prodding he was persuaded. The door of his old cage was slammed shut,
and the capture had been effected.

"Well!" exclaimed the trainer, drawing a long sigh of relief, "that's a
good job well done. And I want to thank you lads," he continued, turning
to where our three friends were standing; "the circus owes you a big
debt of gratitude, and that's a fact. If ever any of you should be out
of a job, there'll always be one waiting for you with our outfit."

"Thanks," smiled Bert, speaking for his comrades and himself, "if we
ever do, we'll let you know. We've had quite an adventure out of this,
anyway."

"I should say you had!" said Mr. Burton; "the chances are you'll never
be in another lion hunt as long as you live."

After a few more words the trainer turned away, and the party proceeded
in the direction of the town. At its outskirts our three comrades said
farewell and made off toward college.

On the way they discussed the exciting happenings of the previous day
and night, but as they reached the campus Bert said: "Well, fellows, I
hadn't noticed it much before, but now I come to think of it, I'm
mighty tired. I think I'll turn in and sleep until about supper time."

The others also expressed themselves as "all in," and sought their beds,
where slumber was not long in coming.

CHAPTER VIII

ON THE TOBOGGAN

"MISFORTUNES never come singly," groaned Tom.

"It never rains but it pours," added Dick gloomily.

"O, cut out the croaking, you fellows," admonished Bert. "Or, if you're
dead set on proverbs, remember that 'it's no use crying over spilt
milk.' We're up against it good and plenty, but that's all the more
reason to get together and try to kill the 'jinx.'"

There certainly was room for disquietude, if not despair, in the present
condition of the football team. The "Blues" were in the throes of a
"slump." And that misfortune, dreaded like the plague by all coaches and
trainers, had come on them suddenly, like "a bolt from the blue." From
the heights of confidence they had fallen to the depths of hopelessness.
The superb machine, evolved and developed with infinite pains, now
seemed headed straight for the scrap-heap.

Only the Saturday preceding they had been lined up against
Dartmouth--always a fierce proposition--and to the delight of Hendricks
had "run rings around them." They had played with a dash and fire that
made them seem simply unbeatable. The ball had been in the enemy's
territory three-fourths of the time and, after the first quarter, it was
simply a question as to the size of the score. When at last the game was
over, they had run up thirty-two points, and the ball had never once
been within twenty yards of their own goal. The criticisms on the game
in the Sunday papers had dwelt upon the impregnable defense and slashing
attack of the "Blues." On the same Saturday the "Greys" and "Maroons"
had also met redoubtable antagonists, and although they won, the scores
were small and the playing by no means impressive. The general consensus
was that on the form already shown, the "dope" favored the Blues in the
great games yet to come. While admitting the wonderful work of some of
the men who had starred in their positions, special stress was laid upon
the smoothness and accuracy of the team work as a whole.

This of course was balm to the coach, all whose efforts had been
directed toward making individual work subordinate to the development of
a coherent system of team play, and he began to see the reward of the
untiring labors that he had given without stint for the six weeks
preceding. Reddy went about his work with a complacent smile, and the
boys themselves were jubilant at the way they were rounding into form.

Then suddenly the blow fell, to be succeeded by others no less
paralyzing.

"Have you heard the news?" exclaimed Drake, as he burst in upon Bert and
Dick on Monday evening, as they were preparing their lessons for the
following day.

"What is it?" they cried in chorus.

"Axtell and Hodge have been conditioned and forbidden to play until they
get up with the rest of the class," was the answer.

"No," said Bert incredulously.

"Sure thing," affirmed Drake. "I had it straight from the boys
themselves not five minutes ago. They sure are in the doleful dumps."

The three friends looked at each other in a perplexity and anxiety that
they made no effort to conceal.

"But it will break up the team," cried Dick. "They're two of our very
best men."

"You're right there," gloomed Drake. "There isn't a fiercer tackler than
Axtell on the eleven, and Hodge is the heaviest man in the line. We
haven't any too much beef at best, and man for man, the 'Greys' average
five pounds heavier."

"Just when we were getting into such dandy shape, too," groaned Dick.

"Why in thunder didn't they keep up in their work," demanded Drake
fiercely. "They must have known they were falling behind, and there's
too much at stake for them to take any risk."

"There, there," soothed Bert. "Don't you suppose they're feeling worse
about it than any one else?"

Just then there was a knock at the door and Axtell and Hodge themselves
stalked in.

"I see you've heard about it," said Hodge, falling heavily into a chair.
"I wish you fellows would take me out and kick me around the campus."

"Same here," echoed Axtell despondently. "I'll pay for all the shoe
leather you wear out doing it."

"O, brace up, fellows," said Bert cheerily. "Things will come out all
right yet. How bad is it anyway?"

"It isn't so bad with Axtell," replied Hodge. "He's only got a condition
in Latin, and he can probably work that off in a week. But I'm stuck on
mathematics and Greek both, and I've got about as much chance as a
snowfall in June of making them up before the big games."

"I wonder if there's no chance of getting the faculty to let you put off
making them up until after the games," pondered Bert thoughtfully.

"Such a chance," said Drake sardonically. "That stony-hearted crew
hasn't any sporting blood. They'll insist that every t must be crossed
and every i dotted before they'll take off the conditions."

"I'm not so sure of that," replied Bert. "There's Benton. He used to be
a star at left end, and I don't think he's forgotten how he used to feel
about such things. I can't any more than fail anyway, and I'm going to
take a hack at it. You fellows stay right here and I'll run over and see
him."

He found the professor at home, and received a cordial greeting.

"I see you boys trounced Dartmouth last week," he said genially. "I've
seldom seen a better game."

This gave Bert his opening.

"We hope that isn't a circumstance to what we'll do to the 'Greys' and
'Maroons,'" he replied. "That is, we did hope so up to this afternoon."

The professor looked at him sharply.

"Why not now?" he asked.

And then Bert told him of the conditions of Hodge and Axtell, and the
hope he entertained that some way might be found to make them up after
the big games instead of before. He spoke with all the earnestness he
felt, and the professor listened sympathetically.

"It's too bad," he assented. "I'm afraid, though, there's no remedy. The
rules of the college are like those of the Medes and Persians, not to be
broken, even"--and his eyes twinkled--"for so important a thing as a
football game. Those matters anyway are in the province of the Dean. You
might see him if you like, but I fear that it is a forlorn hope."

And so it proved. The Dean had a warm corner in his heart for Bert, but
in this matter was not to be shaken. The college, he reminded his
caller, was primarily an institution of learning and not a gymnasium.
The conditions would have to be made up before the men could play,
although he hinted slyly that the examinations would not be over severe.

And with this one crumb of comfort, Bert was forced to be content. He
bowed himself out and returned to report the non-success of his mission.

"What did I tell you?" said Drake.

"You're a brick anyway, Bert, for trying," acknowledged Axtell, "and
perhaps it will make them go a little easier with us when we try again
to show them how little we know. And now, old man," addressing Hodge,
"it's up to us to make a quick sneak and get busy with those confounded
conditions. Plenty of hard work and a towel dipped in ice water round
our heads, with a pot of hot coffee to keep us awake, will help make up
for our lack of brains. Come along, fellow-boob," and with a grin that
they tried to make cheerful, the two culprits took their departure.

The next morning the campus was buzzing with the news. It jarred the
college out of the self-complacency they had begun to feel over the
prospects of the team. Many were the imprecations heaped upon the heads
of the hard-hearted faculty, and one of the malcontents slipped up to
the cupola without detection and put the college flag at half-mast. The
smile on Reddy's face was conspicuous by its absence and Hendricks
chewed furiously at his cigar instead of smoking it. But when it came to
the daily talk in the training quarters, he was careful not to betray
any despondency. There was enough of that abroad anyway without his
adding to it. Like the thoroughbred he was, he faced the situation
calmly, and sought to repair the breaches made in his ranks.

"Winston will play at right guard until further notice," he announced,
"and Morley will take the place of Axtell."

The two members of the scrubs thus named trotted delightedly to their
places. For them it was a promotion that they hoped to make permanent.
They knew they would have to fight hard to hold the positions if Hodge
and Axtell came back, but they were bent on showing that they could fill
their shoes.

But although they worked like Trojans, the machine that afternoon
creaked badly. The new men were unfamiliar with many of the signals and
made a mess of some of the plays that the old ones whom they supplanted
would have carried out with ease. This, however, was to be expected, and
time would go a long way toward curing the defects.

The real trouble, however, lay with the other nine. They seemed to be
working as though in a nightmare. An incubus weighed them down. Their
thoughts were with their absent comrades and with the altered prospects
of the team. They played without snap or dash, and the coach ground his
teeth as he noted the lifeless playing so strongly in contrast with that
of three days earlier.

Just before the first quarter ended, Ellis, in running down under a
punt, came heavily in collision with Farrar, of the scrubs, and they
went to the ground together. Farrar was up in a moment, but Ellis, after
one or two trials, desisted. His comrades ran to him and lifted him to
his feet. But his foot gave way under him, and his lips whitened as he
sought to stifle a groan.

"It's that bum ankle of mine," he said, trying to smile. "I'm afraid
I've sprained it again."

They carried him into the dressing room and delivered him to Reddy. He
made a careful examination and, when at last he looked up, there was a
look in his eyes that betokened calamity.

"Sprained, is it," he said with a voice that he tried to render calm.
"It's broken."

"What!" cried Ellis as he realized all this meant to him.

"Are you sure, Reddy?" asked Hendricks, aghast.

"I wish I wasn't," was the answer, "but I've seen too many of them not
to know."

To poor Ellis the words sounded like the knell of doom. The pain was
excruciating, but in the rush of sensations it seemed nothing. The real
disaster lay in the fact that it put him definitely off the football
team. All his work, all his sacrifice of time and ease, all his hopes of
winning honor and glory under the colors of the old college had vanished
utterly. Henceforth, he could be only a looker on where he had so fondly
figured himself as a contender. His face was white as ashes, and the
coach shrank from the look of abject misery in his eyes.

"Come now, old man, buck up," he tried to comfort him. "We'll send for
the best surgeon in New York, and he'll have you on your feet again
before you know it. You may make the big games yet." But in his heart he
knew that it was impossible, and so did all the pale-faced crowd of
players who gathered round their injured comrade and carried him with
infinite care and gentleness to his rooms.

The rest of the practice was foregone that afternoon as, under the
conditions, it would have been simply a farce, and the players made
their way moodily off the field, chewing the bitter cud of their
reflections. Sympathy with Ellis and consternation over this new blow to
their prospects filled their minds to the exclusion of everything else.

Bert and Tom and Dick--the "Three Guardsmen," as they had been jokingly
called, as they were always together--walked slowly toward their rooms.
The jaunty swing and elastic step characteristic of them were utterly
gone. Their hearts had been bound up in the hope of victory, and now
that hope was rapidly receding and bade fair to vanish altogether.

Apart from the general loss to the team, each had his own particular
grievance. Tom, as quarterback, saw with dismay the prospect of drilling
the new men in the complicated system of signals, of which there were
more than sixty, each of which had to be grasped with lightning
rapidity. The slightest failure might throw the whole team in hopeless
confusion. Dick was ruminating on the loss of Ellis, whose position in
the line had been right at his elbow, and with whom he had learned to
work with flawless precision on the defense. And Bert would miss sorely
the swift and powerful coöperation of Axtell at right half. Those two in
the back field had been an army in themselves.

"The whole team is shot to pieces," groaned Tom.

"The hoodoo is certainly working overtime," muttered Dick.

"It's a raw deal for fair," acquiesced Bert, "but we're far from being
dead ones yet. We haven't got a monopoly of the jinx. Don't think that
the other fellows won't get theirs before the season's over. Then, too,
the new men may show up better than we think. Morley's no slouch, and
there may be championship timber in Winston. Besides, Axtell and Hodge
may be back again in a week or two. It's simply up to every one of us to
work like mad and remember that

          The fellow worth while is the one who can smile
          When everything's going dead wrong.

"You're a heavenly optimist, all right," grumbled Tom. "You'd see a
silver lining to any little old cloud. You remind me of the fellow that
fell from the top of a skyscraper, shouting as he passed the
second-story window: 'I'm all right, so far.' We may be 'all right so
far,' but the dull thud's coming and don't you forget it."

And during the days that followed it seemed as though Tom were a truer
prophet than Bert. Storm clouds hovered in the sky, and the barometer
fell steadily. On Wednesday they were scheduled to play a small
college--one of the "tidewater" teams that ordinarily they would have
swallowed at a mouthful. No serious resistance was looked for, and it
was regarded simply as a "practice" game. But the game hadn't been
played five minutes before the visitors realized that something was
wrong with the "big fellows," and taking heart of hope, the plucky
little team put up a game that gave the Blues all they wanted to do to
win. Win they did, at the very end, but by a margin that set the coach
to frothing at the mouth with rage and indignation. After the game they
had a dressing down that was a gem in its way, and which for lurid
rhetoric and fierce denunciation left nothing to be desired.

But despite all his efforts, the lethargy persisted. It was not that the
boys did not try. They had never tried harder. But a spell seemed to
have fallen upon them. They were like a lion whose spine has been
grazed by a hunter's bullet so that it can barely drag its deadened body
along. In vain the coach fumed and stormed, and figuratively beat his
breast and tore his hair. They winced under the whip, they strained in
the harness, but they couldn't pull the load. And at length "Bull"
Hendricks realized that what he had been dreading all season had come.

