The pluck of Scott gave Rockspur new life, the onslaught of the visitors being checked. But time was flying, and, as yet, no opportunity had arrived for the home team to make the coveted score. Highland was fighting beautifully to hold her own till the time was up.
There were many swift changes, but most of the struggle took place near the middle of the field, and the hopes of the Rockspur spectators fell lower and lower as the second half waned and drew near a close. With every sharp play by the visitors the bleachers to the left of the grand-stand heaved with crimson and shrieked with joy. The bleachers on the other side tried to keep it up, but a note of doubt and failing confidence had crept into the cheering. Old Uncle Ike, however, remained undaunted, declaring over and over that, “Our boys will git there yit.”
“It’s a shame!” fluttered Dora Deland; “but I felt sure we’d lose when I heard they’d taken Don Scott back. Just see how he lost ten yards for us by striking that Highland fellow!”
“As it happened, that made no difference,” said Zadia Renwood, immediately. “I think you are unjust to Don Scott. He has played splendidly.”
“What has he done? He hasn’t made a touchdown. Dolph did that.”
“After Don Scott’s run had made it possible. Rockspur owes to Scott the points it has made.”
“You’re just the queerest girl, Zade!” exclaimed Dora. “You know Don Scott hates your brother.”
“Is that a good reason why I should be unjust to him? Look! look! He downed that Highland fellow that time!”
Don had been waiting for the opportunity, and, with the ball tucked under his arm, he shot out from the midst of the interference, lowered his head and bowled Powell over handsomely. He made a gain of ten yards before being stopped by Walker.
After that, Scott felt a little better, for he had shown that Highland’s left tackle was vulnerable.