nt wide.

"Time, there, umpire!" cried the master, falling on his knees beside
Hughie. "Are you hurt, Hughie?" he asked, eagerly. "What is it, my boy?"

"Oh, master, it's broken, but don't stop. Don't let them stop. We must
win this game. We've only a few minutes. Take me back to goal and send
Thomas out."

The eager, hurried whisper, the intense appeal in the white face and
dark eyes, made the master hesitate in his emphatic refusal.

"You can't--"

"Oh, don't stop! Don't stop it for me," cried Hughie, gripping the
master's arm. "Help me up and take me back."

The master swore a fierce oath.

"We'll do it, my boy. You're a trump. Here, Don," he called aloud,
"we'll let Hughie keep goal for a little," and they ran Hughie back to
the goal on one skate.

"You go out, Thomas," gasped Hughie. "Don't talk. We've only five
minutes."

"They have broken his leg," said the master, with a sob in his voice.

"Nothing wrong, I hope," said Dan, skating up.

"No; play the game," said the master, fiercely. His black eyes were
burning with a deep, red glow.

"Is it hurting much?" asked Thomas, lingering about Hughie.

"Oh, you just bet! But don't wait. Go on! Go on down! You've got to get
this game!"

Thomas glanced at the foot hanging limp, and then at the white but
resolute face. Then saying with slow, savage emphasis, "The brute beast!
As sure as death I'll do for him," he skated off to join the forward
line.

It was the Front knock-off from goal. There was no plan of attack, but
the Twentieth team, looking upon the faces of the master and Thomas,
needed no words of command.

The final round was shot, short, sharp, fierce. A long drive from
Farquhar Bheg sent the ball far up into the Twentieth territory. It was
a bad play, for it gave Craven and Thomas their chance.

"Follow me close, Thomas," cried the master, meeting the ball and
setting off like a whirlwind.

Past the little Reds, through the centers, and into the defense line
he flashed, followed hard by Thomas. In vain Hec Ross tried to check,
Craven was past him like the wind. There remained only Dan and Jimmie
Ben. A few swift strides, and the master was almost within reach of
Dan's club. With a touch of the ball to Thomas he charged into his
waiting foe, flung him aside as he might a child, and swept on.

"Take the man, Thomas," he cried, and Thomas, gathering himself up in
two short, quick strikes, dashed hard upon Jimmie Ben, and hurled him
crashi