ANOTHER GAME
There was silence for a time among the cadets of the football team—silence broken only by the whirr and hum of the machinery as it ran free, for the gasolene had been shut off. Under the big tires crunched the small stones and gravel of the road.
"Can't you start the motor and hold her back on the reverse?" shouted Dick above the noise.
Simpson shook his head.
"I'd rip her all to pieces if I did," he answered. "Queer about that brake rod snapping. That's not in my department, but I'd like to get hold of the man that inspected and tested it," he added grimly. "I'd break him!"
Dick looked into the faces of his chums. There was a quiet, strained look in all of them, but none of them showed craven fear. He glanced at his father, and Mr. Hamilton smiled at his son.
"I guess we won't be behind hand now," he said.
"No," and Dick shook his head. Then he glanced over the side of the truck and noted how the trees were slipping by. They were going at ever-increasing speed.
Luckily they met no other vehicles on the hill, or there might have been trouble. The auto drivers in the rear, finding they could do nothing were keeping up as close as they could, to render any assistance if possible.
It was well that the speeding truck was strongly and ponderously made, and that it was hung low, otherwise it would have toppled over. As it was they all swayed from side to side dangerously, tossing the occupants against one another.
"Good practice for the coming game," remarked Dutton.
"I hope it doesn't take their nerve," said Mr. Martin in a low voice to his colleague. "This may have a fearful effect."
"Their nerves are good," declared the Princeton coach, "but I wish this was over. There's a good bit yet to go, and we'll travel faster at the end, for the hill is steeper there."
Mr. Martin silently nodded, and then looked ahead. As he did so he could not refrain from a startled cry, for the hill took a sudden, steep dip, and it seemed impossible for any auto not under control to make it successfully.
Before any one could do anything, had it been possible, the car was at the dangerous descent. Simpson drew in his breath sharply and grasped the steering wheel with firmer grip.
"Whew!" whistled Paul Drew. "This is awful!"
Dick said nothing, but he moved up closer to his father. Fear was clutching his heart, for he dreaded lest that all be killed.
"This is about the end!" gasped the driver, as the steeper part of the hill came to an end. "The worst is over."
The cadets could now look ahead, and see a level stretch. They were beginning to breathe easier.
"Once I'm on that I'll be all right," went on the driver. He reached it a moment later, but the speed of the ponderous car was not checked much. It had too great momentum.
Suddenly Dick gave a cry of fear, and pointed forward. They all saw it at the same time. Three hundred feet away was a narrow bridge and at that moment there appeared on it, turning in from a side road, a man driving a team of horses attached to a light carriage. And, as the cadets looked, the horses seemed possessed with sudden fright at the view of the oncoming auto. They reared, and the driver had all he could do to hold them in.
Then one animal, worse than its mate, kicked over the traces and, coming down, got tangled in the harness. It fell heavily, right in the centre of the bridge, dragging down its mate. The man leaped out to go to the heads of the horses, and, as he saw the approaching auto he held up his hand and shouted a warning.
"Stop! Stop!" he cried.
"I can't!" yelled back Simpson. "Cut the harness! Push the horses off the bridge!"
The man was working frantically. Simpson gave a last desperate yank on the brake lever. It was still out of commission, as he knew it would be. There seemed to be no escape from the impending crash which might mean death for a number of them.
"I'm going to jump!" cried George Hall, worming his way to the rear of the truck, which was going almost as fast as when on the hill.
"Don't you do it!" cried Dick, with all the energy he possessed. "Here, Simpson, turn into that hayfield! Make for the stack! Run the auto into it! That will stop us without damage!"
"By gasolene! I believe you're right!" yelled the driver. "I'll do it. It's our only hope."
"But the fence! The fence!" shouted Paul. "We'll smash into it!" for a rail fence shut off from the road the field at which Dick had pointed.
"That fence!" yelled Simpson in supreme contempt. "I'll smash it into kindling wood! Hold fast everybody! Here we go!"
A moment later he had swung the car toward the hayfield. Fortunately it was on a level with the road, or the front part of the auto would never have sustained the shock. Through the fence the ponderous machine crashed as if it were paper. The next instant the big car plowed straight into a big stack of hay.
Like so many rubber balls, the football players were thrown forward against one another, and Dick and the two coaches were tossed out into the fragrant timothy.
Then a cheer burst from the other cadets in the three following trucks which had come to a stop. For they saw that their comrades were safe. The man on the bridge had succeeded in disentangling his horses and they were now quiet.
Simpson leaped from his seat, which he had managed to maintain, and looked under the truck.
"I knew it!" he cried. "Brake rod busted. Oh, if I had the man who made that!"
"Can we go on?" asked Dick anxiously as he picked himself up from the hay.
"Wouldn't dare to without this brake rod being fixed" replied the driver. "There are more hills."