The team had "slumped."

There are over three hundred thousand words in the English language, and
many of them are full of malignant meaning. Fever, pestilence, battle,
blood, murder, death have an awful significance, but in the lexicon of
the coach and trainer of a college team the most baleful word is
"slump."

This plague had struck the Blues and struck them hard. It was a silent
panic, a brooding fear, an inability of mind and muscle to work
together. There was but one remedy, and "Bull" Hendricks knew it.

The next day a dozen telegrams whizzed over the wires. They went to
every quarter of the continent, from Maine to Texas, from the Lakes to
the Gulf. And the burden of all was the same:

          "Team gone to pieces. Drop everything. Come."

If one had looked over the shoulder of the telegraph operator, he would
have seen that every address was that of some man who in his time had
been famous the country over for his prowess on the gridiron, and who on
many a glorious field had worn the colors of the Blues.

One of them was delivered in the private office of a great business
concern in Chicago. Mr. Thomas Ames, the president--better known in
earlier and less dignified days as "Butch"--turned from the mass of
papers on his desk and opened it. His eyes lighted up as he read it and
saw the signature. Then the light faded.

"Swell chance," he muttered, "with this big deal on."

He turned reluctantly to his desk. Then he read the telegram again. Then
he sighed and bit viciously at the end of his cigar.

"Nonsense," he growled. "There's no use being a fool. I simply can't,
and that's all there is to it."

He crushed the telegram in his hand and threw it into the waste basket.

Ten minutes later he fished it out. He smoothed out the wrinkles and
smiled as he noted the imperious form of the message. He was more
accustomed to giving orders than obeying them, and the change had in it
something piquant.

"Just like 'Bull,'" he grinned. "Arrogant old rascal. Doesn't even ask
me. Just says 'come.'"

"Off his trolley this time though," he frowned. "Nothing doing."

The pile of letters on his desk remained unanswered. His stenographer
waited silently. He waved her away, and she went out, closing the door
behind her. He lay back in his chair, toying idly with the telegram.

The memory of the old days at college was strong upon him. A few minutes
ago, engrossed in the details of a large and exacting business, nothing
had been farther from his thoughts. Now it all came back to him with a
rush, evoked by that crumpled bit of paper.

Days when the wine of life had filled his cup to the brim, when "the
world lay all before him where to choose," when the blood ran riot in
his veins, when all the future was full of promise and enchantment. Days
when laughter lay so near his lips that the merest trifle called it
forth, when fun and frolic held high carnival, when his unjaded senses
tasted to the full the mere joy of living. Days, too, of earnest effort,
of eager ambition, of brilliant achievement, of glowing hope, as he
prepared himself to play his part in the great drama of the world's
life. Glorious old days they had been, and although he had had more than
his share of prosperity and success in the years since then, he knew
that they were the happiest days of his life.

In his reverie his cigar had gone out, and he lighted it again
mechanically.

The old place hadn't changed much, he supposed. That was one of its
charms. World-weary men could go back to it and renew the dreams of
their youth in the same old surroundings. A new dormitory, perhaps,
added to the others, a larger building for the library, but, apart from
these, substantially unchanged. The old gray towers covered with ivy,
the green velvet of the campus, the long avenue of stately elms--these
were the same as ever. He thought of the initials he had carved on the
tree nearest the gate, and wondered if the bark had grown over them. And
the old fence where the boys had gathered in the soft twilight of spring
evenings and sung the songs that had been handed down through college
generations. How the melody from hundreds of voices had swelled out into
the night!

There was the old "owl wagon," where the fellows late at night, coming
back from a lark in town, had stopped for a bite before going to bed.
There never were such delicious waffles as that fellow turned out. And
there was Pietro at the chestnut stand, always good natured under the
teasing of the boys, and old John, the doughnut man----

O, what was the use? He must get back to those letters.

There was the "sugar eat" in the spring. That usually came in the latter
part of March. The soft wind would come up out of the south, the snow
would begin to vanish and the sap stir in the trees. That was the signal
for the "Hike." A scouting party would be sent out to make arrangements
at some sugar camp five or six miles away. Then the next morning the
fellows would "cut" recitations, and the startled professors would find
their rooms deserted, while the hilarious culprits were footing it out
to the camp. The farmer's wife, forewarned in advance, would have the
long rough tables under the trees prepared for the hungry crew. Out from
her capacious ovens would come great pans of hot puffy biscuits, while
from the boiling caldrons the boys drew huge cans of bubbling maple
syrup. And that sugar on those biscuits! Ambrosia, nectar, food for the
gods! He had dined since then in the finest restaurants in the world,
and never tasted anything to be compared to it.

What mattered the sarcastic and cutting remarks of the Profs. on the
following day? They had had their fling and were willing to pay the
price.

He came back to reality and the telegram that he was automatically
folding and unfolding.

"Team gone to pieces." He stirred uneasily.

That was certainly tough luck. It must be serious when "Bull" talked
like that. It had usually been the good fortune of Blue teams to make
the other fellows go "to pieces." Now it really seemed as though the
good old colors were in danger of being dimmed, if not disgraced.

They hadn't been disgraced when he wore them, he remembered. How they
had wound up the season in a blaze of glory the last year he had played
on the team! He saw even now, the crowded stands, the riot of colors,
the frenzied roars of the Blues, when he had squirmed out of the mass
piled on him, and grabbing the ball, had rushed down the field for a
touchdown, with the enemy thundering at his heels. He felt still the
thrill of that supreme moment when the fellows had hoisted him on their
shoulders and carried him in triumph off the field.

He half rose from his chair, but sank back.

"If it wasn't for that confounded deal," he groaned.

He had been so used to Blue victories that their failure for the last
two years had made him "sore." In his business associations and at his
club he came in contact with many graduates from different colleges. He
had usually been able to "josh" them good naturedly over the way the
Blues had "done them up." But lately the shoe had been on the other foot
and they had delighted in getting even.

He was not too thin skinned, and took their jibes smilingly, even though
the smile was a trifle forced. They were entitled to their revenge.
Sometimes, however, he winced when they flicked him "on the raw." There
was Evans, for instance, an old Princeton tackle. Good fellow,
Evans--corking good fellow--but after the Blues lost last fall, he had
gloated a little too much. He had met him on the street and clapped him
hilariously on the shoulder.

"Ha, ha, Ames," he shouted, "how about it? We tied the can on the
bulldog's tail, and we'll do the same next year."

That had stung. His face flushed now as he recalled it:

"We tied the can on the bulldog's tail, and we'll do the same next
year."

"They will, will they?" he roared, jumping to his feet.

He pressed a button on his desk, and his confidential man came in.

"Thompson," said Ames hurriedly, "I've been called East on important
business. Keep in touch with me by wire. I've just got time to catch the
Twentieth Century Express."

CHAPTER IX

HAMMERED INTO SHAPE

LIKE a sheaf of arrows, the other telegrams sped over the country, and
most of them went straight to the mark. A mining engineer in Montana got
one, and pulled up stakes at once. A rising young lawyer in Minneapolis
found it necessary to look up some data in the old college library. A
guest on a houseboat down near Jacksonville made hurried excuses and
came North by the first train. Others felt urgently the need of a brief
vacation from their accustomed duties and acted promptly on the impulse.
Not a week had elapsed before ten of the dozen were on the scene of
action. Of the remaining two, one was up in the North Woods and could
not be reached, and the other was on his honeymoon.

They had a royal welcome from the coach, who had not doubted for a
moment that they would heed the call. He knew that the old war horses
would "sniff the battle from afar" and come galloping to the fray. Now
that they were there, he felt the lightening of the tremendous load of
responsibility he had been carrying since the beginning of the season.
These men were not theorists, but from actual experience knew every
point of the game from start to finish. Now he could divide his men up
into squads, each one presided over by an expert who could coach each
individual player in the duties of his position, while Hendricks himself
could exercise a general supervision of the whole.

"It was bully of you fellows to come," he said, as they gathered in his
rooms, as full of life and ginger as so many two-year-old colts. "And,
now that you are here, I'm going to give you plenty of work to do.
Heaven knows there's enough to keep you busy if we're to have a ghost of
a show to win this fall."

"What's the seat of the trouble?" asked Ames. "Are they shirking? Are
they too light? Many accidents? Come, get it off your chest. Tell us the
sad story of your life."

"It wasn't so sad until lately," grinned "Bull," "and up to a week ago I
didn't feel the necessity of weeping on any one's shoulder. In fact, I
was beginning to think that the team was the real goods. They walked all
over the Army, and what they did to Dartmouth was a sin and a shame.
Then somebody must have wished a hoodoo on us and things began to
happen."

And he narrated in detail the unexpected way in which three of his best
men had been whisked off the team, and the results that followed.

"The fellows simply got in the doldrums," he went on, "and, with a few
exceptions, have played like a lot of schoolboys. They seem to have
forgotten all that they ever knew. Now you fellows know as well as I do
that when a team slumps in that fashion there's only one thing to do.
We've got to have new blood, new faces, new tactics. That's the reason I
sent for you fellows. The boys know you by reputation. They've heard of
the big things you did when in college, they look up to you as
heroes----"

"Spare our blushes!" exclaimed Hadley.

"And it will give them a new inspiration," went on the coach, not
heeding the interruption. "They'll forget their troubles and play like
fiends to justify your good opinion, and to show you that the honor of
the old college is safe in their hands. I want you to teach them all you
ever knew, and then some.

"I'm not asking you to make bricks without straw," he continued. "The
stuff is there for a crackerjack team. We're a bit short on beef, and
I'd like to have an average of five pounds more in the line. But I've
got the finest back field in the country, bar none. Wilson at full is
simply chain lightning, and the whole country will be talking of him by
November. Axtell is one of the most savage tacklers I've ever seen, and
if he can only get his conditions worked off soon, we won't have to
worry about right half. Morley, the man I put in his place, is a dandy,
but doesn't come up to Axtell. Henderson at quarter is as quick as a cat
and as cunning as a fox. Trent at center and Drake at right end are as
good as they make 'em. Those fellows I've named are stars. The rest are
good, but I've seen as good and better on many a Blue team.

"Now that's the way I size them up, and I want you fellows to go to it.
There are just about enough of us to take a man apiece. Do what you like
with them. I'll stand for anything short of murder. Work them till their
tongues hang out. Knock it into them if you have to use an axe. Every
day counts now. Do you realize that the game with the 'Maroons' is only
three weeks off? If it were to-morrow they wouldn't leave anything of us
but a grease-spot. And the 'Greys' wouldn't leave even that."

"Leave it to us," answered Ames, grimly voicing the general sentiment.
"We'll give 'em medicine in allopathic doses, and it will be a case of
'kill or cure.'"

And promptly the next afternoon they proceeded to make good their
threat. They went at their men hammer and tongs from the start. And the
boys responded at once to this drastic treatment. There was a general
brace all along the line. A new factor had been injected into the
situation. The listlessness of a few days back gave place to animation,
and before half an hour had passed the coach was delighted at the way
his plan was working.

In order that the newcomers might get a line on their style of play, the
whole team was put through the fundamentals. The tackling dummy was
brought out, and the players in turn launched themselves against it to
the accompaniment of stimulating cries:

"Harder."

"You're too low."

"That was a love tap."

"Batter it."

"Above the knees."

"Slam the life out of it."

"Too ladylike."

"Once more."

"Murder it."

And there was no let up until the tackling was as savage as even the
most exacting of the visitors demanded.

Then followed practice in falling on the ball in such a way as to
shelter it with hands and knees, while avoiding having one's breath
knocked out by the fall; running with it tucked under the arm so
securely that no grab of the enemy can dislodge it; getting down under
kicks fast enough to take advantage of any fumble by the enemy in trying
for a "fair catch;" getting a quick start the moment the ball was
snapped back, and a dozen other elemental features that constitute the
alphabet of the game. The boys had practiced these things a hundred
times before, but they can never be done too often or too well; and
to-day under the new stimulus they outdid themselves. Each tried to
surpass his fellows and worked as he had never worked before.

After an hour of this, they were lined up for two ten-minute sessions
with the scrubs. The play was sharp and snappy and every move was
followed by keen and critical eyes that nothing, however trivial,
escaped. By the time the team had rolled up twenty points and held their
opponents scoreless, the volunteer coaches knew pretty well the defects
that would have to be corrected, and just what work was cut out for
them.

The coach was immensely pleased. Once more he saw daylight ahead.

"What do you think of them, Butch, now that you've clapped your eyes on
them?" he asked, as they strolled off the field.

"All to the good," said Ames, sententiously. "Of course it's far from
being a finished team as yet, but you've got some first-class material
to work on. You're a little weak at the end of the line, and right
tackle can stand a lot of improvement. But all the fellows seem willing,
and that goes a long way. I didn't see one that appeared to be holding
back."

"That fullback of yours is a peach," broke in Hadley. "He comes pretty
near to being a team in himself. If he once gets a start, there's
nothing that can ever catch him."

"He's the fastest man in college," replied Hendricks. "He's the fellow
that carried off the Marathon at the Olympic Games in Berlin. And he's
as game as he is speedy. You ought to have seen the way he stood McAlpin
on his head when we played the Army. That fellow was as big as a house
and as full of grit as a gravel path, but he wasn't one-two-three with
Wilson. If all the boys were like him I'd have the championship won
right now."

