Berriman, their halfback, bowled over Chamberlain for a gain of four yards. Richmond tried to make a hole between Dick and Tom, but was nailed without a gain. Once more Berriman ploughed in between Warren and Chamberlain, which seemed to be the weakest part of the defense, but, anticipating the move, Bert had posted himself there and, meeting the rush halfway, dumped Berriman on his head. As he fell, the ball slipped from his hands and Tom, quick as a cat, picked it up and twisting, dodging, squirming, scuttled down along the southern line. Burke flung himself at him in a flying tackle and grabbed one leg, but the runner shook him off and, with his momentum scarcely checked flew down the field, aided by superb interference on the part of Drake and Axtell, who bowled over the "Maroon" tacklers like so many ninepins. He had made thirty-five yards and was going like the wind when, in eluding the outstretched arms of Miller, he slipped in a pool of mud and water and went down, skating along on his nose for several yards, while the whole "Maroon" team piled over him. But his nose guard had saved him from injury and, when the wriggling mass was disentangled, it was found that he still had the ball. He wiped the mud from his face and grinned happily while his mates gathered round him and billows of cheers swept down from the Blue stands, frantic with delight at the brilliant run.

"Splendid, old boy!" cried Bert, slapping Tom on the back. "That was classy stuff. You went down the line like a shot from a gun."

"It saved the goal line all right," panted Dick. "Jove! They were close. It looked for a minute as though they had us going."

The ball was put into play again but just as the teams lined up time was called. The game was three-quarters over and the remaining fifteen minutes would tell the tale of victory or defeat. The boys stood around in groups scraping the mud from their uniforms and rubbing rosin on their hands to get a better grip in tackling.

Just as the breathing spell was over the sun suddenly burst forth in a blaze of glory. Umbrellas went down like magic and even the "Maroon" supporters, chagrined as they were, joined in the cheer that rose from the drenched spectators. It put new life into the players also.

"Look!" cried Bert as the teams took their places. "The rainbow!"

All eyes were turned in the direction he pointed, where in a magnificent arch of shifting colors the bow of promise curved over the field.

"It's our rainbow," shouted Tom. "We saw it first."

"Come off, you dubs," sang out Halliday. "Don't you see that it's over our goal?"

"Sure," retorted Tom. "That's to show us where we've got to go."

"It is, eh?" said Halliday grimly. "You'll only get there over our dead bodies."

"You're dead ones already," taunted Drake good-naturedly. "You're only walking round to save funeral expenses."

But in the furious battle that developed from the kick-off, it was evident that the "Maroons" were very lively corpses. It was no use to play on the defensive. If they did that, they were beaten already by the three points that now loomed up in such tremendous proportions. Nor was there any reason to keep any of their plays up their sleeves. For them it was the last game of the season and now was the time to uncover their whole "bag of tricks."

So they threw caution to the winds and played with utter recklessness and abandon. Their "Wheel shift" was a new one on the Blues, and the "Maroons" had used it twice for a gain of thirty yards before the Blues solved and checkmated it. Then the forward pass was tried, usually without advancing the ball, though one clever skirting of the end gained fifteen yards. The ball was getting pretty well down into Blue territory when a magnificent drop kick by Bert sent it sailing to the middle of the field. In the momentary silence that succeeded the cheering, some wag from the Blue stands piped out:

"It's too bad that fellow Wilson is lame." And everybody laughed.

But the laugh of the "Maroons" had a pang behind it. Only five minutes of playing time were left, and the ball was in the hands of their enemies. They ranged up for the scrimmage with the desperation of men faced by advancing doom but bound to go down fighting.

And go down they did before the savage and exulting onslaught of the Blues. Fighting, raging, blocking, charging, they were forced back toward their goal. Drake and Dick and Axtell went ploughing through big holes opened up by their comrades in both sides of the line until, with two downs yet to go, the ball was in the hands of the Blues twelve yards from the enemy's goal.

Everybody was standing now. Flags were waving, voices yelling and the tumult was indescribable.

It was the supreme moment, and Bert was called on for the final plunge.

"Go to it, old man, the instant I snap it back," whispered Tom.

"For the sake of the old college," urged Dick.

Bert stiffened.

"Watch me," he said.

It was a perfect snap from Tom to Dick, who passed it to Bert so swiftly that the eye could scarcely follow it. At the same instant Drake and Axtell opened up a hole between left guard and tackle and Bert ploughed through it like an unchained cyclone. The whole "Maroon" team was on him in an instant, but the fearful headway of his charge had carried him through nine of the coveted twelve yards and the goal post loomed almost directly overhead.

"Buck up, fellows, buck up," screamed Halliday wildly. "For heaven's sake, brace!"

Bert's head was buzzing with the impact of that mighty plunge, but his eyes blazed with the light of coming triumph.

"Not an inch, boys, not an inch," yelled Halliday. "Throw them back. It's their last down."

But their hour had struck. Once more the ball was passed and, charging hard and low, Bert went into the line. The "Maroons" hurled themselves savagely against him, but a regiment could not have stopped him. He crumpled them up and carried the fragments of the broken line on his head and shoulders, coming at last to the ground five yards over the goal for the touchdown. And the Blue stands promptly went stark raving mad.

Bruised and dizzy but smiling, Bert rose to his feet. At that moment he would not have changed places with an emperor.

The ball was carried out to the twenty-five yard line and Dick, lying flat on the ground, steadied it for the kick. Bert took careful aim and lifted it unerringly over the goal. It had scarcely touched the ground when the whistle blew and the game was over. The Blues had triumphed, ten to nothing, but only after a desperate battle that left the "Maroons" vanquished, but not disgraced. Their gallant foes gave them a rousing cheer that was returned by the victors with interest.

Then the crowds swept down like a tidal wave from the stands and submerged the doughty fighters. The Blues, all muddy and disheveled as they were, were hoisted on the shoulders of their exulting comrades and carried from the field. And it was all they could do to get away from them and repair to their shower and rubdown, never before so needed or so welcome.

The campus blazed that night with bonfires and resounded with noises that "murdered sleep." But all the pleading that the team might take part in the festivities fell unheeded on the ears of the two inexorable tyrants, Hendricks and Reddy. Happy and exulting tyrants just then, but tyrants none the less.

"Not until they lick the 'Greys,'" was "Bull's" decree. "If they do that they can split the town wide open. Until then the lid is on."

There was no appeal from his decision, and by nine o'clock the weary warriors were tucked away in bed to dream of past and hope for coming victory.

Dick was just dropping off when a voice came from Bert's bed:

"Say, Dick, what's the greatest game in the world?"

"Football," was the prompt reply.

"And, Dick, what's the greatest team in the world?"

"The Blues," averred Dick stoutly.

"Right," assented Bert. "Now go to sleep."



CHAPTER XII

THE COACH ROBBERY

ONE morning Bert received a letter that caused him to emit a wild whoop of joy, and then set off post haste to find Tom and Dick. He discovered them at last on the campus, kicking a ball around, and rushed toward them waving the open letter over his head.

