their most daring plays, that Prescott
himself made famous the year before.

While the start, after the ball was in play, seemed directed toward
the right wing of Gridley, the ball was actually jumped to little
Fenton, at the left end, and Fenton, backed solidly by a superb
interference, got off and away with the ball. In a twinkling
he had it down behind Fordham's goal line.

Then the ball went back for the kick. The band played a few spirited
measures while the wearied Gridley boosters suddenly rose and
whooped themselves black in the face.

The kick, too, was won.

"Oh, well." growled Barnes, "we have two points to the good yet,
and only four minutes and a half left for the game. Don't get
rough, fellows, unless you have to."

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 Dick 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 hoarse whisper. "Say the word, and I'll send two of their men
after Hazelton."

"Don't you do it!" snapped Dick 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 Dick soberly, though
his eyes were flashing.

Dave, in the meantime, was swiftly passing some orders Dick 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 bat