"What made a hit with me," commented Lawrence, "was that classy bit of
dodging when he went down the field for sixty yards toward the end of
the game. At least six of them tried to stop him, but he slipped by them
like a ghost. And yet he ran almost in a straight line. All the dodging
was done by the swaying of his hips and shoulders. A man that can do
that comes pretty near to being the king of them all."

"You haven't any kick coming on your center and quarterback either,"
broke in Allen. "Jove, they're a pair of dandies. They work together
like a well-oiled machine. They're playing with their heads as well
their feet all the time. They've got the snap-back and the forward pass
down to perfection. And they're a stone wall when it comes to the
defense."

"Two of my very best," assented Hendricks, "and as sandy as the Sahara
desert. It's around those three that I've had to build up my team."

"Those three," all unknowing of the comments that were being made on
their work, were at the moment engaged in getting their bath and
rubdown, never more grateful than just now after their strenuous labors
of the afternoon.

"That was a course of sprouts for fair," remarked Tom when they were
putting on their clothes.

"They certainly put us through our paces," assented Dick. "I haven't
been so tired since the Army game."

"Just what we dubs needed," affirmed Bert. "Did you notice the snap and
pepper in the team? It's the first time for a week that we've known we
were alive. We're going to be a real football team after all. 'The cat
came back,' and why shouldn't we?"

"I suppose it was due to that lot of 'old grads' looking on," surmised
Tom. "Gee, when I thought of all those fellows leaving their work and
traveling hundreds of miles for the sake of the old college, it made me
ashamed of myself. I felt like going through a knot hole and drawing the
hole in after me."

"Same here," said Dick. "And they can bully-rag me all they like.
There'll be never a squeal from me. I'll work my head off to show them
that we're fit to wear the Blue."

"Hear! hear!" exclaimed Bert. "That's the real tobasco. And I'll bet
there isn't a fellow on the team that doesn't feel the same way."

They were still stirred by this feeling of elation when, after a hearty
supper, they reached their rooms. What was their surprise on opening the
door to find Axtell sprawled out in a chair, his feet upon the window
sill. He grinned affably.

"Come right in and make yourself at home," he greeted.

"What are you doing here, you old flunker?" laughed Bert.

"Take back them cruel woids," demanded Axtell. "Flunker," he went on
meditatively, "it hath a right knavish sound. Beshrew me, if I fling it
not back in the teeth of any caitiff knight that dare put such shame
upon me."

A great light dawned upon them.

"What!" cried Dick. "You old rascal. You don't mean to say that you've
worked off your conditions?"

"You speak sooth," was the reply, "albeit your wonder at the same
pleasureth my pride but little. For less than that my sword hath
ofttimes drunk the blood of churls."

They fell upon him and pounded him till he was out of breath.

"Glory hallelujah!" shouted Tom.

"The best news I've heard since Hector was a pup," declared Dick.

"Now we've got a fighting chance," exulted Bert. "By Jove, old scout,
you don't know how the team has missed you."

Axtell flushed with pleasure.

"Maybe I won't be glad to get back with the gang again," he ejaculated.
"Gee, for the last two weeks I've felt like a sneak. I can't forgive
myself for getting in such a fix, just when we were in such good shape
and going like a house afire. You bet that from now on my record will be
as clean as a hound's tooth."

"Bully!" said Bert. "I think you've done wonders though, to get rid of
the conditions so soon. You must have worked like a horse."

"I've worked all right," said Axtell grimly. "It was the least I could
do, heaven knows. Some nights I haven't gone to bed at all. Even at
that, I felt a little skittish when I went up for my exam. But I was
desperate and went in largely on my nerve. When the Prof. looked over my
papers I thought I heard him mutter to himself something that sounded
like: 'All Gaul is divided into three parts and you've got two of them.'
But that may simply have been my guilty conscience. At any rate I got
away with it, and the old sport gave me a clean bill of health."

"It's like getting money from home," affirmed Dick. "Maybe 'Bull'
Hendricks won't be tickled to death. He'll kill the fatted calf if he
can find one straying loose around the training quarters."

"O, he'll fall on my neck all right--with a club," remarked Axtell
drily. "When it comes to disguising his joy, 'Bull' is a dandy actor."

"Don't you believe it," said Bert. "But how about your accomplice in
crime?"

"O, Hodge will be coming along soon," was the reassuring reply. "He's
been working just as hard as I have or harder. But he's had two to make
up, where I had only one. He's hired a tutor to coach him and is
cramming away like mad. He told me this morning he thought he'd be
ready to go into the torture chamber by the end of this week."

"That'll be all to the merry," jubilated Tom. "Honest, Axtell, we've
been all at sea since you fellows have been away. Winston has done
fairly well at tackle, but he can't seem to start quickly enough when it
comes to blocking. 'Bull' has been trying out Chamberlain in place of
Ellis, but he gets mixed on the signals. He plugs away like a beaver,
but finds it hard to get them straight. Morley is doing fine work at
half, but he can't fill your shoes when it comes to tackling. Of course
I don't know what 'Bull' will do, but I have a hunch that he'll take
Chamberlain out and put Morley there permanently, as there isn't a
chance in the world for Ellis to come back in time."

"Poor old Ellis," mourned Bert. "Game to the core, that boy. It nearly
broke his heart when his ankle went back on him, but he never whimpers.
He hopes to be out on crutches in time to see the big games. Told me
yesterday, when I dropped in to see him, that when it came to yelling
for the boys we'd find his voice was all right even if his leg was on
the blink."

"Plucky old scout," agreed Axtell, "and one of the best men we had. But
now I must be going. I'll toddle over and give 'Bull' a chance to
welcome back the prodigal son. It'll be an affecting greeting," he
grinned.

But if he had expected to be "skinned alive" for his shortcomings, he
was agreeably disappointed. The coach was too delighted at the
strengthening of the team to dwell too much or too sternly on the
defection that had thrown it out of gear. He gave him a fatherly talk,
pointed out the necessity of keeping his studies up to the mark from
that time on, and put it up to him to "play the game" both in the
classroom and on the field for all it was worth. Then he dismissed him
with an injunction to turn up early for practice the following day.

The reinstated halfback went away with his eyes shining and his heart
elate. Once more "his foot was on his native heath." And the dignified
"Bull," after a cautious glance around to make sure that no one was
looking, indulged himself in the luxury of an impromptu Highland fling.

CHAPTER X

IN THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY

ONE afternoon, after practice, "Bull" Hendricks called Bert aside and
said: "I want you to stay a few minutes after the others have gone,
Wilson. Reddy and I have something we want you to do."

"All right," was the reply, and accordingly, after the other members of
the squad had finished dressing and had left the dressing room Bert
lingered behind. In a few minutes the coach walked into the apartment,
followed by Reddy.

"Reddy and I," began Hendricks, "have decided that we want something a
little more definite than rumor concerning one or two of the rival
teams. We have talked the matter over, and what we want you to do is
this. Next Saturday afternoon, as of course you know, the 'Maroons' and
'Greys' are scheduled to play off the game that was postponed on account
of bad weather. We want to get a line on the two teams, but both Reddy
and myself are too busy just at present to take the time off. But we
thought you could go over and size things up about as well as we could.
You understand the game thoroughly, and in addition I believe know how
to use your head for something besides eating."

"You compliment me more highly than I deserve," laughed Bert. "But,"
more seriously, "I'll be glad to do anything you want me to that will be
of any service in helping the team to win."

"Well, it will be a help," said the coach. "We hear one thing to-day,
and the exact opposite to-morrow, so we never know what to believe. But
if you go and see this game, you ought to be able to get a pretty fair
line on the real state of affairs."

"The only trouble is," worried Reddy, "that the team will practically
miss a whole afternoon's practice, because it's not much we can do
without Wilson."

The little trainer would never have made this admission had he not been
very sure of his man. But he knew Bert's sterling character well enough
to be sure that the remark would cause no case of "swelled head."

"We'll get along some way," said Hendricks, "and the team is in good
enough shape now to afford taking it easy one afternoon. We'll just
practice on signals, and they'll be all the better for a little let up."

"In that case," suggested Bert, "why couldn't I take Dick and Tom along
with me? You know the old saying that 'two heads are better than one,'
and on the same plan, three heads ought to be better than two."

"At that rate you'd have the entire college going over there and giving
the whole thing away," grunted Hendricks, "but I suppose you might as
well take them along. The chances are you won't be noticed in the crowd,
and if you are there's no special harm done. There's no law against
players from one team going to see another team play."

"An' what's more," put in Reddy, "I don't believe one o' them can think
real well unless the other two is hangin' around somewheres close by. It
sure beats the Dutch, the way them three lads holds together."

"Well," said Bert, "that 'holding together,' as you call it, has been a
mighty good thing for each of us at one time or another. Looked at in
one light, it's a sort of mutual benefit affair."

"Whatever it is, it seems to work pretty well," remarked Hendricks, "and
it's results that always make a big hit with me."

They then proceeded to arrange the details, and it was decided that the
three boys should leave immediately after breakfast on Saturday. When
everything had been settled Bert took leave of the coach and trainer and
sought out his friends.

After he had explained the plan to them, Tom threw a book he had been
studying into a far corner, and gave a shout of delight which was
echoed by Dick.

"Some class to us, all right," exulted Tom; "it shows old Hendricks must
have some confidence in us, even though he'd probably be pulled to
pieces before he'd admit it."

"I suppose he must have," grinned Dick, "although up to this time I will
confess that I never suspected it."

"Well, we'd better not look a gift horse in the mouth," said Bert. "The
fact remains that we're in for an afternoon of good sport. It will
certainly be a pleasure to me to watch somebody else play football for a
change. And before the afternoon is over, you can take it from me I'm
going to know all about the comparative strength of their teams and ours
that there is to know."

"Well, you _may_ be able to learn something, seeing that I'll be along
to explain the fine points of the game to you and see that you
understand what is going on," said Tom. "I suppose the coach realized
that there wouldn't be much use in sending you over alone, and that's
why he told you to ask us to go too."

"You certainly hate yourself, don't you?" grinned Bert. "However, I
won't lower myself to answer you, merely remarking in passing that your
words are only worthy of the deepest contempt."

"Is that so?" replied Tom. "I'm afraid if you pull much more of that
stuff I'll have to find a quiet nook for you in my private graveyard.
I'd have done it before only that I find myself somewhat overcrowded
even now."

"Say, cut out that nonsense, you two, and get down to business, will
you?" interrupted Dick. "What time are we supposed to leave here, Bert?"
he asked.

"Right after lunch," responded that individual. "I'll get a time table,
and we'll see what will be the best train to take."

"I know a better way to go than by train," said Dick.

"What's that--walk?" inquired Tom sarcastically.

"Please don't be any more foolish than you can help," said Dick with
elaborate politeness; "what I was about to say was, that I think I know
where I can borrow an automobile for the afternoon. How does that idea
strike you?"

"Greatest ever," ejaculated Bert, "but where in the world are you going
to get the car?"

"Leave that to your Uncle Dudley," replied Dick. "I met an old friend
the other day. He's visiting relatives in the town for several weeks. He
has all sorts of money, and sports two 'devil wagons.' He told me I
could have the use of one any time I had a mind to ask for it, so I
don't think I'll have any trouble on that score."

"That seems too good to be true," said Bert. "Suppose you look up your
friend this evening after supper and make sure of getting the car. It's
better to know in advance what we can count on."

"I'll do that," promised Dick, "and if I get back in time I'll let you
know if everything is all right. If I get back late I'll tell you about
it in the morning."

Matters were left in this state, and it was not until the next morning
that the boys learned of the success of Dick's visit to the town.

When they caught sight of him in the morning, Bert and Tom did not have
to question him.

"It's all right fellows," he said. "I fixed it all up, and we can have
the car any time we want it. And the one we're going to use is a peach,
too."

"That's certainly fine," said Tom. "We'll make the trip in tip-top style
all right."

"People will think we're regular swells, for fair," agreed Bert.

"I think we'd better pose as a rich man traveling with his chauffeur and
valet," said Tom. "I'll be the rich man, Dick can be the chauffeur, and
Bert can be the valet."

"All right," said Bert, "but under those conditions, I insist on being
paid in advance."

"So do I," grinned Dick. "I refuse to run that car a foot until I'm paid
in full, a year in advance, cash down."

"If you feel that way about it," grumbled Tom, "I'll be forced to fire
you both and run the car myself. All you fellows think of is money
anyway, it seems to me."

"Well, if you can't pay us I suppose we'll have to pose as just three
friends traveling together," laughed Bert. "That's the only way out of
it that I can see."

"I'll have to let it go at that I suppose," said Tom; and after a hearty
laugh the boys dispersed to their recitation rooms.

Practice that afternoon was fast and hard, and it was a tired trio that
met that evening in Bert's room to make final plans for their trip the
next day. They decided to walk to the garage where the automobile was
kept, and Dick showed them a written order his friend had given him
authorizing him to take the car out.

"Your friend has certainly done everything up in fine style," commented
Bert; "he must be a good man to know."

"He's a brick," said Dick enthusiastically; "we used to be in the same
class in school, and we were always good friends. I'd like to have you
fellows meet him."