"Say, fellows," he shouted when he got within speaking distance of them, "whom do you suppose this letter is from? Bet you a million you can't guess right in three guesses."

"From the way you seem to feel about it," grinned Dick, "it must contain money from home. I don't know what else could make you feel as happy as you appear to be."

"No, it isn't money," replied Bert, "but it's something better."

"Come off," chaffed Tom, "there 'ain't no such thing.' But tell us what it is and get it out of your system."

"It's a letter from Mr. Melton," explained Bert, "saying he's on his way East, and is going to visit us here. What do you know about that, eh?"

"Great!" exclaimed Dick and Tom in chorus, and Dick asked, "When does he say he'll get here?"

"Monday or Tuesday of next week," replied Bert, consulting the letter. "Either Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning. He's going to stop at the 'Royal,' and wants us to be on hand to meet him. He says in all probability he'll arrive on the 7:45 Monday evening. And just make out we won't be on hand to give him a rousing welcome, what?"

"I rather guess we will," said Tom, "and then some. I move that we hire a brass band and do the thing up right."

"That's a good idea all right," laughed Bert, "but I rather think Mr. Melton would prefer to dispense with the brass band. But we'll manage to make him know he's welcome, I have no doubt of that."

"I'd deserve to be hung, drawn, and quartered if I didn't," said Dick with feeling. "He was certainly a friend in need if there ever was one."

Dick alluded to a never-to-be-forgotten time when Mr. Melton had, at the risk of his own life, rendered timely aid to Bert and Tom in rescuing Dick from a band of Mexican outlaws. The three comrades were not ones to forget such a service, and from that time on Mr. Melton had always occupied a warm place in their regard. In addition to his personal bravery he was genial and good natured, with a heart as big as himself. He had taken part in many enterprises, but was now a prosperous rancher in the Northwest, calling many a fertile acre his own.

He had traveled extensively and knew much of the world. His stock of experiences and anecdote seemed inexhaustible, and he was never at a loss for some tale of adventure when called upon to tell one. His bluff, hearty manner gained him friends wherever he went, and it was with feelings of the keenest anticipation that the three comrades looked forward to his coming. It was only Wednesday when Bert received the letter announcing his coming, so they had several days of inevitable waiting.

However, "all things come to him who waits," and the day to which the boys looked forward with so much anticipation was no exception to the rule. They were at the station long before the train was due, and it seemed hours to them before they heard its whistle in the distance.

"The chances are though," said Tom pessimistically, "that something has happened to delay him and he won't be on this train at all, but on the one that comes in to-morrow morning."

"That's the way it usually works out," agreed Bert with a grin, "but somehow I have a hunch that Mr. Melton is going to be on this train. He said in the letter you know, that in all probability he would be on the earlier train."

"Yes, I know," said Tom, "and I only hope that my fears are groundless. But we won't have to wait long now to find out at any rate."

He had hardly ceased speaking when the train puffed into the station. They scanned the long line of cars carefully, and it was Dick who first discerned the burly form descending the narrow steps of one of the rear Pullmans.

"There he is, fellows," he shouted and made a dash in the direction of the approaching figure, followed closely by Bert and Tom. Mr. Melton saw them coming and stretched out his hand. "Well, well!" he exclaimed, after shaking hands all around. "I'm certainly glad to see you once more, my boys. You don't look as though the grind of college work has interfered much with your health," with a twinkle in his eyes.

"No," laughed Bert, "we're not actually wasting away under the strain. But as far as that goes," he continued, "you look pretty fit yourself."

"Yes, and I feel it, too," replied Mr. Melton. "I'm not quite as spry as I used to be, but I never felt better in my life. There's nothing like an open air life to keep a man young."

While this talk was going on, the little party was making its way toward the hotel at which Mr. Melton had said he was going to put up, and were not long in reaching it.

"Well, boys," said Mr. Melton as they ascended the handsome flight of steps leading up to the entrance, "I don't suppose you've had supper yet, have you? If not I want you all to keep me company. It's on me, and the best in the house is none too good for us."

"Well," replied Bert, "speaking for myself, nothing would give me greater pleasure. But we're all three slaves of the training table, you know, so I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us this time."

"That's right!" exclaimed Mr. Melton in a disappointed tone, "for the moment I had forgotten all about that. But duty is duty, and far be it from me to put temptation in your path."

"What I think we had better do," said Bert, "is to see you safely installed here, and then hustle back to college and eat. Then we can come back here and spend the evening with you."

"I guess that will be the best plan," agreed Mr. Melton, "but you must promise me to get back soon."

Of course they all promised, and after leaving their friend to the tender mercies of the hotel clerk, hastened back to their Alma Mater.

They were just in time for dinner, but in their excitement and hurry to get back to the hotel ate less than usual. In reply to Reddy's query as to "what was up," they told him of Mr. Melton's arrival. Reddy had heard of the Mexican adventure and spoke accordingly. "He must be a good man to know," he opined, "and I'd like to meet him. Go ahead an' make your call now, but don't get back late. I guess, from what I hear of this Melton that he'll see that you leave in time anyway."

"No, he's not the kind to persuade people to forget their obligations," said Dick. "In fact, he's just the opposite. But of course our own well-known principles would make it impossible for us to be late," with a grin.

"Yes, I know all about that sort of stuff," said Reddy. "See if for once you can live up to your own 'rep.'"

"All you got to do is keep your eyes peeled, and you'll see us piking in here right on the dot," laughed Tom. "Come on, fellows. The sooner we get started the sooner we'll get back."

"Right you are," agreed Bert, and the three comrades swung into a brisk stride. A twenty-minute walk brought them to the "Royal," and they were immediately ushered up to Mr. Melton's room. In answer to their knock a hearty voice bade them "come in," and as they opened the door Mr. Melton met them with outstretched hand.

"Come in and make yourselves at home," he said genially. "If you want anything and don't see it, ask for it."

"You seem to be pretty well fixed with about everything that anybody could want, now," commented Bert, glancing about the luxuriously appointed room. "This place certainly looks as though it had had some thought and money expended on it."

"Yes," admitted the Westerner, "it reminds me of the so-called 'hotels' we used to have out West in the early days—it's so different. The height of luxury there was in having a room all to yourself. As a rule you had to bunk in with at least two or three others. O yes, this is quite an improvement on one of those old shacks. I remember one of the pioneer towns where there was a fierce rivalry between the proprietors of the only two hotels in town. They were each trying to get the better of the other by adding some improvement, real or fancied. First the owner of the 'Palace' had his shack painted a vivid white and green. Then the owner of the 'Lone Star' hostelry, not to be outdone, had his place painted also, and had a couple of extra windows cut in the wall. So it went, and if they had kept it up long enough, probably in the end people stopping at one of the places would have been fairly comfortable. But before matters reached that unbelievable pitch, O'Day, owner of the 'Palace,' was killed in a shooting fracas. The man who plugged him claimed he was playing 'crooked' poker, and I think that in all probability he was. If he wasn't, it was about the only time in his life that he ever played straight."

"What happened to the man who did the shooting?" asked Bert.

