The High School Captain of the Team Part 26

As the Gridley boys sprang to a fresh line-up their eyes were glowing.

"Remember, fellows, the time is short, but battles have been won in two minutes!"

This was the inspiring message flashed out by Captain d.i.c.k Prescott.

With all the zeal of race horses the Gridley High School boys flung themselves into their work.

After a minute and a half of play, Gridley had done so much that, just before the next snapback Barnes let his sulky eyes flash about him in a way that was understood.

Fordham must rush in, now, and hold the enemy back, no matter at what cost of roughness---if the roughness could be done slyly enough.

Then it came, a fierce, frenzied charge. The ball was down again in an instant, and Hazelton, a Gridley man, lay on the field, unable to rise.

Physicians hurried out from the side lines.

"Broken leg," said one of them, and a stretcher was brought.

"Have we got to stand this sort of thing?" demanded Hudson, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "Say the word, and I'll send two of their men after Hazelton."

"Don't you do it!" snapped d.i.c.k sharply. "It would disgrace our school colors and our school honor. Don't let knaves make a knave of you."

Tom Reade came out on a swift run from the side lines to take Hazelton's place.

"We ought to be allowed to carry guns, when we play a team like this one," blurted Tom indignantly.

"We'll pay them back in the score," retorted d.i.c.k soberly, though his eyes were flas.h.i.+ng.

Dave, in the meantime, was swiftly pa.s.sing some orders d.i.c.k had whispered to him. These orders, however, related to plays to come, and did not call for retaliation on Hazelton's account.

Play was called sharply. "Pay in the score," became the battle cry raging in every Gridley boy's heart.

Four successive plays carried the ball so close to the Fordham goal line that Barnes and his followers were in despair.

They still used whatever rough tricks they thought they could sneak in under the eyes of the game's officials, and some of these made the Gridley boys ache.

Then came a signal beginning with "three" which stood for reverse signal. The numerals that came after the three called for the same trick that Fenton had put through so splendidly.

Again the ball started toward the right wing. This time the Fordham players were sure they understood---and like a flash ma.s.sed their defense against Gridley's left.

But on that reverse signal the ball continued to move at the right.

Before Barnes and his followers could comprehend, another touchdown had been scored by the visitors.

And then came the kick for goal, and it was a splendid success.

The kick came just at the end of the second half. That kick won the game for d.i.c.k's sorely pressed team.

Gridley's score, won by a cleanly played game against bruisers, stood at twelve to eight!

Now, indeed, did the Gridley boosters turn themselves loose, the band leading.

Barnes and his ruffians skulked back to dressing quarters, there to abuse the referee, the "Gridley kickers" and everyone and everything else but themselves.

It wasn't long before some of the Fordham subs slipped out to find their cronies and sympathizers in the crowd that was slowly dissolving.

Then the word was pa.s.sed around:

"Wait and be with us. Barnes is going to stop the Gridleys on the way to the station. Barnes is going to make Prescott fight for some things he said on the field! Of course, if you fellows get generally peevish, and the whole Gridley team gets cleaned out, there won't be many tears shed."

So scores of the sort of rabble in whom such an appeal finds ready response hung about, eager to see what would turn up.

CHAPTER XVII

The Long Gray Column

One small urchin there was, so small that he escaped notice as he hung about hearing the word pa.s.sed.

But that urchin was a Gridley boy who had raised the money to come and see this game. The boy possessed the Gridley spirit.

As fast as his legs would carry him he raced to dressing quarters, and there told what he had heard.

"Thank you, kid!" said d.i.c.k. "You're a good Gridley boy," and then he continued:

"So that's the game, is it They're going to mob us, are they I guess they can do it---but, fellows, keep in mind to pa.s.s some of the blows back! When we go down in the dirt be sure that some of the Fordham fellows have something to remember us by for many a day! I'm glad Hazelton has already been sent forward in an ambulance."

As d.i.c.k finished dressing and waited for the others, he saw one of the subs dropping a spiked shoe into an outer jacket pocket.

"What's that for?" d.i.c.k demanded sternly. "A weapon?"

"Yes," sheepishly admitted the other.

"Put it in your bag, then, and let it go on the baggage wagon.

Fellows, we'll fight with nothing but fists, and only then if we're attacked."

"But those scoundrels will probably use brickbats," argued the fellow who had tried to drop the spiked shoe into his overcoat pocket.

"No matter," rang d.i.c.k's voice, low but commanding. "If we have to, we'll fight for our lives as we fought for the game---on the square! Good citizens don't carry concealed weapons until called upon by the authorities to do it."

"Bully for you, Prescott!" rang the voice of the coach.

"You here, Mr. Morton?" cried d.i.c.k, wheeling and seeking the submaster.

"Mr. Morton, you're not a boy, and you don't want to be mixed up in such affairs. Why don't you start-----"

"My place, Captain Prescott, is with the team I'm coaching," replied the submaster. "And I think the signs are that we're going to need all the pairs of fists that we have, and, more, too."

The baggage wagon came to the door. d.i.c.k, Dave and Tom coolly loaded the baggage on. The wagon started off at good speed.

Then the two stages drove up to the door.