"Yes, I'd like to get acquainted," said Tom. "It seems funny we haven't
met him before."

"Well, you see, his folks moved West when we were both youngsters, and
that's the reason," explained Dick, "otherwise I suppose you would
have."

"Well, probably we will before he leaves town," said Bert. "But now, how
about to-morrow?"

"Why, right after breakfast to-morrow," said Dick, "we'll go straight
from the training table to the garage. We won't have any more than
enough time as it is. It must be a matter of a hundred miles or more,
and we want to travel easy and allow for possible breakdown and delay."

As there seemed to be no objection to Dick's plan, the boys adopted it.
Immediately after the morning meal they set out for the town, and after
a brisk walk reached the garage.

Here they sought the proprietor, and Dick showed him the written order
from Moore, his friend.

"Oh, yes, that will be all right," said the garage man. "Mr. Moore told
me that you would call for the car at about this time, so I've been
expecting you. There she is, over in the corner, the big gray one
there."

He indicated a big gray touring car, and the three comrades walked over
to it. It was, as Dick had told them, a beautiful machine, and they
piled in with many expressions of admiration. As Dick had procured the
car the honor of driving it naturally fell to him. He manoeuvred the big
automobile skilfully out of the garage, and they were soon spinning
smoothly over an ideal country road. The car behaved perfectly and Dick
was enthusiastic over it.

"We could get twice the speed out of it that we are now," he exulted,
"but I'm not taking any chances to-day. We owe it to the team to be
careful."

"Right you are," agreed Bert. "There's no use taking risks when we don't
have to. At this rate we'll eat up the distance in mighty short order
anyway."

And indeed, it was no great time before they reached their destination
and were bowling through the streets.

They left the car at the local garage, and made their way to the field,
guided thereto by a constant stream of chattering and laughing people
evidently bound for the same place. They obtained good seats and sat
down to await the beginning of the game.

Before long the "Grey" players trotted out onto the field, and were
shortly followed by the "Maroons." Both teams went through their
preliminary practice with snap and "pep," and received enthusiastic
applause from their admirers in the stands. Then the actual play began,
and the three comrades noted every play and formation with the greatest
attention. They were resolved to justify the coach's confidence in them,
and to be able to give him an accurate line of "dope" when they returned
to their Alma Mater.

The game was fast and furious, but at the end of the first half the
"Maroons" were leading by one touchdown. Excitement ran high at the
opening of the second half, and a battle royal began. But the "Greys"
fought fiercely, and by a splendid run down the field made a touchdown
and tied the score. Then, in the last three minutes of play, they forced
the ball over for another touchdown, and the day was theirs.

"Well!" exclaimed Bert as they filed out with the crowd, "both those
teams have the 'goods,' but I think the 'Greys' are just a shade better
than the 'Maroons.'"

"I do, too," said Tom, and this seemed also to be Dick's opinion. They
made their way to the garage, and as it was now almost dark, Dick lit
the lamps on the car. Then they purred smoothly along the macadam road
and after a delightful ride through the crisp autumn air delivered the
car safely into its garage before midnight.

The next morning they were received with an uproarious welcome when they
made their appearance at the training table. The other members of the
team had a pretty good idea of where they had been, and assailed them
from every side with questions. But they kept their own counsel,
reserving their information for the ears of the coach, and knowing that
he would tell the team all that he thought fit.

After the meal was over they repaired to the training quarters, where
they found the coach awaiting them.

"Well," he said, "what luck?"

Speaking for his comrades, Bert related the story of the game, and the
coach listened attentively. When Bert had finished, he asked a number of
crisp questions of each of the three boys, and their answers seemed to
satisfy him.

"Well," he growled, when at last he rose to go, "I can go ahead now with
more certainty. You fellows have done better than I expected." Which
from Hendricks was high praise.

"We've certainly got our work cut out for us," said Bert after the coach
had departed. "I haven't a doubt in the world but what we can beat them,
but just the same we'll have to do our prettiest to get the long end of
the decision."

"Bet your tintype we will," said Tom; "both those teams are a tough
proposition for anybody to handle. But there will be all the more glory
for us when we win."

"That's the talk!" exclaimed Dick, "there's no fun in winning a game
where you don't get hard opposition, anyway."

Meanwhile Hendricks had wended his way back to the training quarters,
where he sought out Reddy.

He gave the red-headed trainer a brief outline of what the boys had told
him, and Reddy listened attentively, once or twice breaking in with a
question or two.

"So it seems," said Hendricks at last, winding up his discourse, "that
the team we've really got to look out for is the 'Greys.' According to
the report of our three boys, they are mighty strong on the attack, and
nothing behindhand on their defense."

"It looks that way," acquiesced Reddy, nodding his head, "the lads did
pretty well, don't you think?"

"They did," agreed Hendricks; "they got just the information that I was
after. And what do you think," he added with a laugh, "they weren't
content to go by the train or trolley, but borrowed an automobile and
went in style."

"Sure, and it's like themselves," grinned Reddy, "if I was runnin' a
business I'd be afraid to give those byes a job. They'd be ownin' the
plant in less than a year."

"I believe they would," said Hendricks. "They're natural born winners."

CHAPTER XI

A DESPERATE FIGHT

THE day for the game with the "Maroons" broke dark and lowering. Clouds
chased each other across the sky, the air was saturated with moisture
and, although rain had not yet fallen, there was every prospect that it
would before the day was over.

The team had been "tuned to the hour." There was not a man on it that
was not fit to put up the game of his life. Each one had brought himself
down to the weight at which he was most effective, their flesh was "hard
as nails," and their lean bronzed faces betokened the pink of condition.
If they were doomed to be beaten there could be no excuse put forth that
they were not at the top of their form.

Not that they anticipated any necessity of making excuses. An air of
quiet confidence was everywhere apparent. The old indomitable Blue
spirit was as much in evidence as their splendid physical condition. Not
that they underestimated their opponents. The "Maroons," despite their
defeat of the week before by the "Greys," were formidable opponents and
still full of fight. In fact, their loss of that game might be counted
on to put them in a savage mood of retaliation, and nothing was more
certain than that they would fight like demons to down the Blues. But
the latter welcomed the prospect of a bitter fight, and were fully
convinced of their ability to give harder blows than they would have to
take.

"We've simply got to win to-day, fellows," said Tom as they strolled
back to their rooms after breakfast.

"It's the only way we can have a clear title to the championship,"
remarked Bert. "It won't do us much good to lick the 'Greys' next week
if we fall down to-day. In that case it will be 'even Steven.' Each team
will have won and lost one and we'll be as much at sea as ever as to
which has the best team."

"Then, too," added Dick, "we're fighting to-day on our own grounds and
next week we'll have to play the 'Greys' on a neutral field. If we can't
win now with that advantage it will be doubly hard to win then."

"We'll cop them both," said Bert with an air of finality. And this
solution received the hearty approval and implicit faith of his
companions. In one form or another every man on the team was swearing to
himself that the prediction should come true, if it lay in human power
to compass it.

As the day wore on the town took on a festal air. Flags and bunting
fluttered everywhere. Special trains drew in from every point of the
compass and disgorged their thousands to swell the crowds. The streets
resounded with the raucous cries of the fakirs, and their wares of canes
and flags were soon sold out. Groups of college boys accompanied by
pretty girls wandered over the campus, and the walks under the elms
resounded with song and laughter. From every city in the country "old
grads" came down to renew their youth and shout themselves hoarse for
their favorites. The clouded sky and threatening rain daunted them not
at all. They were there to make holiday, and serenely ignored everything
else. Only an earthquake or a cyclone could have kept them from coming.
It might rain "cats and dogs," rheumatism and pneumonia might hang out
danger signals, but they cared not a whit. They were out for the time of
their lives and bound to get it.

The game was to begin at two o'clock, and after cleaning out all the
restaurants in town, put to their utmost to feed the ravening horde of
locusts that had swarmed down upon them, the throngs set out for the
stadium. That gigantic structure could hold forty thousand people and,
long before the time for the game to begin, it was crowded to repletion.
On one side were the stands for the Blues and directly facing them were
those reserved for the "Maroons." The occupants yelled and shouted and
waved their flags at each other in good-natured defiance. At the upper
end a band played popular airs that nobody cared for, and half the time
in the din and tumult did not even hear. In front of the stands the
cheermasters jumped up and down and went through their weird
contortions, as they led the cheers and gave the signal for the songs.

The Blues were gathered in their training quarters, ready and anxious
for the fight. They were like a pack of hounds straining at the leash.
Reddy and his assistants had gone over every detail of their equipment,
and the coach had spoken his last word of appeal and encouragement. This
he had purposely made short. There was little dwelling on the game to be
played, nor any attempt to rehearse signals. The time for that was past.
If they were not ready now, they never would be. He had done his utmost
and now the result must be left to the team and to fate.

At half past one a slight drizzle set in. Old Jupiter Pluvius had lost
patience and refused to hold off until the game was over. But the
general hilarity abated not a particle. It would take more than rain to
drive that crowd to cover. The field had been strewn with straw to keep
the ground beneath as dry as possible. Now, however, it was time for
practice, and a crowd of assistants appeared and raked the straw away,
showing the glistening newly-marked yard lines underneath.

Then a gate at the end of the one of the stands opened and the
"Maroons," in their gaily colored jerseys, trotted on the field. The
"Maroon" stands rose en masse and a torrent of cheers swept over the
field as they gave the team a greeting that must have "warmed the
cockles of their heart."

The boys peeled off their jerseys and commenced punting and falling on
the ball. They kept this up for ten minutes and then gave way to their
rivals.

Out from the other side of the field scampered the Blues. Then
Pandemonium broke loose. The yells were simply deafening, and, as the
home crowd let itself go, the fellows grinned happily at each other and
their muscles stiffened with ardor for the fight.

"Seems as though they were glad to see us," laughed Tom, as he sent the
ball whirling in a spiral pass to Bert.

"You bet," answered Bert, "and we must make them yell louder yet at the
finish."

The practice was short and snappy. There was ginger in every movement
and Bert's tries for goal elicited the unwilling admiration at the same
time that it awakened the fear of the "Maroon" supporters.

Then the signal was given and the captains of the two teams clasped
hands cordially in the middle of the field and tossed a coin for
position. The "Maroons" won and, as there was not enough wind stirring
to favor either goal, elected to take the kick off. The teams lined up
on the "Maroon's" forty yard line. Miller kicked the ball thirty yards
down the field and the game was on.

Martin made a fair catch, but before he could run back was downed in his
tracks. The teams lined up for the scrimmage. Dick plunged through left
guard and tackle for a gain of five yards. Axtell went through right for
two more. Then the ball was given to Bert, and he went through the hole
opened up by Drake and Boyd for eight more. They had gained their
distance and the ball was still in their possession on the fifty yard
line.

Their bucking had been so successful that they were still inclined to
try the plunging game. But the "Maroons" had braced. Three successive
downs failed to yield the coveted ten yards and Bert dropped back for a
kick. The ball was handled with superb precision by Tom and Dick, who
made a perfect pass to Bert. It was off from his toe like a flash, just
escaping the "Maroon" forwards as they broke through to block. Miller
made a great jumping catch, but Axtell's savage tackle downed him where
he stood. The ball was now in "Maroon" territory on their twenty yard
line.

It was altogether too close for comfort, and the "Maroons" made a
gallant and desperate effort to get it further down the field. The
Blues, however, were no less determined. Against the bull-like plunges
of the enemy they held like a stone wall. Three times in succession they
refused to let their foes gain an inch. It was clear that other tactics
would have to be resorted to. Halliday, the "Maroon" quarter, tried a
forward pass. Richmond at right end caught it and started down the
field. Warren tackled him, but slipped in the mud and Richmond shook him
off. His interference was good and he was off like a frightened rabbit.
He had made twenty yards before Bert caught and threw him heavily. But
he held on to the ball and the "Maroons" breathed more freely. The ball
was still theirs, forty yards from their goal line.

"Never mind, old man," called Bert cheerfully to Warren. "A bit of hard
luck, but don't let it get your goat. Any one might have slipped in such
muddy going."

The narrow escape heartened the "Maroons" and they fought like wildcats.
They were on the defensive and the ball stayed in their territory. But
the utmost efforts of the Blues failed to make substantial gains, and
when the whistle blew at the end of the quarter neither side had scored.

By this time the rain was coming down in torrents. The stands were a
mass of glistening umbrellas and shining raincoats. The flags and
decorations no longer waved defiantly, but hung dank and dripping. The
field beneath the rushing feet of the players had been churned into a
sea of mud, and this was plastered liberally on the uniforms of the
teams. In the minute's interval between quarters a host of trainers'
assistants rushed from the side lines with sponges and towels and tried
to get their charges in some kind of shape.

When the next quarter started the play was fast and furious. The teams
had sized each other up and got a line on their respective line of play.
Each side realized that the battle was for blood, and that it had in the
other a worthy foeman. There would be no walkover for anybody that day.

Floundering and slipping in the mud, the Blues steadily pounded their
way down to the "Maroon's" goal. Morley made a successful dash around
left end, netting twenty yards. On a forward pass Caldwell fumbled, but
Tom made a dazzling recovery before the enemy could pounce upon the
ball. Bert found a gap between left and tackle and went through with
lowered head for twelve yards before the "Maroons" fell on him in a
mass. Then the Blues uncovered the "Minnesota shift"--one of "Bull"
Hendrick's pet tricks--and they went through the bewildered "Maroons"
for twenty yards. Another trial of the same shift was smothered and a
daring end run by Hudson of the "Maroons" brought the ball to the middle
of the field. Four unsuccessful attempts failed to advance it and it
went to the Blues on downs.