"Well, O'Day wasn't what you'd call a very popular character," replied Mr. Melton, "and nobody felt very much cut up over his sudden exit from this vale of tears. They got up an impromptu jury, but the twelve 'good men and true' failed to find the defendant guilty."

"But how did they get around it?" asked Tom. "There was no doubt about who did the killing, was there?"

"Not the least in the world," replied Mr. Melton with a laugh; "but as I say, popular sentiment was with the man who did the shooting, so the jury turned in a verdict that ran something in this fashion, if I remember rightly: 'We find that the deceased met death while inadvisably attempting to stop a revolver bullet in motion' or words to that effect. I thought at the time it was a masterpiece of legal fiction."

"I should say it was," commented Dick. "The quibbles and technicalities that make our laws a good deal of a joke to-day have nothing much on that."

"That's a fact," agreed Mr. Melton; "some of the results of our modern 'justice,' so called, are certainly laughable. It's all very well to give a man every chance and the benefit of every doubt, but when a conviction is set aside because the court clerk was an hour behind time getting to court on the day of the trial, it begins to look as though things were being carried too far. Mere technicalities and lawyers' quibbles should not have the weight with judges that for some reason they seem to possess."

"I've no doubt," remarked Bert, "that some of the rough and ready courts such as you were just telling us about meted out a pretty fair brand of justice at that."

"Yes, they did," replied Mr. Melton. "They got right down to the core of the argument, and cut out all confusing side issues. If, for instance, three witnesses all swore they saw a man steal a horse, and yet were unable to agree on the exact time of the stealing, the chances were ten to one that the horse thief would be strung up without further loss of time. And there was no appeal from the findings of a frontier jury."

"It must have been an exciting life, that of the old frontier days," commented Bert. "I guess nobody had to complain much of the monotony of it."

"Not so you could notice," replied Mr. Melton with a smile, "but there wasn't half as much shooting going on all the time as you might believe from reading the current stories in the magazines dealing with the 'wild and woolly West.' Most everybody carried a gun, of course, but they weren't used so very often. Every man knew that his neighbor was probably an expert in the use of his 'shooting irons,' too, so there wasn't much percentage in starting an argument. Most of the scraps that did occur would never have been started, if it hadn't been for the influence of 'red-eye,' as the boys used to call the vile brands of whiskey served out in the frontier saloons. That whiskey bit like vitriol, and a few glasses of it were enough to make any man take to the war path."

"I suppose you carried a gun in those days, too, didn't you, Mr. Melton?" questioned Dick.

"Yes, I carried a pair of Colt's .45s with me for years," replied the Westerner, with a reminiscent look in his eyes. "Why, a couple of guns were as much a part of a man's dress in those days as a pair of shoes. Every one carried them as a matter of course."

"Did you ever have to use them?" asked Bert.

"Only once," replied Mr. Melton. "I never went looking for trouble, and it has been my experience, when you don't look for trouble, trouble seldom looks for you. But the one time I did have use for my arsenal made up for lost time."

"Tell us about it, please," chorused the boys, and Mr. Melton smiled at their eagerness as he lit another perfecto.

"Well," he began, "it was back in the old days before the time of the railroads, when stage coaches were the only carriers known. I was traveling to Fort Worth on business, and was finding the journey anything but a pleasant one. The coach was old and rickety, and the way it lurched and rolled reminded me of a small boat in a rough sea. It was a terrifically hot day, too, and the stinging alkali dust got down your throat and in your eyes until life seemed an unbearable burden. We had traveled steadily all the morning, and along toward afternoon most of the passengers began to feel pretty sleepy, and dozed off. I was among the number. Suddenly I was awakened by a shout of 'hands up!' and found myself looking full into the muzzle of a blue barreled Colt, held in the hand of a masked man.

"There was nothing for it but to obey, seeing he had the drop on us, so up went our hands over our heads. There were six other passengers in the coach, but if we had been sixteen we would have been no better off.

"As we gazed in a sort of fascination at the ugly-looking revolver, another masked man entered the coach and commenced systematically to relieve the passengers of their valuables. I happened to be nearest the front of the coach, and so did not receive the benefit of his attentions at first. He had almost reached me when there was a commotion outside, and he straightened up to listen, all his senses on the alert.

"He was between me and the door in which his companion was standing. For the moment the man in the door could not get at me except through his comrade, and I resolved to grasp the opportunity. In a flash I had reached down into the breast of my coat and grasped the butt of my revolver. Before the desperado in front of me could get his gun in action, I had fired. At the first shot he dropped to the ground and, as he fell, a bullet from the man in the doorway took my hat off. I pulled the trigger as fast as my fingers could work, and he did the same. I have only a confused recollection of smoke, flashes of flame, shouts and a dull shock in my left arm. In what must have been but a few seconds it was all over. With my own gun empty, I waited to see what would happen. I knew that if by that time I hadn't killed the bandit, he had me at his mercy. And even with him disposed of, I fully expected to be plugged by the man outside who was holding the driver under guard.

"But he must have had a streak of yellow in him, for when he failed to see either of his comrades come out of the coach he concluded that they were either dead or prisoners, and made off as fast as his pony could carry him. By that time we passengers had rushed out of the coach, and some of us began firing at the fugitive. But a revolver is not very accurate over two or three hundred feet, and I doubt if the desperado was even grazed. I was unable to shoot for, as I had realized by this time, my left arm was broken just above the elbow, and I was unable to load my gun.

"Well, finding that we could not hope to harm the fugitive, we returned to the coach. An examination of the two hold-ups showed that one, the man I had shot first, was dead. The other, who had guarded the door, was badly wounded and unconscious. One of the passengers had been bored through the shoulder by a stray bullet, but was not hurt seriously.

"The driver bound up my arm after a fashion, and whipped up his horses. It was after dark before we reached Fort Worth though, and by that time my arm was giving me a foretaste of what Hades must be. But there was a good doctor in the town, fortunately for me, and he fixed the arm up in fine fashion. And, believe me, I felt lucky to get off as easy as that."

"I should think you would," said Bert admiringly. "It must have taken nerve to pull a gun under those conditions."

"Well," replied Mr. Melton, "it was all on account of a watch I carried at that time. It was one I had had for years, and thought a lot of. The idea of losing that watch just made me desperate. I think if it hadn't been for that I would never have taken the chance."

"And what happened to the man you wounded?" asked Dick.

"He gradually recovered," replied Mr. Melton. "The boys were going to hang him when he got well enough, but one night he broke jail and got away. They made up a posse and chased him through three counties, but never caught him. I imagine, though, that his liking for hold-ups suffered a severe check."

"Very likely," agreed Bert, "but I'm glad you saved the watch, anyway."

"So am I," said Mr. Melton with a smile. "Here it is now, if you'd care to see it."

He passed a handsome gold timepiece over to the boys, who admired it greatly. Then the talk turned to other subjects, and before they realized it, it was time for them to go.

Before leaving, however, they made Mr. Melton promise to visit the college the following afternoon. This he readily did, and the boys took their departure after saying a hearty good night to their Western friend.



