CHAPTER XXX.
THE FIRST HALF.
Stubby Fisher, the Highland quarter-back, was under that ball, and he caught it cleanly, passed it instantly to Walker, who, like Sterndale, was playing full back, and Walker smashed the oval with such furious force that Sterndale was compelled to try to take it on the run, the result being a muff. The Highlanders came surging down like a flood from a broken dam, but Don Scott was on hand, and he fell on the ball, while Jack Powell, Highland’s left tackle, leaped upon him like a panther. The ball was down on Rockspur’s thirty-yard line, but the home team had it, and there was great cheering from the bleachers on both sides.
“Clever, Scott—clever!” said Sterndale, approvingly, as the men untangled. “The right man in the right place.”
The players lined up quickly, Chatterton preparing to snap the ball back. They crouched close together, facing each other, each Highlander watching his man, each Rockspurite ready to do his part in handling the ball or in the work of interference. It was a thrilling spectacle, and again the uproar lulled somewhat, so that Sterndale was heard distinctly giving the signals.
There was a sudden, quick movement. Chatterton snapped to Renwood, who fumbled and lost the ball; Highland’s left guard, Hartford, came through on the jump, got it, but—also fumbled. Renwood redeemed himself by recovering the oval almost before the spectators could realize he had lost it, and it went to Scott, who tried Powell and made two yards.
This was football! It was electrifying in its swift changes. The groan caused by Renwood’s fumble had barely reached the lips of the Rockspur spectators when it changed to a shout of joy on seeing him immediately recover the pigskin and carry out the captain’s signaled directions.
But two yards was not a gain worth mentioning, and Scott had found Powell there to stay. He felt like immediately making another try at the fellow, but Sterndale decided otherwise.
“Good boy, Renwood!” breathed the captain. “Saved yourself prettily. It’s all right.”
But Dolph shook his head, evidently little pleased with himself. Again the crouching men were waiting, and Dick fell back. As the signal came, the ball went flying back to the big captain, who punted; but it was an inferior kick, and Garrison, left half for Highland, caught the leather in the middle of the field, where he was downed in a flash by John Smith.
Highland began the attack, but it was quickly over, for Garrison lost the ball on his first plunge into Rockspur’s line, having been sent across against Ford, the deaf-mute, who seemed rooted in the ground like an iron post, and Murphy came down on the yellow oval like a load of rocks, with six men on top of him.