The ball was now on the "Maroons'" forty yard line and there were only
two minutes left of playing time. The "Maroon" defence had stiffened and
it was a practical certainty that line bucking could not avail in that
limited time, so Bert dropped back for a kick. Tom snapped it back to
Dick, who with the same motion made a beautiful pass to Bert. With all
the power of his mighty leg he swung on it and lifted it far and high.
Straight as an arrow it winged its way toward the "Maroons'" goal.

A tremendous shout had gone up as the ball left his toe, but then
followed a deadly silence as they watched its towering flight. Would it
go over the posts and score three points for the Blues or would it go to
one side just enough to give the "Maroons" a new lease of life?

Now the ball had reached its highest point and was falling in a swift
curve toward the goal. As it neared the posts it seemed for a moment to
hesitate. Then, as though it had made up its mind, it swooped suddenly
downward and crossed the goal bar, just grazing it. The goal had counted
and a groan went up from the "Maroon" stands, while those in the Blues
leaped to their feet waving their flags and cheering like madmen.

Tom danced a jig on the field and threw his arms about Bert, and the
other fellows coming up swarmed around him with frantic congratulations.
And just then the second half ended and both teams went to their
quarters for the fifteen minutes' rest that marks the half of the game.
Here they changed quickly into fresh uniforms and braced themselves for
the second and decisive half. Naturally the confidence was on the side
of the Blues, but the lead was not large, and as yet it was anybody's
game.

"You've got them started," exhorted Hendricks. "Now keep them on the
run. Don't let up for a minute. Hit them, hammer them, tear their line
in pieces. I want you to roll up a score that will scare the 'Greys'
before we tackle them."

The advice was good in theory and the will was not lacking to carry it
out in practice. But the "Maroons" had other views and from the moment
they came on the field it was evident that they had taken a brace. They
were yet a long way from giving up the ghost. After all, the field goal
had only counted three points, and a touchdown would not only even this
up but put the Maroons in the lead.

To get that touchdown they worked like fiends. Berriman kicked the ball
out of bounds and Flynn fell upon it, sliding along in the mud and water
as he did so. The ball was brought in at the Blues' forty yard line and
the teams lined up for the scrimmage. Adams slammed through left tackle
for five yards. Gibbons with lowered head butted into center, but Dick
threw him back for a loss of two. Hudson skirted left end, cleverly
dodging Caldwell and making twelve yards, before Tom leaped upon him and
downed him heavily. But the ball was under him and the "Maroons" had
more than made their distance on the four downs.

Once more they lined up, and now the Blues were on the defensive. Boyd
had hurt his knee and Chamberlain came running out to take his place.
Instead of reporting to the referee, he spoke first to one of his
comrades, and for this violation of the rules the Blues were penalized
five yards. A moment later they lost five more through off-side play by
Warren. Ten precious yards thrown away when every one was beyond price!
And now the jubilant "Maroons" were within fifteen yards of the goal,
and their partisans were on their feet yelling like wild men.

Panting, crouching, glaring, the two teams faced each other. The
"Maroons" consulted for a moment. Should they try a kick for goal,
yielding three points if successful and tieing the score, or buck the
line for a touchdown which would put them in the lead? The first was
easier, but the latter more profitable if they could "put it over." They
might never be so near the line again, and they thought that they saw
signs of wavering among the Blues. They decided then to try for the
greater prize and buck the line.

Berriman, their halfback, bowled over Chamberlain for a gain of four
yards. Richmond tried to make a hole between Dick and Tom, but was
nailed without a gain. Once more Berriman ploughed in between Warren and
Chamberlain, which seemed to be the weakest part of the defense, but,
anticipating the move, Bert had posted himself there and, meeting the
rush halfway, dumped Berriman on his head. As he fell, the ball slipped
from his hands and Tom, quick as a cat, picked it up and twisting,
dodging, squirming, scuttled down along the southern line. Burke flung
himself at him in a flying tackle and grabbed one leg, but the runner
shook him off and, with his momentum scarcely checked flew down the
field, aided by superb interference on the part of Drake and Axtell,
who bowled over the "Maroon" tacklers like so many ninepins. He had made
thirty-five yards and was going like the wind when, in eluding the
outstretched arms of Miller, he slipped in a pool of mud and water and
went down, skating along on his nose for several yards, while the whole
"Maroon" team piled over him. But his nose guard had saved him from
injury and, when the wriggling mass was disentangled, it was found that
he still had the ball. He wiped the mud from his face and grinned
happily while his mates gathered round him and billows of cheers swept
down from the Blue stands, frantic with delight at the brilliant run.

"Splendid, old boy!" cried Bert, slapping Tom on the back. "That was
classy stuff. You went down the line like a shot from a gun."

"It saved the goal line all right," panted Dick. "Jove! They were close.
It looked for a minute as though they had us going."

The ball was put into play again but just as the teams lined up time was
called. The game was three-quarters over and the remaining fifteen
minutes would tell the tale of victory or defeat. The boys stood around
in groups scraping the mud from their uniforms and rubbing rosin on
their hands to get a better grip in tackling.

Just as the breathing spell was over the sun suddenly burst forth in a
blaze of glory. Umbrellas went down like magic and even the "Maroon"
supporters, chagrined as they were, joined in the cheer that rose from
the drenched spectators. It put new life into the players also.

"Look!" cried Bert as the teams took their places. "The rainbow!"

All eyes were turned in the direction he pointed, where in a magnificent
arch of shifting colors the bow of promise curved over the field.

"It's our rainbow," shouted Tom. "We saw it first."

"Come off, you dubs," sang out Halliday. "Don't you see that it's over
our goal?"

"Sure," retorted Tom. "That's to show us where we've got to go."

"It is, eh?" said Halliday grimly. "You'll only get there over our dead
bodies."

"You're dead ones already," taunted Drake good-naturedly. "You're only
walking round to save funeral expenses."

But in the furious battle that developed from the kick-off, it was
evident that the "Maroons" were very lively corpses. It was no use to
play on the defensive. If they did that, they were beaten already by the
three points that now loomed up in such tremendous proportions. Nor was
there any reason to keep any of their plays up their sleeves. For them
it was the last game of the season and now was the time to uncover their
whole "bag of tricks."

So they threw caution to the winds and played with utter recklessness
and abandon. Their "Wheel shift" was a new one on the Blues, and the
"Maroons" had used it twice for a gain of thirty yards before the Blues
solved and checkmated it. Then the forward pass was tried, usually
without advancing the ball, though one clever skirting of the end gained
fifteen yards. The ball was getting pretty well down into Blue territory
when a magnificent drop kick by Bert sent it sailing to the middle of
the field. In the momentary silence that succeeded the cheering, some
wag from the Blue stands piped out:

"It's too bad that fellow Wilson is lame." And everybody laughed.

But the laugh of the "Maroons" had a pang behind it. Only five minutes
of playing time were left, and the ball was in the hands of their
enemies. They ranged up for the scrimmage with the desperation of men
faced by advancing doom but bound to go down fighting.

And go down they did before the savage and exulting onslaught of the
Blues. Fighting, raging, blocking, charging, they were forced back
toward their goal. Drake and Dick and Axtell went ploughing through big
holes opened up by their comrades in both sides of the line until, with
two downs yet to go, the ball was in the hands of the Blues twelve yards
from the enemy's goal.

Everybody was standing now. Flags were waving, voices yelling and the
tumult was indescribable.

It was the supreme moment, and Bert was called on for the final plunge.

"Go to it, old man, the instant I snap it back," whispered Tom.

"For the sake of the old college," urged Dick.

Bert stiffened.

"Watch me," he said.

It was a perfect snap from Tom to Dick, who passed it to Bert so swiftly
that the eye could scarcely follow it. At the same instant Drake and
Axtell opened up a hole between left guard and tackle and Bert ploughed
through it like an unchained cyclone. The whole "Maroon" team was on him
in an instant, but the fearful headway of his charge had carried him
through nine of the coveted twelve yards and the goal post loomed almost
directly overhead.

"Buck up, fellows, buck up," screamed Halliday wildly. "For heaven's
sake, brace!"

Bert's head was buzzing with the impact of that mighty plunge, but his
eyes blazed with the light of coming triumph.

"Not an inch, boys, not an inch," yelled Halliday. "Throw them back.
It's their last down."

But their hour had struck. Once more the ball was passed and, charging
hard and low, Bert went into the line. The "Maroons" hurled themselves
savagely against him, but a regiment could not have stopped him. He
crumpled them up and carried the fragments of the broken line on his
head and shoulders, coming at last to the ground five yards over the
goal for the touchdown. And the Blue stands promptly went stark raving
mad.

Bruised and dizzy but smiling, Bert rose to his feet. At that moment he
would not have changed places with an emperor.

The ball was carried out to the twenty-five yard line and Dick, lying
flat on the ground, steadied it for the kick. Bert took careful aim and
lifted it unerringly over the goal. It had scarcely touched the ground
when the whistle blew and the game was over. The Blues had triumphed,
ten to nothing, but only after a desperate battle that left the
"Maroons" vanquished, but not disgraced. Their gallant foes gave them a
rousing cheer that was returned by the victors with interest.

Then the crowds swept down like a tidal wave from the stands and
submerged the doughty fighters. The Blues, all muddy and disheveled as
they were, were hoisted on the shoulders of their exulting comrades and
carried from the field. And it was all they could do to get away from
them and repair to their shower and rubdown, never before so needed or
so welcome.

The campus blazed that night with bonfires and resounded with noises
that "murdered sleep." But all the pleading that the team might take
part in the festivities fell unheeded on the ears of the two inexorable
tyrants, Hendricks and Reddy. Happy and exulting tyrants just then, but
tyrants none the less.

"Not until they lick the 'Greys,'" was "Bull's" decree. "If they do that
they can split the town wide open. Until then the lid is on."

There was no appeal from his decision, and by nine o'clock the weary
warriors were tucked away in bed to dream of past and hope for coming
victory.

Dick was just dropping off when a voice came from Bert's bed:

"Say, Dick, what's the greatest game in the world?"

"Football," was the prompt reply.

"And, Dick, what's the greatest team in the world?"

"The Blues," averred Dick stoutly.

"Right," assented Bert. "Now go to sleep."

CHAPTER XII

THE COACH ROBBERY

ONE morning Bert received a letter that caused him to emit a wild whoop
of joy, and then set off post haste to find Tom and Dick. He discovered
them at last on the campus, kicking a ball around, and rushed toward
them waving the open letter over his head.

"Say, fellows," he shouted when he got within speaking distance of them,
"whom do you suppose this letter is from? Bet you a million you can't
guess right in three guesses."

"From the way you seem to feel about it," grinned Dick, "it must contain
money from home. I don't know what else could make you feel as happy as
you appear to be."

"No, it isn't money," replied Bert, "but it's something better."

"Come off," chaffed Tom, "there 'ain't no such thing.' But tell us what
it is and get it out of your system."

"It's a letter from Mr. Melton," explained Bert, "saying he's on his way
East, and is going to visit us here. What do you know about that, eh?"

"Great!" exclaimed Dick and Tom in chorus, and Dick asked, "When does he
say he'll get here?"

"Monday or Tuesday of next week," replied Bert, consulting the letter.
"Either Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning. He's going to stop at the
'Royal,' and wants us to be on hand to meet him. He says in all
probability he'll arrive on the 7:45 Monday evening. And just make out
we won't be on hand to give him a rousing welcome, what?"

"I rather guess we will," said Tom, "and then some. I move that we hire
a brass band and do the thing up right."

"That's a good idea all right," laughed Bert, "but I rather think Mr.
Melton would prefer to dispense with the brass band. But we'll manage to
make him know he's welcome, I have no doubt of that."

"I'd deserve to be hung, drawn, and quartered if _I_ didn't," said Dick
with feeling. "He was certainly a friend in need if there ever was one."

Dick alluded to a never-to-be-forgotten time when Mr. Melton had, at the
risk of his own life, rendered timely aid to Bert and Tom in rescuing
Dick from a band of Mexican outlaws. The three comrades were not ones to
forget such a service, and from that time on Mr. Melton had always
occupied a warm place in their regard. In addition to his personal
bravery he was genial and good natured, with a heart as big as himself.
He had taken part in many enterprises, but was now a prosperous rancher
in the Northwest, calling many a fertile acre his own.

He had traveled extensively and knew much of the world. His stock of
experiences and anecdote seemed inexhaustible, and he was never at a
loss for some tale of adventure when called upon to tell one. His bluff,
hearty manner gained him friends wherever he went, and it was with
feelings of the keenest anticipation that the three comrades looked
forward to his coming. It was only Wednesday when Bert received the
letter announcing his coming, so they had several days of inevitable
waiting.

However, "all things come to him who waits," and the day to which the
boys looked forward with so much anticipation was no exception to the
rule. They were at the station long before the train was due, and it
seemed hours to them before they heard its whistle in the distance.

"The chances are though," said Tom pessimistically, "that something has
happened to delay him and he won't be on this train at all, but on the
one that comes in to-morrow morning."