CHAPTER XIII

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

TRUE to his promise, Mr. Melton made his appearance at the south end of the campus a little after three o'clock of the following day. The three friends were there to meet him, and they exchanged hearty greetings.

"There's so much we want to show you that we hardly know where to begin," said Bert. "What shall we show him first, fellows?"

"Let's start with the library," suggested Dick, "that's one of the handsomest buildings. When he sees all the books he'll get the idea that we're very literary, and first impressions are lasting, you know."

"I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good," said Bert. "He'd just be getting that impression, and then Tom would pull some of his low comedy stuff and queer the whole thing. We can never palm ourselves off as highbrows while he's around."

"Just because you're unable to appreciate the little gems of wit I offer you from time to time, you have to go and run them down," protested Tom. "It isn't my fault that you haven't sense enough to laugh at them. It's your misfortune, that's all."

"Well, I'll do my best to bear up under the deprivation," laughed Bert. "But here we are, Mr. Melton. What do you think of the outside?"

While he and Tom had been exchanging thrusts the little group had been strolling toward the library building, and by this time had reached the broad flight of steps that led up to it. There they halted while Mr. Melton examined the front of the building.

"It is very handsome," he commented; "if its interior answers to its outer appearance it must be a beautiful place."

"I think you'll find that it does," said Bert; "but the best way to tell is to go inside."

Accordingly, they ascended the stone steps and, entering the massive doors, found themselves in a lofty hall, from which branched the various reading rooms. Everything was in perfect harmony and taste, and Mr. Melton was outspoken in his expressions of admiration.

Leaving the library, the boys showed their friend all the college buildings—the recitation hall, the dormitories, the chapel and the gymnasium. Mr. Melton seemed attracted most of all by the latter, and examined the different athletic apparatus with the greatest interest.

"You certainly have everything that modern science can furnish," commented Mr. Melton enthusiastically. He lingered long by the swimming tank, in which a number of athletic young fellows were disporting themselves.

"How would you like to visit the engine room?" asked Dick. "To my mind that's the most interesting place in the college."

"I'd like it first rate," said Mr. Melton; "anything in the way of machinery can always be sure of getting a respectful hearing from me."

The three friends accordingly guided him down into the engine and boiler rooms, sacred ground to which few visitors ever penetrated. Here was machinery of the latest and most up-to-date patterns, and Mr. Melton listened attentively while the boys explained to him the uses of the various mechanisms. They were familiar with everything in the place, and their listener knew enough about machinery to readily understand everything that they told him. They spent over an hour altogether in the engine room, and when at last they emerged into the upper regions again Mr. Melton drew a long breath.

"It's certainly a wonderful place," he said with enthusiasm; "and I envy you boys the chance you have of getting an education in a such a college. It's a privilege that you'll probably appreciate ten years from now even more than you do at the present time."

"Possibly," said Bert with a note of doubt in his voice. "But I don't think we'll ever take any more pride in the old college than we do right now."

"Nope, can't be done," said Tom flippantly; "any place that can give Bert three such meals a day as he gets at the training table is sure to make a hit with him."

"I'll make a hit with a brick if you make any more comments of that kind," threatened Bert; "and what's more, you'll be it."

"I call you to witness, Mr. Melton," said Tom, turning to that gentleman, who by now was laughing heartily, "this low person has threatened to land me with a brick if I make any further criticism of his bad habits. Now, what I want to know is, is this, or is it not, a land of free speech? Is a freeborn American citizen to be threatened and bullied by a——" but here his protest ended in a muffled roar, as Dick and Bert pounced on him and wrapped their coats tightly about his head.

"It's the only way to make him quit," apologized Bert to Mr. Melton. Then, addressing the muffled Tom, "Will you promise to be good if we let you out?"

The only answer was a series of wild plungings, that ended by landing the three in a tangled heap on the grass. At last Tom managed to get his head free, and struggled to his feet.

His laughing comrades also scrambled to theirs, and they stood facing each other.

"Well," said Tom, smoothing down his rumpled mop of hair, "you knew you were tackling something, anyway."

"It was quite exciting," laughed Mr. Melton. "If you boys play football in the same fashion you employed then, I don't see how your opponents ever have a chance."

"They don't when they have me to deal with," said Tom unblushingly; "it's only when the rival teams come up against Dick or Bert that they have an easy time of it."

Bert and Dick passed this remark over with the silent contempt they felt it warranted, and asked Mr. Melton what he would like to do next.

"Anything you suggest will suit me," replied that individual. "I place myself entirely in the hands of my friends."

"Well, then," suggested Dick, "why not go over and watch the boys practising football? There's always a few kicking the ball around, even when there's no regular practice on the programme, and sometimes they play sides. It won't hurt to go over and see what's doing, anyway."

As Mr. Melton expressed himself as agreeable to this plan, they strolled over toward the campus, and were soon standing on the sidelines watching the practice. There was a goodly number out, and the air resounded with the smack of leather against leather as the pigskin was sent soaring high into the air, to be caught expertly as it descended swiftly toward the earth. A few of the regulars were out, and it was easy even for a stranger to distinguish them by the deftness and quick sureness of their actions. The others sometimes missed hard catches, but these veterans, with clocklike precision, were always in position to make the most difficult catches without even the appearance of effort.

"Looks easy, doesn't it?" said Bert to Mr. Melton.

"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly," said Mr. Melton, "but I've no doubt it looks a good deal easier than it really is. I have had enough experience of life to realize that nothing is as easy as it looks. Many people never realize that though, and the result is they never try hard enough, or at least, when they do realize it, find it too late to do anything."

They watched the practice a short time longer, and then as the afternoon was getting well along, Mr. Melton looked at his watch and said he would have to get back to his hotel. They were just turning away when they came face to face with Hendricks, who was hurrying toward the scene of activities. He and Mr. Melton had hardly glanced at each other when they each gave a shout and rushed forward with outstretched hands.

"'Bull,' you old reprobate, is it really you!" exclaimed Mr. Melton, pumping the coach's hand up and down like a pumphandle.

"It certainly is, old timer," replied Hendricks, "and you sure are a welcome sight to me. But how in the name of all that's good did you happen to get here?"

"I came as a guest of our young friends here," replied Mr. Melton; "they mentioned your name, but I didn't think that it might be you. It's some years now since we were together last."

While all this had been going on, the three boys had looked on wonderingly, but it did not take long to explain matters. It seemed that Hendricks and Mr. Melton had once been members of a hunting party, and had scoured the Rockies together in search of game. They had formed a friendship then that had never grown cold. Through the years that had elapsed since their last meeting it had lain dormant, but now, at sight of each other, blazed up again brightly.

After a little further talk, Mr. Melton insisted that the coach and the three boys come to his hotel for dinner and spend the evening there. "You can tell me what to order now," he said, cutting short Hendrick's objections, which, to tell the truth, were not very strong. "I'll order exactly what you say, and it will be just the same as though you were eating dinner at the training table. That's satisfactory, isn't it?"

"Why, I suppose it will have to be," laughed the coach; "if you'll follow out that programme I'll consent. But you can bet your boots I wouldn't do it for everybody."

