"Whoop!" he gasped. "Go it, Dick. Wild mustangs can’t catch you now, pard!"
But Emerson was laying for the runner, as young Merriwell saw. Having no interference, Dick knew he must depend on his own skill.
Could he deceive the triumphant full-back who had lately made a touch-down? He had been unable to stop Emerson from scoring, and a fierce desire not to be balked himself by the fellow seized upon him.
Emerson was crouching, ready to tackle him, no matter which way he turned. Dick did not hear the roaring of the spectators. He heard nothing then, for every particle of energy within him was concentrated on the task he hoped to accomplish.
As he approached Emerson, Dick bore to right. Yet in his manner the runner suggested that he meant to dodge the other way, and Emerson was prepared for the movement.
True enough, of a sudden, Dick seemed to make a dart to go past on the other hand. Emerson whirled to meet him.
Then, like a flash, and in a most amazing manner, the runner changed his course again, darting swiftly to the right.
Emerson was not steady on his feet when he turned and sprang to tackle Dick, but he knew no moment was to be lost if he would stop the runner. His uncertainty caused him to make a false spring, and he saw Dick go clear of his grasp.
Then, with the Fardale witnesses shrieking like a lot of wild Indians, Dick Merriwell continued down the field, having no tackler before him, and shot over the line for a touch-down.