The dismay and disgust of Hudsonville knew no bounds, for, in the last few minutes of play, she had been tied by a touch-down. If a goal were made from that, she was beaten.
The ball was brought out when Steve Nunn had hugged Dick Merriwell before everybody, and Steve held it for the kick.
Dick was the one to kick, and he was careful, taking into consideration the wind. His kick was perfect, and the ball sailed over the bar in handsome style.
Then, although Hudsonville was given the ball to kick off, all knew Fardale had won by such a thrilling and sensational finish that the story would be handed down as something to wonder over in the traditions of football at the academy.
When the whistle blew, with the ball on Fardale’s forty-yard line, the cadets poured onto the field and surrounded the players, who had lifted Dick Merriwell aloft.
But Old Joe Crowfoot was with the first, and he flung the bathrobe over Dick’s shoulders. Then, again, waving one hand in the air, the old redskin gave a yell that was the battle-cry of victory of his tribe. His black eyes were gleaming with pride and joy.
"Injun Heart!" he cried, pointing at Dick. "Him heap mighty young chief! Him great white boy warrior!"
"That’s what he is, Joseph!" roared Brad Buckhart. "He’s a holy terror, and no mistake! He can have my ranch and my last hoof and horn!"
"Say, I don’t want to play on the team any more!" cried Bob Singleton. "He can have my place right along!"
Then they cheered, marching about the field with Dick on their shoulders.