"All right then that's settled," said Mr. Melton; "so make out your menu, and I'll hustle back to my hotel and make arrangements."

Hendricks fished out an old envelope and jotted down a list of edibles, starting with "beefsteak." This he gave to Mr. Melton, and then they shook hands and after saying good-by to the boys, Mr. Melton hurried away in the direction of his hotel.

Not long afterward the three comrades, accompanied by the coach, set out for the same destination. When they arrived they were greeted by a cordial welcome, and shortly afterwards dinner was served.

It consisted of nothing but the plainest and most nourishing foods, and Hendricks expressed himself as feeling perfectly satisfied. After the meal they repaired to Mr. Melton's rooms, and for a couple of hours the two old friends swapped yarns, while Tom and Bert and Dick listened with the greatest interest. They told tales of adventure by field and forest, and the time passed like magic. But "Bull" Hendricks was not to be beguiled into forgetting the time, and shortly after ten o'clock he glanced at his watch and rose.

"Time to be going, boys," he announced crisply. "I'm sure it would be a pleasure to stay all night, but rules are rules, you know."

"Well, I'd like to have you stay," said Mr. Melton, "but far be it from me to try to urge you against your judgment. I hope, though, that there won't be as much time between our next meeting as there was between the last, old fellow."

"So do I," responded Hendricks heartily as they shook hands, "but so long till then, anyway."

"Good-by," said Mr. Melton, and then shook hands with the boys. "I'm afraid I won't see you fellows again this trip, although I'm going to make a desperate effort to stay East until the big game comes off," he said. "I've got to get a very early train for New York to-morrow, so I guess we'd better say good-by now until the next time."

The boys shook hands with him warmly, and then started downstairs. Mr. Melton followed them to the door, and the last thing they saw as they looked back was his sturdy bulk outlined in the square of light formed by the open doorway.



CHAPTER XIV

A PLOT THAT FAILED

ALTHOUGH Reddy, in common with everyone else in the college, felt jubilant over the gallant victory of the Blues, he relaxed not one jot of his vigilance. Two days' rest was all that he allowed. By that time Boyd had recovered from the injury to his knee, the strain of the contest had largely abated, and the team was once more in a condition to face the final test—the battle with the redoubtable "Greys" in New York on Thanksgiving Day.

But other and more baleful eyes were fixed on the condition of the team.

Football is one of the cleanest games in existence, and few sports are more free of gambling of every kind. Nevertheless, it is impossible to control the actions of a few professional gamblers who grasp eagerly at every chance to ply their trade. Naturally, the conditions of the different teams are of vital importance to them, and they make it their business, through spies and in every possible way, to be well informed on the subject. And the big football games of this season were no exception to the rule. The condition of every player was carefully noted and kept track of, and it is safe to say that the gambling clique had almost as accurate a line on these points as the different trainers themselves.

During the practice games in the earlier part of the season the "Greys" had seemed to have the "edge" on the other members of the "Big Three." Consequently, they were picked by the poolmakers as the eventual winners, and large bets, amounting in some cases to practically the entire "bank roll" of the plungers, were placed on them to win.

But the "Blues" had of late been going at such a terrific pace that they had a most excellent chance of winning the pennant. And when this was accentuated by the splendid victory of the "Blues" over the "Maroons" it threw the "sports" into a condition closely bordering on panic.

A week before the final game on Thanksgiving Day one of the most unscrupulous of the gamblers decided that if he could not win as matters then stood, he would have to resort to underhand methods to change them. Accordingly, one evening he called a number of his henchmen about him, and when they and other plungers of his own stamp had assembled at a designated rendezvous, he broached his plan.

"Boys," he said, glancing from one to the other of the hard faces turned toward him, "there's no use telling you of the hole we're in. You know just as well as I do, I guess, that we stand in a fair way to lose about all we've got on account of the 'Blue' team coming up the way it has lately. And according to Donovan here, it's not just a flash in the pan, either. It looks as though they had hit their stride and meant to keep it up until the end of the season."

"You can lay a stack of blues on dat," here spoke up the individual referred to as "Donovan." "Dose guys has got more pepper in dem dan a Mexican stew. De way dey practice an' de way dey play sure has got me scared stiff. I knows a snappy football team when I sees one, an' you can take it from me dem guys has de goods, and plenty of dem."

"Well, you see how things stand," said their leader, when Donovan had finished. "If we don't do something, and do it pretty quick, we'll be cooked—hashed—done brown on both sides."

There were significant looks exchanged among his auditors, and at last one of them said:

"Well, what's your plan? Do you think we could buy one of the 'Blue' players? It would be worth our while to ante up something handsome, if you think it could be done."

"No chanct in de world," spoke up Donovan disgustedly, "dey're all straighter'n a string, an' I tink any guy what made a proposition like dat to one o' them would need a ambulance mighty quick."

"That leaves us only one thing to do, then," spoke the leader; "if we can't buy one of them, we'll have to steal one, that's all. We'll have to pinch one of the players some way, and keep him until the big game is over. Then we can let him go, and if we play our cards right nobody will ever get on to who turned the trick."

If, as is altogether unlikely, there existed any lingering scruple among those present at taking part in any such project, the thought of the ruin impending over their heads quickly banished such thoughts. All that remained to be discussed was which player should be kidnapped, and there were various opinions on this point. But the voice of Donovan decided the question.

"De best man we can crimp," he said, "is Henderson, de quarterback. He's de guy what gives de signals, an' it will stand de whole bunch on deir heads. Besides," with a crafty grin, "he ain't quite as big as some of de other huskies, an' dere's no use makin' ourselves any more trouble dan we got to."

"I'll provide a good safe place to keep him in," said Bloom, the leader. "There's a place over Mike's saloon, on the outskirts of the town, that will be just the thing, and there won't be any questions asked, either."

So the plans for kidnapping the unconscious Tom were finally settled and disposed of.

Bloom immediately set about perfecting his plans. He realized that he was confronted with a difficult problem. He knew that it would be necessary for him to capture Tom at some time when he was not in the company of his two comrades, and from what his spy, Donovan, had told him, he knew that the three were seldom separated for any length of time. But he finally evolved a plan, and without loss of time set about putting it in action.

He secured the use of a powerful automobile, and put it in charge of one of his trusted lieutenants. The man was carefully instructed in the part he was to play, and was intrusted with a note that he was to deliver to Tom at a certain time. Thus the trap was laid, and Bloom settled back to wait for the proper time to spring it.

And fate seemed to play into his hands. Toward dusk of the Tuesday immediately preceding Thanksgiving Day Bert and Dick had occasion to go to town, and as Tom had some studying to do, they left him in his room and set out on their errand.

This was the time for which the gambler had been waiting. His spies immediately sent him word of the favorable condition of affairs. Excitedly he slammed the receiver of the telephone on its hook and sent word to the man in charge of the automobile. The latter immediately cranked up his car, and a few minutes later the big limousine rolled quietly up to Tom's dormitory. The driver, who was dressed in ordinary chauffeur's garb, mounted the stairs to the entrance, and when his ring was answered by the appearance of an attendant, requested him to deliver a letter that he handed him to "Mr. Tom Henderson."

