The stage was now set for the deciding quarter of the game. Many already began to talk of the result being a tie that would necessitate another test of skill and endurance. Marshall admirers, however, scoffed at such a thing. They tried to make out that thus far their veteran team had only been trifling with the fellows from the rival town. Now that it had reached this stage they were bound to show their real form, and snow poor Chester under.

But somehow this line of talk failed to frighten those who wore the colors of the visiting team. What they had seen convinced them that their faith was in good hands. Jack Winters had yet to go down to defeat since he took charge of outdoor sports in Chester, barring that one fight with Harmony in baseball. No doubt he had managed to inspire his players with some of his own indomitable energy and never-give-up spirit.

So play was resumed where it had been left off, and almost immediately the rival teams were at work, "hammer and tongs," as one gentleman described it. Brilliant plays followed in rapid succession, each accompanied by a burst of applause, which was, however, instantly stilled, as though the crowd understood instinctively how it was necessary that they remain hushed in order that the leaders' signals, and the whistle of the referee, so frequently sounding, might be plainly heard by those who fought in the arena.

After a successful plunge Marshall lost the ball on downs. A punting duel followed, with the advantage slightly in favor of Marshall, though both Mullane and Jeffries managed to hold up their end with considerable honor.

Then came a furious attack on the part of the locals that carried Chester well off its feet. Before they could rally to ward off the blow, a touchdown resulted, though again the kick for goal failed, owing to the flukey wind, as some of the chagrined Marshall players hastened to explain.

It began to look serious for the visitors, with Marshall again in the lead. Time was a factor to be counted on now in deciding matters. All Marshall had to do was to hold their opponents, and they would win. Of course the desire to add to their score would always tempt them to strive further; and this might give Chester the opening needed.

Jack sent the word around for a supreme effort. He felt that they were capable again of turning the tables on the enemy, despite the fact of their superior heft and experience.

When Fred, Joel, and the balance of the boys got that signal they realized how it was now up to them to play like demons. They had apparently been doing the best that was in them hitherto; but strange to say there always seems to be just a little more vim and snap in a football player's make-up that can be summoned to the fore when a desperate situation arises.

All those devoted admirers who had traveled across to Marshall to see them do the old town credit must not be disappointed, if it lay in human endurance to wrest victory from impending defeat.

So spurred on by this incentive, and with their opponents resting under the belief that they had the game already "sewed up," by reason of that last touchdown, Jack's warriors exerted additional pressure, and bent the line back until they were fighting on Marshall territory, grimly pressing on a few yards at a time without a single fumble.

It was thrilling to see how like inexorable Fate they continued to push forward, despite the frantic efforts of the locals to head them off. Again was the crowd on its feet, every eye fastened on the struggling mass of players. Hearts beat high with renewed hope among those Chester onlookers. They realized that this was to be the crowning episode in all the long and bitter contest, when Jack Winters would bring every particle of skill and endurance he could command in his fighting eleven to tear off a victory before the time had expired.

How desperately Captain Needham rallied his players to the defense! It seemed as though they stood like a stone-wall against the rashes of the visitors; and yet in spite of everything Chester managed to continue gaining.

Now it was by a clever swing around the end; again it was a mass play that tore through the center, and took the ball well along for perhaps five or six yards before the runaway was downed. Chester still had the ball, and that was the encouraging feature of it all; Chester meant to hang on to the ball like grim death until the golden opportunity came to try for a touchdown that would once again even up the score, now in Marshall's favor by five points.

There was no talking going on now in the grandstand. Everyone was too much worked up for such a thing. Besides, what with the outbursts of spasmodic cheering, instantly quenched, and the necessity for silence between times, no opportunity for exchanging opinions offered.

Many had their watches out and were casting apprehensive glances at the dials. There remained much less than two minutes of time. Then the referee's whistle must sound to indicate that the game was finally over. Could Chester redeem that loss of a touchdown against such strenuous opposition as those Marshall fellows were now putting up?

