went at Carney like a thousand ofbrick. Already the Irishman had been led to respect his opponent, and,even though his backbone had weakened not a whit, he could notwithstand the charge which swept him from his pins and spun him aside.
Sleuth Piper did his part by taking care of Morehead, and, his teethset, Hayden came through that opening. It was Oakes who had seemed toanticipate the play, and Oakes who flung himself at Hayden; but it wasStone, interfering for the runner, who was brought down by the righthalf back of the locals. He had leaped forward in the tackler’s pathjust in time to save Bern.
What a shriek of joy went up from those who bore the crimson banners!How those red flags waved! For Hayden had crossed the line, and thetouchdown was made.
------------------------------------------------------------------------