gnal was given. It sent Ashley through tackle. The boy,
feeling as though he had lost the game for his College where the other
man would have won, went into the line with the energy of a forlorn
hope. The Berkeley men gathered their superior force, and the Stanford
team was lifted up and borne back, a gradually shifting mass, to its own
goal line.

Were they over? The Berkeley crowd yelled, and an exultant sub threw
his sweater in the air. No, the teams were up, and the ball was almost
on the line, not quite. There remained a chance to punt it out of
danger. Could Ashley do it quickly enough? He had been punting too
slowly; the other line could surely get through and block his kick, and
there were only two minutes to play.

Diemann, rigid with anxiety, saw that a Stanford man still lay on the
ground. Straining his eyes through the dusk, a glance at the team told
him that it was Ashley. The drawn muscles of the instructor's legs
trembled, the blood beat in his temples. Was it coming, at the last
moment?

As the trainer shot out from the side-lines with bucket and sponge,
Diemann saw Ashley spring up, slap the grimy moleskins of the men
nearest him, and get back into position to kick. Stanford was standing
on her own goal line. He saw the ball snapped back; the fullback kicked
it, in time; then, instead of the long, curving drive that was to save
the day, he saw the ball rise almost straight in the air above the
teams, and he groaned aloud as the Berkeley men broke through, and
people with delirious laughter waved the blue and gold frantically about
him.

The ball comes down among the struggling players. Suddenly, out of that
jumble of men darts a red-sleeved figure, dashing through the scattered
field, bounding like a stag toward the Berkeley goal.

The expert eye of the associate coach tells him that, by a marvellous
piece of football instinct, Ashley has found his way through the
confused teams, realizing that he is the only Stanford man on side, and
has caught the ball on the fly and got clear with it. Though they
understand nothing of this, the vast crowd goes shrieking to its feet.
The bewildered teams turn and follow close upon the flying figure, the
speedy Berkeley right-half leading them. Back in the field stands the U.
C. fullback, grimly waiting. The two collide, and the chasing halfback
gains; but the Berkeley back drops to the tackle a fraction of an
instant too late and runs fair against a straight-arm