away to the left almost under Kittiwynk's foot, and it
hopped and skipped off to Corks, who saw that, if he was not quick
it would run beyond the boundaries. That long bouncing drive gave the
Archangels time to wheel and send three men across the ground to head
off Corks. Kittiwynk stayed where she was; for she knew the game. Corks
was on the ball half a fraction of a second before the others came up,
and Macnamara, with a backhanded stroke, sent it back across the ground
to Hughes, who saw the way clear to the Archangels' goal, and smacked
the ball in before any one quite knew what had happened.

"That's luck," said Corks, as they changed ends. "A goal in three
minutes for three hits, and no riding to speak of."

"'Don't know," said Polaris. "We've made 'em angry too soon. Shouldn't
wonder if they tried to rush us off our feet next time."

"Keep the ball hanging, then," said Shiraz. "That wears out every pony
that is not used to it."

Next time there was no easy galloping across the ground. All the
Archangels closed up as one man, but there they stayed, for Corks,
Kittiwynk, and Polaris were somewhere on the top of the ball, marking
time among the rattling sticks, while Shiraz circled about outside,
waiting for a chance.

"We can do this all day," said Polaris, ramming his quarters into the
side of another pony. "Where do you think you're shoving to?"

"I'll--I'll be driven in an ekka if I know," was the gasping reply, "and
I'd give a week's feed to get my blinkers off. I can't see anything."

"The dust is rather bad. Whew! That was one for my off-hock. Where's the
ball, Corks?"

"Under my tail. At least, the man's looking for it there! This is
beautiful. They can't use their sticks, and it's driving 'em wild. Give
old Blinkers a push and then he'll go over."

"Here, don't touch me! I can't see. I'll--I'll back out, I think," said
the pony in blinkers, who knew that if you can't see all round your
head, you cannot prop yourself against the shock.

Corks was watching the ball where it lay in the dust, close to his near
fore-leg, with Macnamara's shortened stick tap-tapping it from time to
time. Kittiwynk was edging her way out of the scrimmage, whisking her
stump of a tail with nervous excitement.

"Ho! They've got it," she snorted. "Let me out!" and she galloped like
a rifle-bullet just behind a tall lanky pony of the Archangels, whose
rider was swinging up his stick for a stroke.

"Not to-day, thank you