"That's the way it usually works out," agreed Bert with a grin, "but
somehow I have a hunch that Mr. Melton is going to be on this train. He
said in the letter you know, that in all probability he would be on the
earlier train."

"Yes, I know," said Tom, "and I only hope that my fears are groundless.
But we won't have to wait long now to find out at any rate."

He had hardly ceased speaking when the train puffed into the station.
They scanned the long line of cars carefully, and it was Dick who first
discerned the burly form descending the narrow steps of one of the rear
Pullmans.

"There he is, fellows," he shouted and made a dash in the direction of
the approaching figure, followed closely by Bert and Tom. Mr. Melton saw
them coming and stretched out his hand. "Well, well!" he exclaimed,
after shaking hands all around. "I'm certainly glad to see you once
more, my boys. You don't look as though the grind of college work has
interfered much with your health," with a twinkle in his eyes.

"No," laughed Bert, "we're not actually wasting away under the strain.
But as far as that goes," he continued, "you look pretty fit yourself."

"Yes, and I feel it, too," replied Mr. Melton. "I'm not quite as spry as
I used to be, but I never felt better in my life. There's nothing like
an open air life to keep a man young."

While this talk was going on, the little party was making its way toward
the hotel at which Mr. Melton had said he was going to put up, and were
not long in reaching it.

"Well, boys," said Mr. Melton as they ascended the handsome flight of
steps leading up to the entrance, "I don't suppose you've had supper
yet, have you? If not I want you all to keep me company. It's on me, and
the best in the house is none too good for us."

"Well," replied Bert, "speaking for myself, nothing would give me
greater pleasure. But we're all three slaves of the training table, you
know, so I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us this time."

"That's right!" exclaimed Mr. Melton in a disappointed tone, "for the
moment I had forgotten all about that. But duty is duty, and far be it
from me to put temptation in your path."

"What I think we had better do," said Bert, "is to see you safely
installed here, and then hustle back to college and eat. Then we can
come back here and spend the evening with you."

"I guess that will be the best plan," agreed Mr. Melton, "but you must
promise me to get back soon."

Of course they all promised, and after leaving their friend to the
tender mercies of the hotel clerk, hastened back to their Alma Mater.

They were just in time for dinner, but in their excitement and hurry to
get back to the hotel ate less than usual. In reply to Reddy's query as
to "what was up," they told him of Mr. Melton's arrival. Reddy had heard
of the Mexican adventure and spoke accordingly. "He must be a good man
to know," he opined, "and I'd like to meet him. Go ahead an' make your
call now, but don't get back late. I guess, from what I hear of this
Melton that he'll see that you leave in time anyway."

"No, he's not the kind to persuade people to forget their obligations,"
said Dick. "In fact, he's just the opposite. But of course our own
well-known principles would make it impossible for us to be late," with
a grin.

"Yes, I know all about that sort of stuff," said Reddy. "See if for once
you can live up to your own 'rep.'"

"All you got to do is keep your eyes peeled, and you'll see us piking in
here right on the dot," laughed Tom. "Come on, fellows. The sooner we
get started the sooner we'll get back."

"Right you are," agreed Bert, and the three comrades swung into a brisk
stride. A twenty-minute walk brought them to the "Royal," and they were
immediately ushered up to Mr. Melton's room. In answer to their knock a
hearty voice bade them "come in," and as they opened the door Mr. Melton
met them with outstretched hand.

"Come in and make yourselves at home," he said genially. "If you want
anything and don't see it, ask for it."

"You seem to be pretty well fixed with about everything that anybody
could want, now," commented Bert, glancing about the luxuriously
appointed room. "This place certainly looks as though it had had some
thought and money expended on it."

"Yes," admitted the Westerner, "it reminds me of the so-called 'hotels'
we used to have out West in the early days--it's so different. The
height of luxury there was in having a room all to yourself. As a rule
you had to bunk in with at least two or three others. O yes, this is
quite an improvement on one of those old shacks. I remember one of the
pioneer towns where there was a fierce rivalry between the proprietors
of the only two hotels in town. They were each trying to get the better
of the other by adding some improvement, real or fancied. First the
owner of the 'Palace' had his shack painted a vivid white and green.
Then the owner of the 'Lone Star' hostelry, not to be outdone, had his
place painted also, and had a couple of extra windows cut in the wall.
So it went, and if they had kept it up long enough, probably in the end
people stopping at one of the places would have been fairly comfortable.
But before matters reached that unbelievable pitch, O'Day, owner of the
'Palace,' was killed in a shooting fracas. The man who plugged him
claimed he was playing 'crooked' poker, and I think that in all
probability he was. If he wasn't, it was about the only time in his life
that he ever played straight."

"What happened to the man who did the shooting?" asked Bert.

"Well, O'Day wasn't what you'd call a very popular character," replied
Mr. Melton, "and nobody felt very much cut up over his sudden exit from
this vale of tears. They got up an impromptu jury, but the twelve 'good
men and true' failed to find the defendant guilty."

"But how did they get around it?" asked Tom. "There was no doubt about
who did the killing, was there?"

"Not the least in the world," replied Mr. Melton with a laugh; "but as I
say, popular sentiment was with the man who did the shooting, so the
jury turned in a verdict that ran something in this fashion, if I
remember rightly: 'We find that the deceased met death while
inadvisably attempting to stop a revolver bullet in motion' or words to
that effect. I thought at the time it was a masterpiece of legal
fiction."

"I should say it was," commented Dick. "The quibbles and technicalities
that make our laws a good deal of a joke to-day have nothing much on
that."

"That's a fact," agreed Mr. Melton; "some of the results of our modern
'justice,' so called, are certainly laughable. It's all very well to
give a man every chance and the benefit of every doubt, but when a
conviction is set aside because the court clerk was an hour behind time
getting to court on the day of the trial, it begins to look as though
things were being carried too far. Mere technicalities and lawyers'
quibbles should not have the weight with judges that for some reason
they seem to possess."

"I've no doubt," remarked Bert, "that some of the rough and ready courts
such as you were just telling us about meted out a pretty fair brand of
justice at that."

"Yes, they did," replied Mr. Melton. "They got right down to the core of
the argument, and cut out all confusing side issues. If, for instance,
three witnesses all swore they saw a man steal a horse, and yet were
unable to agree on the exact time of the stealing, the chances were ten
to one that the horse thief would be strung up without further loss of
time. And there was no appeal from the findings of a frontier jury."

"It must have been an exciting life, that of the old frontier days,"
commented Bert. "I guess nobody had to complain much of the monotony of
it."

"Not so you could notice," replied Mr. Melton with a smile, "but there
wasn't half as much shooting going on all the time as you might believe
from reading the current stories in the magazines dealing with the 'wild
and woolly West.' Most everybody carried a gun, of course, but they
weren't used so very often. Every man knew that his neighbor was
probably an expert in the use of his 'shooting irons,' too, so there
wasn't much percentage in starting an argument. Most of the scraps that
did occur would never have been started, if it hadn't been for the
influence of 'red-eye,' as the boys used to call the vile brands of
whiskey served out in the frontier saloons. That whiskey bit like
vitriol, and a few glasses of it were enough to make any man take to the
war path."

"I suppose you carried a gun in those days, too, didn't you, Mr.
Melton?" questioned Dick.

"Yes, I carried a pair of Colt's .45s with me for years," replied the
Westerner, with a reminiscent look in his eyes. "Why, a couple of guns
were as much a part of a man's dress in those days as a pair of shoes.
Every one carried them as a matter of course."

"Did you ever have to use them?" asked Bert.

"Only once," replied Mr. Melton. "I never went looking for trouble, and
it has been my experience, when you don't look for trouble, trouble
seldom looks for you. But the one time I did have use for my arsenal
made up for lost time."

"Tell us about it, please," chorused the boys, and Mr. Melton smiled at
their eagerness as he lit another perfecto.

"Well," he began, "it was back in the old days before the time of the
railroads, when stage coaches were the only carriers known. I was
traveling to Fort Worth on business, and was finding the journey
anything but a pleasant one. The coach was old and rickety, and the way
it lurched and rolled reminded me of a small boat in a rough sea. It was
a terrifically hot day, too, and the stinging alkali dust got down your
throat and in your eyes until life seemed an unbearable burden. We had
traveled steadily all the morning, and along toward afternoon most of
the passengers began to feel pretty sleepy, and dozed off. I was among
the number. Suddenly I was awakened by a shout of 'hands up!' and found
myself looking full into the muzzle of a blue barreled Colt, held in the
hand of a masked man.

"There was nothing for it but to obey, seeing he had the drop on us, so
up went our hands over our heads. There were six other passengers in the
coach, but if we had been sixteen we would have been no better off.

"As we gazed in a sort of fascination at the ugly-looking revolver,
another masked man entered the coach and commenced systematically to
relieve the passengers of their valuables. I happened to be nearest the
front of the coach, and so did not receive the benefit of his attentions
at first. He had almost reached me when there was a commotion outside,
and he straightened up to listen, all his senses on the alert.

"He was between me and the door in which his companion was standing. For
the moment the man in the door could not get at me except through his
comrade, and I resolved to grasp the opportunity. In a flash I had
reached down into the breast of my coat and grasped the butt of my
revolver. Before the desperado in front of me could get his gun in
action, I had fired. At the first shot he dropped to the ground and, as
he fell, a bullet from the man in the doorway took my hat off. I pulled
the trigger as fast as my fingers could work, and he did the same. I
have only a confused recollection of smoke, flashes of flame, shouts and
a dull shock in my left arm. In what must have been but a few seconds it
was all over. With my own gun empty, I waited to see what would happen.
I knew that if by that time I hadn't killed the bandit, he had me at his
mercy. And even with him disposed of, I fully expected to be plugged by
the man outside who was holding the driver under guard.

"But he must have had a streak of yellow in him, for when he failed to
see either of his comrades come out of the coach he concluded that they
were either dead or prisoners, and made off as fast as his pony could
carry him. By that time we passengers had rushed out of the coach, and
some of us began firing at the fugitive. But a revolver is not very
accurate over two or three hundred feet, and I doubt if the desperado
was even grazed. I was unable to shoot for, as I had realized by this
time, my left arm was broken just above the elbow, and I was unable to
load my gun.

"Well, finding that we could not hope to harm the fugitive, we returned
to the coach. An examination of the two hold-ups showed that one, the
man I had shot first, was dead. The other, who had guarded the door, was
badly wounded and unconscious. One of the passengers had been bored
through the shoulder by a stray bullet, but was not hurt seriously.

"The driver bound up my arm after a fashion, and whipped up his horses.
It was after dark before we reached Fort Worth though, and by that time
my arm was giving me a foretaste of what Hades must be. But there was a
good doctor in the town, fortunately for me, and he fixed the arm up in
fine fashion. And, believe me, I felt lucky to get off as easy as that."

"I should think you would," said Bert admiringly. "It must have taken
nerve to pull a gun under those conditions."

"Well," replied Mr. Melton, "it was all on account of a watch I carried
at that time. It was one I had had for years, and thought a lot of. The
idea of losing that watch just made me desperate. I think if it hadn't
been for that I would never have taken the chance."

"And what happened to the man you wounded?" asked Dick.

"He gradually recovered," replied Mr. Melton. "The boys were going to
hang him when he got well enough, but one night he broke jail and got
away. They made up a posse and chased him through three counties, but
never caught him. I imagine, though, that his liking for hold-ups
suffered a severe check."

"Very likely," agreed Bert, "but I'm glad you saved the watch, anyway."

"So am I," said Mr. Melton with a smile. "Here it is now, if you'd care
to see it."

He passed a handsome gold timepiece over to the boys, who admired it
greatly. Then the talk turned to other subjects, and before they
realized it, it was time for them to go.

Before leaving, however, they made Mr. Melton promise to visit the
college the following afternoon. This he readily did, and the boys took
their departure after saying a hearty good night to their Western
friend.

CHAPTER XIII

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

TRUE to his promise, Mr. Melton made his appearance at the south end of
the campus a little after three o'clock of the following day. The three
friends were there to meet him, and they exchanged hearty greetings.

"There's so much we want to show you that we hardly know where to
begin," said Bert. "What shall we show him first, fellows?"

"Let's start with the library," suggested Dick, "that's one of the
handsomest buildings. When he sees all the books he'll get the idea that
we're very literary, and first impressions are lasting, you know."

"I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good," said Bert. "He'd just be getting
that impression, and then Tom would pull some of his low comedy stuff
and queer the whole thing. We can never palm ourselves off as highbrows
while he's around."

"Just because you're unable to appreciate the little gems of wit I offer
you from time to time, you have to go and run them down," protested Tom.
"It isn't my fault that you haven't sense enough to laugh at them. It's
your misfortune, that's all."

"Well, I'll do my best to bear up under the deprivation," laughed Bert.
"But here we are, Mr. Melton. What do you think of the outside?"

While he and Tom had been exchanging thrusts the little group had been
strolling toward the library building, and by this time had reached the
broad flight of steps that led up to it. There they halted while Mr.
Melton examined the front of the building.

"It is very handsome," he commented; "if its interior answers to its
outer appearance it must be a beautiful place."

"I think you'll find that it does," said Bert; "but the best way to tell
is to go inside."