"Here, you football fellows get in one of these other trucks. We'll pile out and walk to the grounds—it's not far," called Percy Haddon.
"That's the stuff!" shouted Manager Hatfield. "We haven't any too much time. Are you boys all right?"
"Sure," answered Paul with a laugh. "We're ready to play the game of our lives."
"That's right!" came in a chorus from the others. Now that the strain was over there was a bit of hysterical feeling, but it soon passed away.
Little time was lost in making the transfer. The football team and the substitutes got in one of the other trucks and were soon being whizzed off to the grounds. The other two trucks, containing as many of the remaining cadets as could squeeze into them, pressed on, and only a few had to walk the remaining distance.
Simpson backed his truck out of the hayfield which had practically saved a number of lives that day. Then the driver began work at repairing the brake rod, his companions promising to return for him when they had taken the cadets to the grounds.
Nor would Simpson accept any pay for the services he had rendered that day.
"I've got stock in your road, Mr. Hamilton," he said, "though it is only two shares. This was a good test of the trucks, and I'm glad only a brake rod busted. It was better to happen now than after I had delivered 'em. I'm satisfied."
The Mooretown cadets were becoming anxious about the non-appearance of their opponents, for the hour for the game was fast approaching, when Dick and his players came running out on the gridiron. They were greeted with a rousing cheer, for, though the rules called for the forfeiting of a contest to the non-appearing team, the Mooretown cadets were true sportsmen and hated to take this advantage.
"Jove! But I'm glad you fellows came!" cried the Mooretown captain as he wrung Dick's hand. "We were horribly afraid you wouldn't show up. What was the matter? I thought you were coming by special train."
"We were, but there was a mix-up and we had to charter these autos. But we're here and we're going to beat you!"
"Yes, you are!" and the home captain laughed. "Well, I'll show you the dressing rooms. We've got a smashing big crowd here to-day and the weather is just right. It would have been a shame to disappoint 'em."
"Well, it's too bad to have 'em see you defeated, but it can't be helped," said Dick with mocking seriousness and they both laughed. The fright of the dangerous ride was fast passing away from all of the Kentfield team.
They were soon in their suits and out on the gridiron practicing. Meanwhile the Mooretown lads were at work with the ball, and the Kentfield coaches were critically sizing them up.
"Not nearly as fast as our lads," declared Mr. Martin.
"That's right. I don't expect a walkover, but there ought to be no question as to who is going to win—unless this auto affair has got on the nerves of our lads."
The crowd continued to arrive. The grandstands were like some gorgeous sunset in appearance, with the hats of the pretty girls, and the waving of flags and banners. Cheers and songs, made music in keeping with the day.
"Line-up!" came the cry, and when the whistle blew, and the ball was kicked off, twenty-two figures clad in earth-stained suits made a mad dash for each other. The game was on.
From the time of the first scrimmage Dick knew that his team had the contest safe, for one smashing through the line of Mooretown told the story. The men had over-trained and had gone "stale." On the other hand the Kentfield lads were as fresh as the proverbial daisies.
"Take her along for a touchdown, boys!" ordered the captain, and down the field the ball was worked in a steady succession of rushes. In vain did Mooretown try to stem the tide against them. Once, when their goal line was almost reached, they did brace, and Dick began to plan a trick play. But it was not needed, for the next moment Dutton was shoved over for the touchdown, and the crowd of Kentfield students went wild with delight. The goal was kicked easily, and then began the hammer and tongs work again.
Once again that half Kentfield made a touchdown, not as easily as at first, for Mooretown had waxed desperate, but it was made. Not that it was all "pie" to quote Dick, but they had the "measure" of their opponents, and they began to see the championship looming clearly before them.
Twelve to nothing was the score in favor of Kentfield at the end of the first half, which came to a close with the ball once more almost over the Mooretown line.
There were sore hearts among the players on the home team, and Dick and his lads knew just how their opponents felt, but it was a fair game, with no quarter and it was the fortunes of war.
"I'm afraid you're going to make good," said the Mooretown captain to the young millionaire, as the second half started.
"We've just got to," answered Dick. "We want that gold cup."
Hammering away again, the Kentfield lads advanced the ball. Mooretown got it on a fumble once, and did some pretty work in punting, but it was of no avail. Again they had the pigskin because of the penalty inflicted on a too eager Kentfield player, and they made a desperate try for a field goal, but it fell short.
After that there was no more danger to our friends, and they kept the ball advancing by steady rushes, or, to rest his men, Dick would call for a forward pass. Again and yet again was the Mooretown goal line crossed, amid the frantic cheers of the Kentfield contingent, and when the final whistle blew the score was twenty-nine to nothing.
"Victory!" cried Dick in exultation, as he hugged as many of his players as he could. "Now for Blue Hill next Saturday and we'll have such a feast as never was at Kentfield before!"