A few moments later Tom was interrupted in his studies by a knock on the door of his room, and on opening it was handed an unstamped envelope. Somewhat surprised, he drew forth a yellow slip of paper that proved to be a telegraph blank. Tom read the words scrawled across it, in careless, hasty writing.

"Dear Tom," the message read, "am in town just for one evening, and want you to drop in and see me. I would visit you if possible, but have some friends with me, and so cannot. Just to make sure of your coming I'm sending my car for you. Please don't disappoint me." The letter was signed "Dave."

"Why," thought Tom, "that must be Dave Rutgers. I should say I would go to see him. I haven't laid eyes on the old sinner since I came to college."

Crumpling the yellow slip into a ball, he flung it into a corner of the room and hastily donned his coat and hat. As he was about to leave the room he hesitated a moment, and started back. But after a second he started out again, and slammed the door after him. "I'll be back in a couple of hours," he thought. "Bert and Dick probably won't return much before that, so there's no use writing a note telling them where I've gone." With this thought he dismissed the matter from his mind, and hurried down to the waiting auto. He stepped in, the chauffeur slammed the door, and the big machine glided noiselessly away, at a rapid gait.

About ten o'clock that evening Bert and Dick returned, and on their way to their room pounded on Tom's door. They received no reply, so concluded that he must be asleep, and passed on.

But when they stopped at his room the next morning, as was their invariable custom, and received no answer to repeated summons, they began to feel uneasy.

"Perhaps he's stolen a march on us and gone down early," suggested Dick.

"Possible," answered Bert, "but more likely he's just 'playing possum.'" As he spoke he seized the knob to rattle the door, and the door swung open!

"Why, he's not in here," exclaimed Bert, as he gazed about the room; "and what's more," he continued excitedly, "he hasn't been here all night, either. It's easy to see that the bed hasn't been slept in."

"That mighty queer," said Dick uneasily. "Where do you suppose he can have gone?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, I'm sure," said Bert. "He didn't say anything to you about going anywhere, did he?"

"Not a word," said Dick, "and I think if he had expected to be away any length of time he would have told one of us about it."

"Something might have come up unexpectedly," said Bert; "but then he'd have left a note for us. I—but what's that over in the corner!" he suddenly exclaimed, "looks as though it might be a telegram."

As he spoke he pounced on the crumpled ball that Tom had tossed there the evening before, and hastily smoothed it out. Then he and Dick read the words written on it.

"That explains why he went," said Bert when they had mastered its contents. "But it doesn't explain where he went or why he didn't get back before this." They gazed at each other a few seconds, and each saw his own fears mirrored in the eyes of his friend.

"There's something wrong somewhere," declared Dick at length, "and it's up to us to find out what."

"It looks that way," said Bert. Then he continued, "this isn't a regular telegram, you see. It looks as though the person writing it had just scribbled the message on the handiest scrap of paper he could find, which happened to be this."

"It may give us a clue to the writer," said Dick, as a sudden thought flashed across his mind; "there are several telegraph offices in the town, and probably if we showed that slip in any of them we could learn what office it came from. There must be some identifying mark on it. Then the people in that office might be able to give us some clue as to who wrote it."

"It's worth trying, anyway," said Bert after a brief consideration. "And the sooner we start the better. I'm getting more worried every minute."

With all thoughts of breakfast forgotten, they hurried from the college, and were not long in reaching the railroad depot where the main telegraph office was located. They showed the slip to the operator, asking him if he could tell them from what station it had been taken.

"Sure," he said, looking at a figure in the upper left-hand corner, "that came from station 'D,' on the corner of Spruce and Elm Streets."

The boys thanked him and hurried out. The address the operator had given them was nearly a mile away, and they broke into a run. As they went along they noticed that the houses lining the streets began to wear a very tumble-down aspect, and to thin out more and more.

"This is a rotten neighborhood," panted Bert; "we must be getting pretty near the edge of the town."

They had almost reached their destination when, as they passed a particularly ramshackle building with a saloon on the ground floor, they became conscious of a terrific hubbub going on within. There was a sound of shouting and blows, and every once in a while the whole crazy building would fairly rock as some heavy body crashed against the walls from within.

Even as Bert and Dick stood watching in amazement, a muffled shout arose above the general uproar that they both recognized. "That was Tom's voice for a million!" yelled Bert, and without another word the two friends made a dash for the door that evidently led to the floor above. Without hesitating to find out whether or not it was locked they crashed against it. Their combined weight acted like a battering ram and the door, torn from its hinges, fell inward. They rushed up the rickety stairs in great bounds and, crashing through another door that barred their way, found themselves precipitated into the midst of a fierce struggle.

On the floor four men were locked in a deadly grapple. The meager furniture of the room was splintered and broken, and the whole place looked as though a cyclone had struck it. With a yell Bert and Dick plunged into the struggle.

And now the odds were more even. Instead of three to one they were now three to three, and the tide of battle began to turn. Bert and Dick tore Tom's assailants away from him and he staggered to his feet. He was battered and bruised, but still full of fight. "Come on, fellows, wade into them," he shouted hoarsely. His tried and true comrades needed no second bidding, and now began a battle compared to which the other seemed mild. The three thugs who had been trying to overpower Tom were brutal fighters, and withal were men of muscle. But it did not take long to decide which side would win. The three friends, every fighting instinct in them aroused, and the lust of battle hot within them, fought with a fury and concentrated power that nothing could withstand.

Slowly they forced the thugs across the room, planting blow after blow with deadly effect. Their opponents gave ground steadily, unable to withstand the terrific punishment meted out to them. Suddenly the one nearest the door made a dash for it, and the others followed suit. The three comrades started in hot pursuit, but reached the street only to see the last of their erstwhile antagonists disappearing around the nearest corner, and Bert called a halt.

"No use chasing them," he said, when they had gotten their breath a little. "They know the neighborhood and we don't, and the chances are we'd never catch them. We licked 'em good and proper though, didn't we?"

"That was some scrap, all right," said Dick with a long whistle, "and we didn't get off scot free, either. My left eye feels as though a coal wagon had fallen on it."

"It looks it, too," said Bert with a wry grin; "we're all marked up a little, but I'll bet that bunch of roughnecks will remember us for a little while to come. But how did they come to get you, Tom? Tell us all about it."

Tom then told them about receiving the note, and getting into the automobile. "After that," he said, "there's not much to tell. It was dark, and I didn't notice what kind of a neighborhood that rascally chauffeur was taking me into. After a while he stopped and opened the door, telling me we had arrived at Dave's house. As I stepped out those three 'bad men' jumped on me. One of them pressed a rag soaked in chloroform over my face, and I went to sleep almost before I had a chance to fight. When I came to I found myself in that room, with one lowbrow on guard. I waited until my head cleared a little, and then I sailed into him. The noise of the shindy brought up the other two, and then the argument got pretty hot. There's no doubt but what they'd have won the decision soon, too, if you fellows hadn't happened to butt in just as you did. I couldn't have held out much longer against odds like that."

