The ball was given to Quimby the very first thing, and, aided by good interference, with the whole backfield behind him, he was rammed through for fully seven yards, carrying the ball into Fardale’s territory once more.
But Viewland did not stop there. With merciless persistency she hammered at Fardale’s line, making gains that took her within twenty-eight yards of the home team’s goal. Even then it is possible that the gains might have continued, but the visitors made an open and plainly seen forward pass.
Instantly the whistle sounded clear, the umpire declared the ball as belonging to Fardale, and there was a sudden change in affairs.
Shannock gave the signal:
"3—33—Y—32—201—76—16."
It was a call for Dick Merriwell to take the ball through center.
Dick felt that something must be done to arouse Fardale and put the team on its mettle, so, the instant he got the ball he went in after Shannock, who had plunged between Buckhart and Gordan. Shannock managed to butt an opening, and through this Dick shot, making fully ten yards before being tackled. Then Moulton and Warne nailed him, but when they had dragged him down he crawled forward, with them clinging to him, and the ball was close to the forty-five-yard line, when it seemed that several tons came down on Merriwell and held him fast.
The breath was driven from Dick’s body, and he fancied he heard his bones cracking. The pressure was something frightful to endure, but no sound escaped his lips. When they rose from him he lay there, stretched limply on the ground.
Into the heart of Jabez Lynch leaped a wild thrill of joy.
"Merriwell’s done for!" he muttered.