The Boys of Columbia High on the Gridiron/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI
CLIFFORD'S LAST HOPE
"Why doesn't the fool run?" cried one man, quivering with suspense.
"It's too late now! See, he's going to tackle the brute! He's got his hands out ready! Gee! what nerve!" bellowed another, this time from Clifford.
A third laughed harshly, for the strain had been great on everyone.
"It's all off, fellows. That's his dog!" he shouted.
"Well, I'll be hanged! Look at him jumping up to lick the boy's face, will you? Did you ever? This takes the cake!"
The crowd had by this time discovered that it was a false alarm, and by degrees the hysterical feeling wore off, though there were many who would not soon forget the awful sense of fear that had almost paralyzed their systems.
Kaiser had apparently broken loose long after Bones had left home, and determined to find his beloved master, had trailed him to the football field. Possibly the faithful animal believed that there might be further need of his services, and that there were more fellows in need of trimming.
Of course the game had to be delayed until Bones could lead Kaiser away, and secure him in a little room under the grandstand. The crowd howled and cheered as he went by, and Shadduck grinned in his usual happy fashion, feeling that for once at least he was in the exact limelight—thanks to Kaiser!
Once more the two opposing teams faced each other on the field. The rushers were crouched, ready to sprmg forward as soon as the ball had been put into play. Comfort prepared to send in his best kick, after which the whole field would be in motion in the mad endeavor to urge the ball toward the goal of the opposing side.
Jack was a famous punter and also a gilt-edged drop-kicker. He had a peculiar spiral kick that was calculated to be exceedingly puzzling to the enemy. And since much depended upon how far he sent the oval into the enemiy's territory, all eyes were eagerly glued upon him. now.
"Plunk!"
Away sailed the ball with the most erratic motion the Clifford men had ever seen in all their experience. Some ran this way, and then suddenly changed their course, as they realized the deceiving nature of the ball's aerial flight. But the Columbia ends knew just how the full-back would send the ball, and they shot for the spot, determined to reach there almost as soon as the enemy, and cut short his advantage for a run.
Coots managed to catch the ball, and darted back with it, but was downed, almost in his tracks, by a fierce tackle on the part of Shadduck, who had slipped through the interference.
"Down!" howled Coots, after he had recovered his wind. The players lined up, while Style began calling off the signals. The Columbia players braced for the attack they knew would soon come. And come it did. Their line tottered and wavered under the smashing impact, but it held, and Wentworth was hurled back for a slight loss.
"That's the way to do it!" cried Frank, in delight. "Hold 'em again, fellows, and they'll have to kick!"
Once more Clifford, in desperation, for she wanted to keep the ball, tried for another advance, this time around her opponent's left end. But Morris and Shay were on hand, and nailed the player before he had gone two yards.
"They've got to kick!" came the cry, and indeed that was the only play left for Clifford. Still, it might be a fake one, and Frank signalled this to his men, so that they might be on the alert. But Comfort ran away back, and it was well that he did, for the ball was booted well into the Columbia territory. The full-back caught it and managed to rush back fifteen yards before he was fiercely downed.
"Now's our chance, fellows!" called Frank, while Paul Bird came up, took the pigskin and waited for Lanky to give the signal.
"I-m-p-o-r-t-a-n-c-e!" spelled out the quarter.
Instantly after the last letter was given, there was a sudden movement. The center had flashed the ball to Allen, who started furiously around the outside of the Clifford line. West was running diagonally, and passed him. Many did not notice that as they crossed Frank dexterously passed the ball to Ralph, but kept on running and dodging as though he still held it.
The trick was not a new one by any means, but when well done it was apt to deceive at least a portion of the rattled opposition; so that several of the Clifford players were, for the instant, really in doubt as to which of the two half-backs carried the ball.
Thus in the beginning the force of pursuers was divided. Ralph was a sprinter, and could avoid interference in a manner that was simply marvelous. He had the entire bunch against him, trying to block his play, but with wonderful skill managed to dodge each in turn, until when finally brought down he had reached the enemy's ten-yard line!
A burst of applause from the eager spectators; then again absolute silence, for once more the heavily breathing players had gathered in battle array. Again came a hot scrimmage. The ball was over the side lines now, and out of bounds. So it had to be brought in. Clifford had it for a change, but the conditions were^desperate with them now, with their home goal close behind. Let a Columbia player once get his hands on the oval, and the chances were he could carry it over the line for a touchdown.
The man who did the thinking in this emergency knew his business. When the next scrimmage was on, many of the spectators were astonished to see a Clifford player jump away from the melee with the ball in his grasp, and hurl himself deliberately across his own line.
Immediately the crowd gave expression to their feelings. Some cheered, while others groaned, as the play was understood best.
"Why, that man is a traitor to his team!" exclaimed one indignant fellow.
A Columbia graduate, who happened to be sitting next to the speaker, gave him a look of contempt, as he remarked:
"On the contrary he proved to have an exceedingly clever head on him. Stop and think for just a minute. They were close up to Clifford's goal. The chances were ten to one in that scrimmage that Columbia would get the ball, and with the next play carry it across the line. That meant a touchdown. Then if they could kick a goal, as is likely, they would count six. As it is now, Columbia gets only two because that quick-witted fellow put it over his own line. More than that, the next play is back at the twenty-five yard line; so you see how easily Clifford gets out of a bad corner."