"Yes, it is rather lucky," agreed Bert; "we weren't a minute too soon."

"How did you learn where I was?" inquired Tom.

Bert then told him how they had discovered the slip of paper containing the note to him, and gave a brief outline of his and Dick's actions after discovering it.

"Pretty good detective work," said Tom admiringly. "Sherlock Holmes would better look out for his laurels."

Meanwhile they had been walking back toward the college, and with the aid of a street car were not long in reaching it.

As they were crossing the campus, they met Reddy.

"For the love of Hivin," exclaimed the trainer, as he caught sight of their swollen faces, "what in the world have you been doin' anyway? You haven't been lambastin' each other, have ye?"

"Not exactly," said Bert, and then proceeded to give the trainer a detailed account of the recent happenings. Reddy listened attentively, and when Bert finished made no reply at once. After a thoughtful silence, he said: "Well, it's something of a mystery, Wilson, but one thing is certain—without Henderson the team would have been so crippled that we wouldn't have had a chance in the world of winning, and I have an idea that the bunch connected with Mike's place, where he was held prisoner, have a pretty big interest in our winning or losing, in a money way. And the two facts put together may come pretty near giving the correct answer."

"I imagined it might be something of the kind," said Bert; "I wonder what chance there is of bringing the scoundrels to justice."

"You'll bet we'll do everything possible," said Reddy grimly, "but now, you'd better pack Henderson off to bed, and Trent had better put a bit o' beefsteak on that damaged 'lamp' of his! This afternoon we start for New York, and we want everybody fit."



CHAPTER XV

THE DASH FOR THE GOAL

"The day, the important day, Big with the fate of Cato and of Rome,"

quoted Dick.

"It is the sun of Austerlitz," chimed in Tom, not to be outdone in quotation, as he drew aside the curtains of the hotel window and saw the bright rays streaming over the city roofs.

"As long as it isn't Waterloo, we'll have no kick coming," added Bert. "I'm tickled to death to see that it's this kind of weather. I'd hate to play on as muddy a field as we had with the 'Maroons.'"

"The paper predicted rain yesterday," said Tom, throwing up the window, "but from the bite in the air, it seems cold enough for snow. How would you like to play on a snowy field, fellows?"

"Not for mine," replied Dick emphatically, "although the Western teams do it often. Only a few years ago Chicago and Michigan played in what was almost a blizzard."

"I'll bet the teams kept warm enough," commented Bert; "but it must have been tough on the spectators."

"O, those dyed-in-the-wool football fiends don't care for a little thing like that," said Dick. "We'll never play to empty benches, no matter what the weather. But hurry up now and come down to breakfast. We won't dare to eat very much at lunch and we'd better fill up now."

It was Thanksgiving Day, and the Blues had come up to New York the night before, so that they might have a good night's rest before the most important game of the season. The game was to be played at the Polo Grounds and public interest was so great that all the seats had been sold out long in advance. It was a foregone conclusion that the vast amphitheater would be crowded to capacity when the teams should come trotting out on the gridiron.

The excitement was the greater because of the superb form shown by both teams all through the season. Seldom had competitors been more equally matched. Both had come through their schedules unbeaten, and the shrewdest followers of the game were hard put to it to pick a winner. Even the games played by each with the "Maroons" did not give much of a line. The "Greys," to be sure, had made two touchdowns, while the Blues had only tallied one. But, on the other hand, the "Maroons" had scored on the "Greys," while the Blues had been able to keep their goal intact. The "dope" was perplexing and the wisest tipsters were all at sea. Man for man, the "Greys" had a slight advantage in weight. But the Blues were admitted to have the finest backfield in the country, and Wilson was "touted" as the greatest player seen at full for the last twenty years. All in all, it was a "toss up," and many predicted that neither side would score.

But no such neutral tint shadowed the rosy dreams of the Blues. They were full of fight, and brimming over with confidence. All their cripples had come back except Ellis, who was just able to limp around without a crutch. But Morley in his place had rounded to in great shape and there was scarcely a shade to choose between the two. Boyd's knee, hurt in the game with the "Maroons," was all right again and, best of all, good old Hodge was back again at right tackle, having at last made up his conditions. He plugged up the only really weak place on the team, and made the line twenty per cent. stronger than it had been without him. For all these reasons the team felt itself unbeatable, and were eager for the hour to come when they might prove it. Even Dan, the old bulldog that served the team as a mascot, moved about with unusual alacrity and seemed to have caught the contagion.

"He's actually smiling," declared Tom, as he patted him affectionately. "It's up to you to bring us luck to-day, old fellow."

Hendricks and Reddy, although delighted to see the way the boys were feeling, felt it incumbent to add a word of caution.

"You're going to win, boys," said the former; "but you'll have your work cut out for you. Those fellows are never easy, and there'll be something doing every minute. Get the jump at the very start, and keep forcing the fight. Go in for straight football until you feel them out, and don't resort to the 'fireworks' until you have to. And keep your eyes on that quarterback of theirs. He's one of the trickiest in the game and always liable to start something."

"Not forgetting the full," added Reddy, "they say he's as big and strong as a bull elephant, and it's aching he'll be to stack up against you, Wilson."

"Let him come," grinned Bert. "I'll try to make it interesting."

Even New York, big and indifferent as it is to most things taking place within it, was agog with interest over the contest. The front pages of the papers were devoted to a review and comparison of the teams, and bulletin boards were prepared for the great crowds expected to gather about the offices during the progress of the game. Broadway and Fifth Avenue were alive with flags and the college colors, and the lobbies of the hotels were packed with a swarming mob of undergraduates. Tally-hos with merry parties and tooting horns rolled up the Avenue, and hundreds of automobiles joined in the procession. The subways and elevated roads were crowded to the doors, and at one o'clock, although the game did not begin till two, there was not a vacant seat in the vast stadium, while thousands of deadheads seized every point of vantage on the bluffs that surrounded the grounds. The stands were a perfect riot of beauty and color, and the stentorian voices of the rival rooters, to which was joined the treble of the girls made the air echo with songs and shouts of defiance.

After a light lunch the teams had been bundled into swift autos and hurried to the field, where they made their final preparations and underwent the last scrutiny of coach and trainers. Both were in superb fettle and ready to present their strongest line-up, and when they tumbled out on the field, amid frantic roars of greeting, there seemed nothing to choose between them.

The preliminary practice was sharp and snappy. The crisp tang of the air was a tonic to which all responded, and the inspiration of the huge crowds spurred them on to do their prettiest. Bert attracted especial attention as he kicked goals in practice. His fame had preceded him, and the college men in the stands were kept busy at the behest of a sister—or somebody else's sister—in "pointing out Wilson." Other heroes of the gridiron also came in for their meed of admiration, and by the time the game was started expectation was wound up to the highest pitch. Everyone felt, as the young gladiators faced each other, that the game would be "for blood."

