ion through it
more than once, but now he seemed to concentrate the attack on that weak
spot. Time and time again Dale flung himself to meet the rush, only to
be overwhelmed and hurled back by sheer numbers. Sometimes Sanson pulled
him out of the scrimmage, more often he scrambled up unaided to find
his place, sweat-blinded and with breath coming in gasps, and brace
himself for the next onset.

Silently, doggedly, he took his punishment, and presently, under the
strain, he began to lose track of the broader features of the game.
Vaguely he realized that they had been forced back again and again
almost against their own goal-posts, and there had rallied, tearing
formations to shreds and hurling back the enemy with the strength of
despair. Dimly he heard the voice of Ward, or Court Parker's shriller
notes, urging them in sharp, broken phrases to get together. But the
real, the dominating thing was that forward plunge, the tensing of
muscles, the crash of meeting bodies, the heaving, straining struggle,
the slow, heartrending process of being crushed back by overwhelming
weight--that and the sense of emptiness upon his left.

Then came a time when things went black for an instant before his eyes.
He did not quite lose consciousness, for he knew when the weight above
was lifted and two arms slid around him, dragging him to his feet. It
was Sanson, he thought hazily--good old Frank! Then he turned his head a
little and through the wavering mists looked straight into the eyes of
Ranny Phelps!

Wide, dilated, almost black with strain and excitement, they stared
at him from out the grimy face with a strange mingling of shame and
admiration that sent a thrill through the tenderfoot and made him pull
himself together.

"Take it easy," came in gruff, unnatural accents. "You want to get your
wind--old fellow."

"I--I'm all right," muttered the tenderfoot.

He passed one hand vaguely across his forehead. Some one brought a
tin dipper, from which he rinsed his mouth mechanically. His head was
clearing, but he couldn't seem to understand whether the transformation
in the chap beside him was real or only a creation of his bewildered
brain. But when he took his place again and dropped his shoulders
instinctively, another shoulder pressed against him on the left, and
that same hoarse, unfamiliar voice sounded in his ears:

"Together now, kid; we'll stop 'em this time!"

The words seemed to give Dale a new strength. Stirred to t