"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 a rush. He was a big tackle, and Tom was much smaller. Yet he did not hesitate.
"Look out!" yelled the Holwell player, hoping to intimidate Tom, as he rushed at him. But Tom was not made of the material that frightens easily. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself for the tackle. He fairly hurled himself at the man, through a mist of rain, and he caught him. Down they went together in a heap, Tom groaning as he felt his left ankle giving way under the strain.
In vain the big tackle tried to get up and struggle on. Tom held fast; and then it was all over, for the other Elmwood players, seeing their mistake, hurried to Tom's aid, and a small human mountain piled up on him and the Holwell lad.
"Down!" howled the latter, ceasing his wriggling. The whistle blew, ending the game, with the ball but a scant foot from Elmwood's goal line.
"Good boy!" called Captain Denton into Tom's ear. "You saved our bacon for us."