Accordingly, they ascended the stone steps and, entering the massive
doors, found themselves in a lofty hall, from which branched the various
reading rooms. Everything was in perfect harmony and taste, and Mr.
Melton was outspoken in his expressions of admiration.

Leaving the library, the boys showed their friend all the college
buildings--the recitation hall, the dormitories, the chapel and the
gymnasium. Mr. Melton seemed attracted most of all by the latter, and
examined the different athletic apparatus with the greatest interest.

"You certainly have everything that modern science can furnish,"
commented Mr. Melton enthusiastically. He lingered long by the swimming
tank, in which a number of athletic young fellows were disporting
themselves.

"How would you like to visit the engine room?" asked Dick. "To my mind
that's the most interesting place in the college."

"I'd like it first rate," said Mr. Melton; "anything in the way of
machinery can always be sure of getting a respectful hearing from me."

The three friends accordingly guided him down into the engine and boiler
rooms, sacred ground to which few visitors ever penetrated. Here was
machinery of the latest and most up-to-date patterns, and Mr. Melton
listened attentively while the boys explained to him the uses of the
various mechanisms. They were familiar with everything in the place, and
their listener knew enough about machinery to readily understand
everything that they told him. They spent over an hour altogether in the
engine room, and when at last they emerged into the upper regions again
Mr. Melton drew a long breath.

"It's certainly a wonderful place," he said with enthusiasm; "and I envy
you boys the chance you have of getting an education in a such a
college. It's a privilege that you'll probably appreciate ten years
from now even more than you do at the present time."

"Possibly," said Bert with a note of doubt in his voice. "But I don't
think we'll ever take any more pride in the old college than we do right
now."

"Nope, can't be done," said Tom flippantly; "any place that can give
Bert three such meals a day as he gets at the training table is sure to
make a hit with him."

"_I'll_ make a hit with a brick if you make any more comments of that
kind," threatened Bert; "and what's more, you'll be _it_."

"I call you to witness, Mr. Melton," said Tom, turning to that
gentleman, who by now was laughing heartily, "this low person has
threatened to land me with a brick if I make any further criticism of
his bad habits. Now, what I want to know is, is this, or is it not, a
land of free speech? Is a freeborn American citizen to be threatened and
bullied by a----" but here his protest ended in a muffled roar, as Dick
and Bert pounced on him and wrapped their coats tightly about his head.

"It's the only way to make him quit," apologized Bert to Mr. Melton.
Then, addressing the muffled Tom, "Will you promise to be good if we let
you out?"

The only answer was a series of wild plungings, that ended by landing
the three in a tangled heap on the grass. At last Tom managed to get
his head free, and struggled to his feet.

His laughing comrades also scrambled to theirs, and they stood facing
each other.

"Well," said Tom, smoothing down his rumpled mop of hair, "you knew you
were tackling something, anyway."

"It was quite exciting," laughed Mr. Melton. "If you boys play football
in the same fashion you employed then, I don't see how your opponents
ever have a chance."

"They don't when they have me to deal with," said Tom unblushingly;
"it's only when the rival teams come up against Dick or Bert that they
have an easy time of it."

Bert and Dick passed this remark over with the silent contempt they felt
it warranted, and asked Mr. Melton what he would like to do next.

"Anything you suggest will suit me," replied that individual. "I place
myself entirely in the hands of my friends."

"Well, then," suggested Dick, "why not go over and watch the boys
practising football? There's always a few kicking the ball around, even
when there's no regular practice on the programme, and sometimes they
play sides. It won't hurt to go over and see what's doing, anyway."

As Mr. Melton expressed himself as agreeable to this plan, they
strolled over toward the campus, and were soon standing on the sidelines
watching the practice. There was a goodly number out, and the air
resounded with the smack of leather against leather as the pigskin was
sent soaring high into the air, to be caught expertly as it descended
swiftly toward the earth. A few of the regulars were out, and it was
easy even for a stranger to distinguish them by the deftness and quick
sureness of their actions. The others sometimes missed hard catches, but
these veterans, with clocklike precision, were always in position to
make the most difficult catches without even the appearance of effort.

"Looks easy, doesn't it?" said Bert to Mr. Melton.

"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly," said Mr. Melton, "but I've no doubt
it looks a good deal easier than it really is. I have had enough
experience of life to realize that nothing is as easy as it looks. Many
people never realize that though, and the result is they never try hard
enough, or at least, when they do realize it, find it too late to do
anything."

They watched the practice a short time longer, and then as the afternoon
was getting well along, Mr. Melton looked at his watch and said he would
have to get back to his hotel. They were just turning away when they
came face to face with Hendricks, who was hurrying toward the scene of
activities. He and Mr. Melton had hardly glanced at each other when they
each gave a shout and rushed forward with outstretched hands.

"'Bull,' you old reprobate, is it really you!" exclaimed Mr. Melton,
pumping the coach's hand up and down like a pumphandle.

"It certainly is, old timer," replied Hendricks, "and you sure are a
welcome sight to me. But how in the name of all that's good did you
happen to get here?"

"I came as a guest of our young friends here," replied Mr. Melton; "they
mentioned your name, but I didn't think that it might be you. It's some
years now since we were together last."

While all this had been going on, the three boys had looked on
wonderingly, but it did not take long to explain matters. It seemed that
Hendricks and Mr. Melton had once been members of a hunting party, and
had scoured the Rockies together in search of game. They had formed a
friendship then that had never grown cold. Through the years that had
elapsed since their last meeting it had lain dormant, but now, at sight
of each other, blazed up again brightly.

After a little further talk, Mr. Melton insisted that the coach and the
three boys come to his hotel for dinner and spend the evening there.
"You can tell me what to order now," he said, cutting short Hendrick's
objections, which, to tell the truth, were not very strong. "I'll order
exactly what you say, and it will be just the same as though you were
eating dinner at the training table. That's satisfactory, isn't it?"

"Why, I suppose it will have to be," laughed the coach; "if you'll
follow out that programme I'll consent. But you can bet your boots I
wouldn't do it for everybody."

"All right then that's settled," said Mr. Melton; "so make out your
menu, and I'll hustle back to my hotel and make arrangements."

Hendricks fished out an old envelope and jotted down a list of edibles,
starting with "beefsteak." This he gave to Mr. Melton, and then they
shook hands and after saying good-by to the boys, Mr. Melton hurried
away in the direction of his hotel.

Not long afterward the three comrades, accompanied by the coach, set out
for the same destination. When they arrived they were greeted by a
cordial welcome, and shortly afterwards dinner was served.

It consisted of nothing but the plainest and most nourishing foods, and
Hendricks expressed himself as feeling perfectly satisfied. After the
meal they repaired to Mr. Melton's rooms, and for a couple of hours the
two old friends swapped yarns, while Tom and Bert and Dick listened
with the greatest interest. They told tales of adventure by field and
forest, and the time passed like magic. But "Bull" Hendricks was not to
be beguiled into forgetting the time, and shortly after ten o'clock he
glanced at his watch and rose.

"Time to be going, boys," he announced crisply. "I'm sure it would be a
pleasure to stay all night, but rules are rules, you know."

"Well, I'd like to have you stay," said Mr. Melton, "but far be it from
me to try to urge you against your judgment. I hope, though, that there
won't be as much time between our next meeting as there was between the
last, old fellow."

"So do I," responded Hendricks heartily as they shook hands, "but so
long till then, anyway."

"Good-by," said Mr. Melton, and then shook hands with the boys. "I'm
afraid I won't see you fellows again this trip, although I'm going to
make a desperate effort to stay East until the big game comes off," he
said. "I've got to get a very early train for New York to-morrow, so I
guess we'd better say good-by now until the next time."

The boys shook hands with him warmly, and then started downstairs. Mr.
Melton followed them to the door, and the last thing they saw as they
looked back was his sturdy bulk outlined in the square of light formed
by the open doorway.

CHAPTER XIV

A PLOT THAT FAILED

ALTHOUGH Reddy, in common with everyone else in the college, felt
jubilant over the gallant victory of the Blues, he relaxed not one jot
of his vigilance. Two days' rest was all that he allowed. By that time
Boyd had recovered from the injury to his knee, the strain of the
contest had largely abated, and the team was once more in a condition to
face the final test--the battle with the redoubtable "Greys" in New York
on Thanksgiving Day.

But other and more baleful eyes were fixed on the condition of the team.

Football is one of the cleanest games in existence, and few sports are
more free of gambling of every kind. Nevertheless, it is impossible to
control the actions of a few professional gamblers who grasp eagerly at
every chance to ply their trade. Naturally, the conditions of the
different teams are of vital importance to them, and they make it their
business, through spies and in every possible way, to be well informed
on the subject. And the big football games of this season were no
exception to the rule. The condition of every player was carefully
noted and kept track of, and it is safe to say that the gambling clique
had almost as accurate a line on these points as the different trainers
themselves.

During the practice games in the earlier part of the season the "Greys"
had seemed to have the "edge" on the other members of the "Big Three."
Consequently, they were picked by the poolmakers as the eventual
winners, and large bets, amounting in some cases to practically the
entire "bank roll" of the plungers, were placed on them to win.

But the "Blues" had of late been going at such a terrific pace that they
had a most excellent chance of winning the pennant. And when this was
accentuated by the splendid victory of the "Blues" over the "Maroons" it
threw the "sports" into a condition closely bordering on panic.

A week before the final game on Thanksgiving Day one of the most
unscrupulous of the gamblers decided that if he could not win as matters
then stood, he would have to resort to underhand methods to change them.
Accordingly, one evening he called a number of his henchmen about him,
and when they and other plungers of his own stamp had assembled at a
designated rendezvous, he broached his plan.

"Boys," he said, glancing from one to the other of the hard faces turned
toward him, "there's no use telling you of the hole we're in. You know
just as well as I do, I guess, that we stand in a fair way to lose about
all we've got on account of the 'Blue' team coming up the way it has
lately. And according to Donovan here, it's not just a flash in the pan,
either. It looks as though they had hit their stride and meant to keep
it up until the end of the season."

"You can lay a stack of blues on dat," here spoke up the individual
referred to as "Donovan." "Dose guys has got more pepper in dem dan a
Mexican stew. De way dey practice an' de way dey play sure has got me
scared stiff. I knows a snappy football team when I sees one, an' you
can take it from me dem guys has de goods, and plenty of dem."

"Well, you see how things stand," said their leader, when Donovan had
finished. "If we don't do something, and do it pretty quick, we'll be
cooked--hashed--done brown on both sides."

There were significant looks exchanged among his auditors, and at last
one of them said:

"Well, what's your plan? Do you think we could buy one of the 'Blue'
players? It would be worth our while to ante up something handsome, if
you think it could be done."

"No chanct in de world," spoke up Donovan disgustedly, "dey're all
straighter'n a string, an' I tink any guy what made a proposition like
dat to one o' them would need a ambulance mighty quick."

"That leaves us only one thing to do, then," spoke the leader; "if we
can't buy one of them, we'll have to steal one, that's all. We'll have
to pinch one of the players some way, and keep him until the big game is
over. Then we can let him go, and if we play our cards right nobody will
ever get on to who turned the trick."

If, as is altogether unlikely, there existed any lingering scruple among
those present at taking part in any such project, the thought of the
ruin impending over their heads quickly banished such thoughts. All that
remained to be discussed was which player should be kidnapped, and there
were various opinions on this point. But the voice of Donovan decided
the question.

"De best man we can crimp," he said, "is Henderson, de quarterback. He's
de guy what gives de signals, an' it will stand de whole bunch on deir
heads. Besides," with a crafty grin, "he ain't quite as big as some of
de other huskies, an' dere's no use makin' ourselves any more trouble
dan we got to."

"I'll provide a good safe place to keep him in," said Bloom, the leader.
"There's a place over Mike's saloon, on the outskirts of the town, that
will be just the thing, and there won't be any questions asked, either."

So the plans for kidnapping the unconscious Tom were finally settled and
disposed of.

Bloom immediately set about perfecting his plans. He realized that he
was confronted with a difficult problem. He knew that it would be
necessary for him to capture Tom at some time when he was not in the
company of his two comrades, and from what his spy, Donovan, had told
him, he knew that the three were seldom separated for any length of
time. But he finally evolved a plan, and without loss of time set about
putting it in action.

He secured the use of a powerful automobile, and put it in charge of one
of his trusted lieutenants. The man was carefully instructed in the part
he was to play, and was intrusted with a note that he was to deliver to
Tom at a certain time. Thus the trap was laid, and Bloom settled back to
wait for the proper time to spring it.

And fate seemed to play into his hands. Toward dusk of the Tuesday
immediately preceding Thanksgiving Day Bert and Dick had occasion to go
to town, and as Tom had some studying to do, they left him in his room
and set out on their errand.

This was the time for which the gambler had been waiting. His spies
immediately sent him word of the favorable condition of affairs.
Excitedly he slammed the receiver of the telephone on its hook and sent
word to the man in charge of the automobile. The latter immediately
cranked up his car, and a few minutes later the big limousine rolled
quietly up to Tom's dormitory. The driver, who was dressed in ordinary
chauffeur's garb, mounted the stairs to the entrance, and when his ring
was answered by the appearance of an attendant, requested him to deliver
a letter that he handed him to "Mr. Tom Henderson."