Even the most sanguine began to feel doubts gripping their faithful hearts. The boys were doing well, much better than anyone had ever believed possible; but, of course, the gruelling pace must be beginning to tell upon them. They were not seasoned veterans like most of the Marshall fellows; and in such a long and bitterly fought battle on the gridiron experience counts in the last round.

And yet they were still pushing ahead. It was wonderful, grand! How the sight did thrill some of those who years back may themselves have taken part in similar struggles, when in college, or attending a high school; and what vivid memories it must have called to mind as they stood there, holding their very breath, and drinking in the ever changing picture!

If anything was going to be done, there was certainly no more time to lose, for really but a part of a minute still remained. It looked as though, despite their gallant fight, the boys from Chester were doomed to be held back from the victory, or the tie, that was so near.

Then something happened.

A gasp seemed to pass over the throng. Scurrying figures on the field announced that the expected was being carried out. Chester was making a last desperate effort for a touchdown. It would be the expiring flicker of the flame; for whether successful or not it must mark the end, since the referee would be blowing his whistle before play could be resumed.

They saw a figure shoot out ahead of all the rest. Why, what was this—could it be Winters, the halfback, who had the ball, when many had distinctly seen it just a second before in the possession of Fred Badger? The pass had been so cleverly executed that not only had the spectators almost to a man been deceived, but the Marshall players themselves were confused, and in this way last much of their effectiveness.

Fast upon the heels of the flying halfback two Marshall players came dashing; but they might as well have hoped to catch the wind in a sixty-mile gale as overtake that speedy runner. It was as though Jack had reserved his best powers for this special occasion. He saw just where he meant to hurl himself over the line, and clutch that envied touchdown. Had a dozen followed he would have distanced them every one, such was his mettle just then. He seemed endowed with supernatural speed, many who stared and held their breath believed.

Then a roar went up that dwarfed all that had gone before. Jack was over, and had thrown himself, still grasping the ball, for the touchdown that tied the score!

Hardly had this happened when the shrill whistle of the referee announced that the fourth and concluding quarter had ended.

"A tie! a tie!" shrilled hundreds of excited voices.

"Hold on there, you're away off!" others called out, making frantic gestures as they shouted these words. "Don't you see the umpire using his megaphone, and that referee, head linesman, and field judge are waving their arms? Keep quiet, everybody! They've got a communication to make. Perhaps the game isn't quite over yet!"

By degrees the uproar quieted down, when it was generally discovered that the umpire had an important communication to make. Evidently the players understood just what its nature was going to be, for while the Chester boys looked eager and expectant, those on the Marshall side bore an air of despondency.

"According to the rules of the game, as set down in the official guide," shouted the umpire through his megaphone, so that everybody was able to hear all he had to say, "when a touchdown is made just as play closes for the fourth period an extension of time is to be granted the side making the same, to try for a kick for goal. So Chester is now at liberty to make that try. If it fails, the score remains a tie; if successful, of course the game goes to Chester. Please everybody remain quiet until the test has been made."

This time Jack made no mistake. He beckoned to Big Bob Jeffries to try for goal. It was an oblique slant, and only a clever kicker could succeed, with that baffling wind against him. Big Bob looked once in the direction of the grandstand as if to draw inspiration. Most people believed he must know some girl, whose encouragement he sought; but Mollie and Lucy and Adelaide did not venture to take such honor to themselves. A little modest woman sat behind them, and it was her eyes moist with tears of pride that inspired Big Bob Jeffries when he strode up to win, or know the reason why—his mother sat there!

Well, when the "punk" was heard, every eye followed the sailing ball. It seemed to sag to one side, then again took on a true course, as though guided by some invisible hands.

As it was seen to drop squarely over the bar between the posts the crowd broke into frenzied shouts. Chester had won by a single point! That last kick for goal after Jack had saved the day by his touchdown, had done the business; and the happy visitors could go back home feeling they had a reason to be proud of the scrappy eleven that represented their town on the gridiron.

The final score was 16 to 15.