ers had disentangled themselves from the mass into
which they had been hurled, and were after him. One of the fleetest
was approaching our hero.

"I've got to out-distance him," murmured Tom, looking back over his
shoulder, and he let out a little more of the speed he had been
reserving. Then, panting and weary, he crossed the goal line------and
only just in time, for, as he leaped over it, the hand of the Holwell
fullback was on his jacket.

"Touchdown!" gasped Tom, as he fell on the ball.

Then broke out a riot of cheers, cries and songs of victory! The goal
was missed, owing to a strong wind, but the Elmwood Hall lads cared
little for that. They were in winning luck, they felt sure.

The first period was practically over, and soon came the second, during
which Holwell tried desperately to score. But she could not, though
several of her players were injured in the fierce rushes, and two of
Elmwood's lads had to be replaced by substitutes.

It began to rain shortly after the third period started, and it came
down in such torrents that the field was soon a sea of mud and
mud-soaked grass. Still the game went on, though many of the
spectators deserted the field.

"Keep playing! Keep playing!" begged Captain Denton. "We can win if
we only hold them from scoring."

At first it looked as if this was not to be, for the Holwell team was
heavier, and this told on a slippery gridiron. But Tom and his mates
had pluck, and they held well in the rushes. Once there was a chance
for Elmwood to make another touchdown, but Jack Fitch slipped and fell
in a mud-puddle, the ball rolling out of his hands. Then a Holwell
played grabbed it, and kicked it out of danger on the next line-up.

"Only a few minutes more," called the coach encouragingly, as the
fourth quarter neared a close. "Hold 'em, boys!"

And hold Tom and his chums did. They had lost the ball on downs, and
it was dangerously near their goal mark. But they were like bulldogs
now--fighting in the last ditch. A touchdown and a goal would beat
them. It must not be!

There was a short, sharp, quick signal, and one of the Holwell players
seemed to take the ball around left end. But Tom's sharp eye saw that
it was a trick play, and he cried to his mates to beware. They did not
hear him, and nearly all of them rushed to intercept the ball. Tom,
however, swung the other way, and headed for the player who really had
the pigskin.

On the latter came with