Warren and Forest, the Barville ends, raced along in a desperate dash, closing in as the ball began to fall. Rodney Grant was waiting for the oncoming pigskin, balanced ready for action, his arms outstretched. He made a clean, fair catch, and was off like a broncho of his native state, quirt-stung and spur-jabbed. On one side Warren was blocked off, but on the other Forest came in like a charging fury and flung himself at the Texan. Down they went on the thirty-yard line, with the other players converging toward that spot.

Remembering Stone’s admonition to hustle and line up without loss of a moment, the Oakdale boys strained every nerve to get quickly into position for the first scrimmage. This was their opportunity to show Barville right off the reel what real snappy aggression meant.

“Lively! lively!” urged Stone; and, ere the line of the locals seemed fully formed, Sage began barking the signal. He spat out the numbers sharply, every one clear and distinct, and Oakdale went into Barville like a whirlwind before the visitors were fully set for defence. The result was a gain of eighteen yards, made in a style which seemed to carry the Barville boys completely off their feet, with the exception of the sturdy fullback, Copley, who yanked down the runner and prevented what had promised to be a clean break through the defence, and what might have given the man with the pigskin a running chance to score.

The home crowd went wild over this apparently demoralizing attack of the Oakdale boys, and there were many who, forming a hasty judgment, declared their conviction that the locals outclassed the visitors.

Sanger, who knew Stone as a rather slow and methodical chap, had not imagined for a moment that the Oakdale captain would spur his team to a point of such rapid aggression. The Barville leader, however, was not slow to grasp the fact that he had made an error in judgment, and his voice was heard calling sharply to his somewhat disorganized men as he ordered them to get into position to stop the next charge. Copley came up somewhat dazed by the shock of the collision with the runner; but the latter was even more dazed, and was so long about finding his place in the formation that Barville was given sufficient time to make ready for defence.

Three stingy yards were all Oakdale could make on another line plunge; and when, following this, a round-the-end run promised more satisfactory results, the argus-eyed referee dismayed the shrieking adherents of the team by penalizing the locals for holding.

Barville took heart at once and fought Oakdale tooth and nail, until the latter team was compelled to kick rather than take the chance of losing the ball on downs. Stone, who had a lusty leg, booted the pigskin into the enemy’s territory, where Larry Groove, the left halfback, scooped it on the jump, dodged Hopper, and came all the way back to the center line before he was slammed to the turf. Of course this gave the Barville crowd its chance to cheer madly, and their cries mingled with the Oakdale plaudits for the tackler.

“Ginger up! ginger up!” Lee Sanger was calling, as he crouched behind Bart Rock, the center. “Signal! signal!” Then he reeled off a few sharp numbers, and the youthful contestants leaped at one another like tigers.

Again and again they crashed together, but Oakdale stubbornly held its ground until an unexpected fluke—a bad pass and a muff—gave Sage a splendid opportunity. The ball came bounding to his very feet, with Rollins and Tuttle blocking off two of the enemy, the only ones who seemed to realize just what had happened, and Fred had time to scoop the ball up and a fine chance to get away with it for a run.

Instead of doing so, Sage stared for a moment at the pigskin, as if he did not realize what it was. And when he awoke from this brief spell of numbness and started into life and action, it was Nelson who flung himself on the oval, to be pinned down by Hope, who had finally bucked Tuttle aside.

In this manner, through the faltering of Sage, Barville, although she lost the ball, stopped what might have been a gain of ground by the locals.

Piper, who seemed to see everything, saw this, although he was too far away at the time of the fumble to get his hands on the pigskin. Sleuth glared at Sage.

“Something wrong,” he panted to himself. “First time he ever did a thing like that.”

“Wake up! wake up!” Stone was calling sharply. “Positions! Get ready! Come on, Sage, give us the signal.”

“Signal!” said Sage, and then he paused, as if collecting his thoughts. “Signal!” he repeated. “5-11-16-24.”

It was the former line-bucking play, which, through experience thus quickly obtained, Barville was ready to meet. Instead of a gain, the result was a loss of two yards, the visitors actually bearing the line of the home team back.

As the tangled mass of men untwined, following the blast of the whistle, Sage heard Stone calling in his ear:

“Vary it, Fred. Something else; something else, quick!”

The quarterback gave himself a shake. The men were hopping into the line-up, and the Barvilleites, now equally alert and ready, were planting themselves for defence. Straight old-fashioned line-bucking, with no varying plays, had already become ineffective, and Sage gave the signal for the double pass and the criss-cross. The ball went to Nelson, who shot toward the right, Grant closing in as if to support him, but passing across his very heels and taking the pigskin as he passed. Cooper blocked the right end off. Piper put his body into the right tackle and bore him in the opposite direction. A hole was opened at precisely the proper moment, and through it went the Texan at full speed.

The main body of the enemy’s back field had been led into starting in the wrong direction. The right halfback, who was one of these, saw through the play a moment too late to reach Grant. The fullback, however, came charging across, forcing Rodney out toward the side line. It seemed that the Texan would be run out of bounds, but ten feet from the border of the field he deceived the charging fullback by a sudden half-pivoting swerve, and the would-be tackler’s fingers barely scraped his canvas jacket as he shot by.

The crowd rose and roared, for Grant was flying over the chalk marks with giant strides, followed by the players of both teams. Head thrown back, nostrils expanded, Rodney covered the ground as if his very life depended on it.

“Touchdown!” howled the excited Oakdale spectators. “Touchdown! touchdown!”

There was no preventing it. Over the Barville goal line went Grant, planting the ball favorably for a goal. He did not seem to hear the school cheer, which, with his name tagged at the end, came rolling across the field. His manner was grim and businesslike; his attention was entirely centered upon the matter in hand.

There was no need to punt the ball out. Brought forth properly by the referee, it gave Oakdale a most favorable chance to boot it over the bar, and Stone performed the trick.

As the teams changed positions on the field, the Oakdale captain found time to rest his hand for a moment on the shoulder of Sage and speak a few low, hasty words to him. In response Fred nodded.

Soon they were at it again, but Barville, apparently nothing disheartened, resumed the struggle more fiercely and grimly than ever. The tide of battle ebbed and flowed, neither side gaining any great advantage, until presently a long, shrill blast of the whistle announced the end of the first scrimmage.

As the boys jogged off the field, Chipper Cooper gave Piper a slap on the back, crying:

“Well, we put one across on ’em all right.”

“Yes,” nodded Sleuth; “but Sage lost an opportunity for us before that. He isn’t right to-day. There’s something the matter with him, or I’m a dunce.”