A few moments later Tom was interrupted in his studies by a knock on the
door of his room, and on opening it was handed an unstamped envelope.
Somewhat surprised, he drew forth a yellow slip of paper that proved to
be a telegraph blank. Tom read the words scrawled across it, in
careless, hasty writing.

"Dear Tom," the message read, "am in town just for one evening, and want
you to drop in and see me. I would visit you if possible, but have some
friends with me, and so cannot. Just to make sure of your coming I'm
sending my car for you. Please don't disappoint me." The letter was
signed "Dave."

"Why," thought Tom, "that must be Dave Rutgers. I should say I would go
to see him. I haven't laid eyes on the old sinner since I came to
college."

Crumpling the yellow slip into a ball, he flung it into a corner of the
room and hastily donned his coat and hat. As he was about to leave the
room he hesitated a moment, and started back. But after a second he
started out again, and slammed the door after him. "I'll be back in a
couple of hours," he thought. "Bert and Dick probably won't return much
before that, so there's no use writing a note telling them where I've
gone." With this thought he dismissed the matter from his mind, and
hurried down to the waiting auto. He stepped in, the chauffeur slammed
the door, and the big machine glided noiselessly away, at a rapid gait.

About ten o'clock that evening Bert and Dick returned, and on their way
to their room pounded on Tom's door. They received no reply, so
concluded that he must be asleep, and passed on.

But when they stopped at his room the next morning, as was their
invariable custom, and received no answer to repeated summons, they
began to feel uneasy.

"Perhaps he's stolen a march on us and gone down early," suggested Dick.

"Possible," answered Bert, "but more likely he's just 'playing possum.'"
As he spoke he seized the knob to rattle the door, and the door swung
open!

"Why, he's not in here," exclaimed Bert, as he gazed about the room;
"and what's more," he continued excitedly, "he hasn't been here all
night, either. It's easy to see that the bed hasn't been slept in."

"That mighty queer," said Dick uneasily. "Where do you suppose he can
have gone?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, I'm sure," said Bert. "He didn't say
anything to you about going anywhere, did he?"

"Not a word," said Dick, "and I think if he had expected to be away any
length of time he would have told one of us about it."

"Something might have come up unexpectedly," said Bert; "but then he'd
have left a note for us. I--but what's that over in the corner!" he
suddenly exclaimed, "looks as though it might be a telegram."

As he spoke he pounced on the crumpled ball that Tom had tossed there
the evening before, and hastily smoothed it out. Then he and Dick read
the words written on it.

"That explains why he went," said Bert when they had mastered its
contents. "But it doesn't explain where he went or why he didn't get
back before this." They gazed at each other a few seconds, and each saw
his own fears mirrored in the eyes of his friend.

"There's something wrong somewhere," declared Dick at length, "and it's
up to us to find out what."

"It looks that way," said Bert. Then he continued, "this isn't a regular
telegram, you see. It looks as though the person writing it had just
scribbled the message on the handiest scrap of paper he could find,
which happened to be this."

"It may give us a clue to the writer," said Dick, as a sudden thought
flashed across his mind; "there are several telegraph offices in the
town, and probably if we showed that slip in any of them we could learn
what office it came from. There must be some identifying mark on it.
Then the people in that office might be able to give us some clue as to
who wrote it."

"It's worth trying, anyway," said Bert after a brief consideration. "And
the sooner we start the better. I'm getting more worried every minute."

With all thoughts of breakfast forgotten, they hurried from the college,
and were not long in reaching the railroad depot where the main
telegraph office was located. They showed the slip to the operator,
asking him if he could tell them from what station it had been taken.

"Sure," he said, looking at a figure in the upper left-hand corner,
"that came from station 'D,' on the corner of Spruce and Elm Streets."

The boys thanked him and hurried out. The address the operator had given
them was nearly a mile away, and they broke into a run. As they went
along they noticed that the houses lining the streets began to wear a
very tumble-down aspect, and to thin out more and more.

"This is a rotten neighborhood," panted Bert; "we must be getting pretty
near the edge of the town."

They had almost reached their destination when, as they passed a
particularly ramshackle building with a saloon on the ground floor, they
became conscious of a terrific hubbub going on within. There was a sound
of shouting and blows, and every once in a while the whole crazy
building would fairly rock as some heavy body crashed against the walls
from within.

Even as Bert and Dick stood watching in amazement, a muffled shout arose
above the general uproar that they both recognized. "That was Tom's
voice for a million!" yelled Bert, and without another word the two
friends made a dash for the door that evidently led to the floor above.
Without hesitating to find out whether or not it was locked they crashed
against it. Their combined weight acted like a battering ram and the
door, torn from its hinges, fell inward. They rushed up the rickety
stairs in great bounds and, crashing through another door that barred
their way, found themselves precipitated into the midst of a fierce
struggle.

On the floor four men were locked in a deadly grapple. The meager
furniture of the room was splintered and broken, and the whole place
looked as though a cyclone had struck it. With a yell Bert and Dick
plunged into the struggle.

And now the odds were more even. Instead of three to one they were now
three to three, and the tide of battle began to turn. Bert and Dick tore
Tom's assailants away from him and he staggered to his feet. He was
battered and bruised, but still full of fight. "Come on, fellows, wade
into them," he shouted hoarsely. His tried and true comrades needed no
second bidding, and now began a battle compared to which the other
seemed mild. The three thugs who had been trying to overpower Tom were
brutal fighters, and withal were men of muscle. But it did not take long
to decide which side would win. The three friends, every fighting
instinct in them aroused, and the lust of battle hot within them, fought
with a fury and concentrated power that nothing could withstand.

Slowly they forced the thugs across the room, planting blow after blow
with deadly effect. Their opponents gave ground steadily, unable to
withstand the terrific punishment meted out to them. Suddenly the one
nearest the door made a dash for it, and the others followed suit. The
three comrades started in hot pursuit, but reached the street only to
see the last of their erstwhile antagonists disappearing around the
nearest corner, and Bert called a halt.

"No use chasing them," he said, when they had gotten their breath a
little. "They know the neighborhood and we don't, and the chances are
we'd never catch them. We licked 'em good and proper though, didn't we?"

"That was _some_ scrap, all right," said Dick with a long whistle, "and
we didn't get off scot free, either. My left eye feels as though a coal
wagon had fallen on it."

"It looks it, too," said Bert with a wry grin; "we're all marked up a
little, but I'll bet that bunch of roughnecks will remember us for a
little while to come. But how did they come to get you, Tom? Tell us all
about it."

Tom then told them about receiving the note, and getting into the
automobile. "After that," he said, "there's not much to tell. It was
dark, and I didn't notice what kind of a neighborhood that rascally
chauffeur was taking me into. After a while he stopped and opened the
door, telling me we had arrived at Dave's house. As I stepped out those
three 'bad men' jumped on me. One of them pressed a rag soaked in
chloroform over my face, and I went to sleep almost before I had a
chance to fight. When I came to I found myself in that room, with one
lowbrow on guard. I waited until my head cleared a little, and then I
sailed into him. The noise of the shindy brought up the other two, and
then the argument got pretty hot. There's no doubt but what they'd have
won the decision soon, too, if you fellows hadn't happened to butt in
just as you did. I couldn't have held out much longer against odds like
that."

"Yes, it is rather lucky," agreed Bert; "we weren't a minute too soon."

"How did you learn where I was?" inquired Tom.

Bert then told him how they had discovered the slip of paper containing
the note to him, and gave a brief outline of his and Dick's actions
after discovering it.

"Pretty good detective work," said Tom admiringly. "Sherlock Holmes
would better look out for his laurels."

Meanwhile they had been walking back toward the college, and with the
aid of a street car were not long in reaching it.

As they were crossing the campus, they met Reddy.

"For the love of Hivin," exclaimed the trainer, as he caught sight of
their swollen faces, "what in the world have you been doin' anyway? You
haven't been lambastin' each other, have ye?"

"Not exactly," said Bert, and then proceeded to give the trainer a
detailed account of the recent happenings. Reddy listened attentively,
and when Bert finished made no reply at once. After a thoughtful
silence, he said: "Well, it's something of a mystery, Wilson, but one
thing is certain--without Henderson the team would have been so crippled
that we wouldn't have had a chance in the world of winning, and I have
an idea that the bunch connected with Mike's place, where he was held
prisoner, have a pretty big interest in our winning or losing, in a
money way. And the two facts put together may come pretty near giving
the correct answer."

"I imagined it might be something of the kind," said Bert; "I wonder
what chance there is of bringing the scoundrels to justice."

"You'll bet we'll do everything possible," said Reddy grimly, "but now,
you'd better pack Henderson off to bed, and Trent had better put a bit
o' beefsteak on that damaged 'lamp' of his! This afternoon we start for
New York, and we want everybody fit."

CHAPTER XV

THE DASH FOR THE GOAL

          "The day, the important day,
           Big with the fate of Cato and of Rome,"

quoted Dick.

"It is the sun of Austerlitz," chimed in Tom, not to be outdone in
quotation, as he drew aside the curtains of the hotel window and saw the
bright rays streaming over the city roofs.

"As long as it isn't Waterloo, we'll have no kick coming," added Bert.
"I'm tickled to death to see that it's this kind of weather. I'd hate to
play on as muddy a field as we had with the 'Maroons.'"

"The paper predicted rain yesterday," said Tom, throwing up the window,
"but from the bite in the air, it seems cold enough for snow. How would
you like to play on a snowy field, fellows?"

"Not for mine," replied Dick emphatically, "although the Western teams
do it often. Only a few years ago Chicago and Michigan played in what
was almost a blizzard."

"I'll bet the teams kept warm enough," commented Bert; "but it must have
been tough on the spectators."

"O, those dyed-in-the-wool football fiends don't care for a little thing
like that," said Dick. "We'll never play to empty benches, no matter
what the weather. But hurry up now and come down to breakfast. We won't
dare to eat very much at lunch and we'd better fill up now."

It was Thanksgiving Day, and the Blues had come up to New York the night
before, so that they might have a good night's rest before the most
important game of the season. The game was to be played at the Polo
Grounds and public interest was so great that all the seats had been
sold out long in advance. It was a foregone conclusion that the vast
amphitheater would be crowded to capacity when the teams should come
trotting out on the gridiron.

The excitement was the greater because of the superb form shown by both
teams all through the season. Seldom had competitors been more equally
matched. Both had come through their schedules unbeaten, and the
shrewdest followers of the game were hard put to it to pick a winner.
Even the games played by each with the "Maroons" did not give much of a
line. The "Greys," to be sure, had made two touchdowns, while the Blues
had only tallied one. But, on the other hand, the "Maroons" had scored
on the "Greys," while the Blues had been able to keep their goal
intact. The "dope" was perplexing and the wisest tipsters were all at
sea. Man for man, the "Greys" had a slight advantage in weight. But the
Blues were admitted to have the finest backfield in the country, and
Wilson was "touted" as the greatest player seen at full for the last
twenty years. All in all, it was a "toss up," and many predicted that
neither side would score.

But no such neutral tint shadowed the rosy dreams of the Blues. They
were full of fight, and brimming over with confidence. All their
cripples had come back except Ellis, who was just able to limp around
without a crutch. But Morley in his place had rounded to in great shape
and there was scarcely a shade to choose between the two. Boyd's knee,
hurt in the game with the "Maroons," was all right again and, best of
all, good old Hodge was back again at right tackle, having at last made
up his conditions. He plugged up the only really weak place on the team,
and made the line twenty per cent. stronger than it had been without
him. For all these reasons the team felt itself unbeatable, and were
eager for the hour to come when they might prove it. Even Dan, the old
bulldog that served the team as a mascot, moved about with unusual
alacrity and seemed to have caught the contagion.

"He's actually smiling," declared Tom, as he patted him affectionately.
"It's up to you to bring us luck to-day, old fellow."

Hendricks and Reddy, although delighted to see the way the boys were
feeling, felt it incumbent to add a word of caution.

"You're going to win, boys," said the former; "but you'll have your work
cut out for you. Those fellows are never easy, and there'll be something
doing every minute. Get the jump at the very start, and keep forcing the
fight. Go in for straight football until you feel them out, and don't
resort to the 'fireworks' until you have to. And keep your eyes on that
quarterback of theirs. He's one of the trickiest in the game and always
liable to start something."

"Not forgetting the full," added Reddy, "they say he's as big and strong
as a bull elephant, and it's aching he'll be to stack up against you,
Wilson."

"Let him come," grinned Bert. "I'll try to make it interesting."

Even New York, big and indifferent as it is to most things taking place
within it, was agog with interest over the contest. The front pages of
the papers were devoted to a review and comparison of the teams, and
bulletin boards were prepared for the great crowds expected to gather
about the offices during the progress of the game. Broadway and Fifth
Avenue were alive with flags and the college colors, and the lobbies of
the hotels were packed with a swarming mob of undergraduates. Tally-hos
with merry parties and tooting horns rolled up the Avenue, and hundreds
of automobiles joined in the procession. The subways and elevated roads
were crowded to the doors, and at one o'clock, although the game did not
begin till two, there was not a vacant seat in the vast stadium, while
thousands of deadheads seized every point of vantage on the bluffs that
surrounded the grounds. The stands were a perfect riot of beauty and
color, and the stentorian voices of the rival rooters, to which was
joined the treble of the girls made the air echo with songs and shouts
of defiance.

After a light lunch the teams had been bundled into swift autos and