As little time as possible was lost getting in position again. So eager were both sides to accomplish things that they begrudged the fleeting seconds.
The tide of battle surged back and forth. Dozens of plays were pulled off that it would take many chapters to describe. But what cheered the enthusiasts of the home team was the fact that most of the work was being done on hostile territory!
In between times when there was no need of silence the raucous voice of Herman Hooker could be heard, as he led his band around back of the crowd, and shouted again and again in unison the thrilling yell of Columbia, with the intention of stirring the blood in the veins of each player, and investing him with renewed pluck and zeal.
As if it were needed, when each one of those sturdy champions had already been keyed up to top-notch speed. Time was slipping away, and despite the almost superhuman efforts of Clifford they could not seem to get the ball over that strenuously defended line of their opponents.
In vain did the rooters urge them on to renewed efforts. Columbia seemed to have thrown up a stone wall in front of her goal lines, and no matter what strenuous plays were called off they were met with a stubborn tenacity that robbed them of results.
Only seven more minutes remained of the second half. Columbia adherents were jubilant. They already began to discount a victory, and were winding up preparatory to making the air ring with their shouts.
The wise ones kept close watch of the play. They had known occasions just like this when the winning team became over confident, and the last few minutes witnessed their utter rout.
Would it happen so in this case? Clifford was exerting every effort to bring about such a happy condition of affairs. Frank had warned his men against the slightest slackening of speed or vigilance. No game is won until the referee's signal announces that the end has come.
Now the determined Clifford hosts had carried the ball over into the territory of their rivals. Columbia was visibly weakening before these fearful plunges, and it seemed as though flesh and bone could not hold out against them. Seconds counted now. How desperately Frank and his backers fought to ward off the threatening evil. Every lawful tactic that would bring about delay was brought into bearing. Twice had the ball gone out of bounds, which necessitated a new allignment, and consequent passage of those precious seconds.
Columbia was on the defensive; but it was a splendid exhibition of harrying play they put up, thanks to the instructions of Coach Willoughby. On their fifteen-yard line they faced the Clifford crew for the last struggle. Despite the prediction of the man who had declared them a great second-half team, Clifford had failed to add to their score during the half hour that had elapsed, that lone touchdown standing to their credit.
"Boys, we want a bigger score than this!" called Captain Allen eagerly, when time was taken out to enable some wind to be pumped back into Style.
"We've got thirteen points, and they have five. It's too close a margin. We've got time enough to make another touchdown."
"If we can get the ball," added West.
"We've got to get it!" cried the captain. "It's the first down. Hold 'em, and throw the man with the ball for a loss if you can. They may kick on the second down instead of waiting for the third. Then we'll have 'em."
The whistle blew and Style came slowly back into the line. He was pale and weak, as the manner in which he gave the signals showed. There were anxious looks on the faces of his mates, and glances of eager expectation on those of his opponents.
Wentworth came smashing for a hole he expected would be opened up between Daly and Shay, but Shay was ready and did more than his partner to block off the play. Wentworth was hurled back, and there was a net loss of two yards to Clifford.
"Look out for a kick!" warned Frank.
It came, for Clifford was desperately afraid, and Comfort got the ball. Tucking it under his arm, with head down, he started for the goal line, well protected. The enraged Clifford players managed to get at him, however, and he was downed after he had covered fifteen yards. But it was a good run back, and Columbia had the ball, and there were still several more minutes to play.
"At 'em now, fellows! Tear 'em apart!" cried Lanky Wallace.
He called for Ralph West to take the ball around Smith, as the quarter had noticed the weak defense the right end was putting up.
Around circled West, and he made a good gain before he was downed. Again came smashing plays—several of them, Columbia keeping possession of the ball. In vain did Clifford brace and hold. It was useless. She was being shoved right up the field. Her men were exhausted and discouraged. Columbia's were eager and triumphant.
"Touchdown! Touchdown!" came the insisting cries from the spectators. The ball was on Clifford's fifteen-yard line.
"Touchdown it is!" declared Wallace grimly.
He called his signal with snap and vim. Frank got the ball and made a desperate dive for a big gap that was opened up between Roe and McQuirk. Forward he staggered while Shadduck and Oakes managed to circle around to form interference for him.
"He's through! He's through!" came the cry, and indeed the captain was through the Clifford line, and legging it toward the goal. Hastings started after him, but slipped and fell. Then, like a flash, Wentworth emerged from the tangle of players and set off after Allen. He came on like the wind, and managed to slip past Shadduck, but Oakes was on the alert and tackled off the plucky Clifford right-half.
Then it was all over but the shouting. With the fall of Wentworth ended Clifford's hopes of preventing another touchdown, while as for her own hopes of making one they had vanished some time ago. Allen touched down the ball. Amid frenzied cheers the goal was kicked, making the score nineteen to five in favor of Columbia. There was preparation for another kick-off, but before it could be made the whistle blew; and the game had passed into history.