FAKE KICK, TWO WAYS

It was almost a touchdown for Cobber when Ben Badger rallied his
men enough to fight the college men back some twenty-odd yards.
But then the tide turned once more, and Cobber began to fight
its way back to the High School goal line.

The spectators had given up hope, all save those who sat in the
Cobber seats.

This was to be the first defeat of the season, and the whipping
was to come from worthy foemen. Yet are home folks ever satisfied
to see their own youngsters beaten?

Defeat was now conceded, however. Even Coach Morton, though his
face did not betray him, had given up all hope.

Dick, however, kept calling for the cheers and yells. The student
body did their best, but their spirits were low.

Once Morton turned and frowned, but Freshman Prescott did not
see him. The coach feared that this jubilant racket would get
on the nerves of the Gridley battlers.

"How many minutes will it take Cobber to cross our line?" murmured
Dave in Dick's ear.

"They won't do it before next year," Prescott staunchly retorted.

Just then Cobber lost fifteen yards on penalty, and Gridley H.S.
had the ball at the moment when it was sadly needed.

"Band, four bars of 'Hot Time in the Old Town!'" yelled Prescott
through the big megaphone.

The leader's baton fell like a flash. The band itself sharing
in the excitement fairly ripped the air out in gallop time.

As Ben Badger heard he straightened up for a moment, shaking his
long locks in the wind. A smile crossed his face. Then he bent
over the ball for the pass.

"Nine---fourteen, eighteen---seven!" he called.

Evans darted quickly out on his end. Quarter-back Winters moved
his feet somewhat to left. Trent, left half-back, shot swiftly
away to an altered position.

Captain Halsey, of the college team, saw instantly that it looked
like a long pass and a sprint around Gridley's left end. A football
general must change front swiftly. At the signal, Cobber disposed
itself to bunch against the High School left.

The whistle blew. Winters got the ball, and made the movements
for a kick. Cobber men, in the air on the jump, halted somewhat
uncertainly, some of them.

It was a fake kick, and a royally good one. The ball went to
Stearns instead. Out around the right end dashed the little left,
with Gridley support thumping over the ground to back him up.
But Stearns was the best Gridley runner on the field today.
Moreover, he had not