ther possible receivers, had not expected to be singled
out, but wheeled just in time--after getting free--to hear the crowd
yell and see the pigskin coming straight at him. He reached up and
picked it out of the air on Pomeroy's twenty-five yard line, being hit
before he could move by Dizzy Fox.

"Yea, Carver!" yelled the stands.

Mack, all but bewildered by the way plays had revolved about him, was
pushed into the huddle as time-keepers consulted their watches.

"What'll it be?" demanded Bert. "Shall we chance another pass?"

"A field goal would do it?" cried Steve, with a glance at the
scoreboard. "But Frank's toe hasn't been so hot today!"

"We've only time for one more play," reminded Bert. "Can you fellows
hold that line? Seems to me a kick's a little better than another
pass. We're almost dead in front of the goal posts!"

"I'll try it if you say so!" volunteered Frank. "Mack--you've got to
block 'em off until I toe that ball! They mustn't get through at me
this time!"

"Okay!" said Mack, jaws tightening. Here was the test. A successful
kick meant defeat for his brother ... no, defeat for _Pomeroy_! It
meant that all scores against him would be wiped out ... his misplays
forgotten...! ... But how about his brother's coaching position?...
He mustn't think about that!... His mother--her support!... No,
no!... Whatever happened would be all right.... He must do his part
... he must be loyal to Grinnell. He'd picked this school with the
hope of someday helping to beat Pomeroy ... and here was his chance!...
He must do his part to the uttermost limit ... and then--if the kick
failed ... well--nobody could say he hadn't tried...!

"Kick formation!" Bert was calling.

A murmur of surprise swept through the stands and a pall of silence
fell. Grinnell--attempting a field goal as a last resort ...
attempting to pull a lost cause out of the fire!

"Hold 'em, gang!" begged Bert. "You've got to hold 'em!"

Grinnell's quarterback was kneeling, ready to upend the ball. Steve
and Mack were stationed at the side and in front. They exchange
determined glances.

"No one gets past us!" said Steve.

Mack, too full for words, nodded, fingers twitching, eyeing the enemy
line.

Coach Carl Carver, pulling nervously at the rim of his hat, sized up
the distance between the teams and the goal posts.

"It's one chance in a...!" he started.

The ball flashed back and the two lines came together in a de