p-back. And, boys, one thing I must emphasize. I've told you that
under the rules no man may play off-side. So, hereafter, if I find any
of you off-side, I'm going to penalize that eleven."

Dick was whispering to some of his players, for, without any code of
signals, he must thus instruct his fellows in the play that was to be
made with the ball.

Then the whistle sounded. The Rangers put the ball through the Rustlers'
line, and onward for some fifteen yards before the ball was once more
down.

"Good work, Prescott," nodded Len Spencer. "Now, pass your orders for
the next play, then hustle into line and snap-back."

Len placed the whistle between his lips and was about to blow it when
Dave Darrin darted forward, holding up one hand.

"What's the trouble?" asked Len.

"Mr. Referee, count the men on the other team."

"Fifteen players," summed up Len. "That's too many. Captain Craig,
you'll have to shed four men."

"Oh, let him have 'em all," begged Dick serenely. "Craig'll need 'em all
to keep us from breaking through with the ball."

At blast of the whistle the pigskin was promptly in play again, both
teams starting in with Indian yells. There was plenty of enthusiasm, but
little or no skill. The thing became so mixed up that Len ran closer.

A human heap formed. Greg Holmes was somewhere down near the bottom of
that mix-up, holding on to the ball for all he was worth. Over him
sprawled struggling Rangers and fighting Rustlers. Other players, from
both teams, darted forward, hurling themselves onto the heap with
immense enthusiasm.

"The ball is down," remarked one eager young spectator disgustedly. "Len
oughter blow his whistle."

"Yes, where's the whistle?" demanded other close-by spectators.

From somewhere away down toward the bottom of the heap came Len
Spencer's muffled remark:

"I'll blow the whistle all right, if half a hundred of you Indians will
get off my face for a minute!"

"Come out of that tangle, all of you," ordered Tom Craig, after pulling
himself out of the squirming heap of boys. "It's against the rules to
smother the referee to death. He has to be killed painlessly."

When the tangle had been straightened out Greg Holmes was found to be
still doubled up, holding doggedly to the pigskin that had been his to
guard.

"Get ready for the next snap-back," ordered Captain Dick.

"Don't do anything of the sort," countermanded Len. "I can see that what
you youngsters need more than pla