Nor were they disappointed. From the moment the referee's whistle blew, the playing was of the most desperate kind. The "Greys" had won the choice of goal and the Blues had the kick-off. Bert poised himself carefully and shot the ball down the field far and high. Hamilton made a fair catch at the thirty yard line, but Caldwell had gone down like a flash, and nailed him before he could run back.

The ball belonged to the "Greys." Dudley went through left and tackle for a gain of five. Hamilton gained two more on the other side of the line. Again Dudley tried between center and guard, but caught a Tartar in Dick, and was thrown back for a loss of three. The bucking game was not panning out and the ball was passed back to the giant fullback, Livingston, for a kick. The snapping was good and the kick speedy, but Bert burst through the line like a whirlwind and by a superb leap blocked it in mid-air. It was a rattling play and the Blue stand shook with cheers.

The teams lined up for the scrimmage on the "Grey's" thirty-five yard line. Hodge plunged through for seven with the whole "Grey" team sprawling over him. A forward pass, beautifully engineered by Tom, garnered eight more. Martin skirted left end for a pretty run of fifteen yards, but was tackled so heavily by Livingston that he dropped the ball, and Felton pounced upon it. It was a close call for the "Greys" and a sigh of relief went up from their partisans when on the next play a great punt by Minden sent it whirling down the field and out of danger. A furious battle ensued, but Fortune seemed angry at the Blues for their disregard of her gifts, and the quarter ended with the ball in the middle of the field.

Nor, try as they would, could they gain in the next period against the stonewall defense put up by the "Greys." Perhaps the Blue attack was somewhat more savage than their own, but they made up for that by superior weight in the line. Their signals were working perfectly and they moved with the precision of a machine.

Twelve minutes of playing time had elapsed when, with the ball on the "Greys'" forty yard line, Bert suddenly dropped back for a kick. The "Greys" burst through, but it got off perfectly. High in the air it soared like a hawk, headed straight for the goal. A groan rose from the "Grey" stands, while those in the Blue sprang to their feet, in a burst of frantic cheering. But, just as it neared the bar, a stiff gust of wind from the north caught it and deflected it from its course. It curved down and out, striking the post and bounded back into the field, where Ensley fell upon it.

The hearts of the Blues went down into their boots, while their opponents capered about and hugged each other.

"What's the use playing against such luck as that?" growled Drake disgustedly.

"It's tough, all right," agreed Bert, "but they can't get all the breaks. It'll be our turn next."

Before the ball could be put in play the period ended, and the teams went to their quarters for the fifteen minute rest before the final struggle.

"Hard luck, boys," consoled the coach, "but things are due to change. Wilson deserved that goal if he didn't get it, but that's part of the game. You've got their number. Keep on hammering the line, and if you find that won't work, uncork that variation of the forward pass. Go in now and eat them up."

As the fellows filed out, they passed Dan, the bulldog, dressed in a brand-new suit of blue in honor of the occasion. Tom stooped and patted his head.

"Get on the job, old boy," he urged. "Show those fellows that you are the real thing in mascots."

Dan barked reassuringly. But he took his time in thinking it over. And the hard luck of the Blues still persisted.

A fruitless attempt to buck the line by either team failing to yield the desired gain, there followed a kicking duel between the two fullbacks in which Bert easily carried off the honors. But slips and off-side playing neutralized the advantage.

On the "Greys" forty yard line they tried out "Bull" Hendricks' new variation. The ball was passed to Bert, apparently for a drop kick, but immediately on receiving the ball, he started on an end run as though the move had been a "plant" to draw in the end rush. Thinking the whole thing a fake, the halfback at first hesitated to come in, but Bert kept on parallel to the line of scrimmage until the half dared hesitate no longer, as it looked certain that Bert was bent on a run around the ends. In the meantime the long run had given Drake time to get down the field, and Bert, turning swiftly, sent the ball to him in a beautiful spiral swing. It would have worked to a charm had not Drake tripped as he started on his run and been savagely tackled by Livingston before he could regain his feet.

"Another good thing gone wrong," groaned Dick. And it certainly seemed as though "the stars in their courses" were fighting for the "Greys."

A moment's breathing space, and the fourth quarter opened up. With a strength born of desperation the teams went at each other hammer and tongs. The "Greys" were heartened by the good fortune that had declared so steadily for them and they played like wild men. A brilliant run around left end netted them twenty yards, and a forward pass gained ten more. Inspired by their success they "forced" their luck until they were on the Blues fifteen yard line with the ball in their possession. But here the Blues braced savagely.

The crowds were standing now and crazy with excitement. The "Grey" followers shrieked to their favorites to "put it over," while from the Blue stands their football song came booming from twenty thousand throats:

"Steady, boys, steady. You're fighting for your father, You're fighting for your mother, You're fighting for your sister, You're fighting for your brother, You're fighting for the Blue. Hit them up, rip them up, tear their line in two. Steady, boys, steady."

Panting, pale, determined, the team heard, and their muscles stiffened. Livingston plunged in but was thrown back on his head. Dudley tried and failed to gain an inch. The line was impregnable, and Ensley dropped back for a kick. But like lightning, Bert was on him so suddenly that the ball shot up and back over Ensley's head. Without checking his speed, Bert scooped it up on the bound and was off down the field.

Such running! It was flying. Its like had never been seen on a football field. On he went, like a bullet. Down that living lane of forty thousand people, he tore along, his eyes blazing, his head held high, a roar like thunder in his ears, while beneath him the white lines slipped away like a swiftly flowing river. On and on he went, nearer and nearer to the goal.

Behind him came the "Greys" like a pack of maddened wolves. But the Blues were coming too. Savagely they hurled themselves on the enemy, grasping, holding, tackling and brought them to the ground. Then from the tangle of legs and arms emerged Tom and Dick, and running like the wind put down the field to the help of their flying comrade.

Victory! Before him was the goal, but twenty yards away. Behind him pounded his pursuers, who had made up ground while he was dodging. He could hear their panting and almost feel their breath upon his neck. One more tremendous leap, and like an arrow from a bow, he flashed over the line for a touchdown. He had made a run of ninety yards through a broken field in the last minute of play.

* * * * *

Some days later when the "tumult and the shouting" had died away—when the "sound of revelry by night" had ceased—when the "lid" for a moment open was again "on"—when the snake dances and the bonfires and the toasts were over—Bert, more than ever the idol of his college, together with Tom and Dick, were bidding good-by to Mr. Melton at the railroad station.

"And remember," he called through the window as his train pulled out, "I'm going to hold you boys to that promise to come out to my Montana ranch. I'll give you a corking good time."

How "corking" a time they had, how full of dash and danger, adventure and excitement, will be told in

"BERT WILSON IN THE ROCKIES."

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 83, "althought" changed to "although" (broad grin, "although)

Page 138, "Elllis" changed to "Ellis" (Poor old Ellis)

Page 205, "pecipitated" changed to "precipitated" (found themselves precipitated)

Page 220, "yard" changed to "yards" (twenty yards away)

"Good-natured" is printed with the hyphen, without the hyphen and as one word (goodnaturedly) in this text. This was retained.

THE END