It nerved all of the players up as never before and the struggle was the most bitter yet. But with less than a minute and a half to play Dave secured the ball and made a clever pass to Phil, who started up the field. Babcock guarded him on one side and Roger on the other, and in a trice another sensational run was on.
"Down him! Down him!" was the frantic yell from Rockville, and just as Phil, panting for breath, reached the goal-line he was caught and thrown with tremendous violence, his head striking the ground with great force.
"Another touchdown!"
"Oak Hall wins the game!"
It was true, the touchdown had been made, fairly and squarely. With drooping hearts Rockville came out of the mix-up. There was nothing more to be done, for all but quarter of a minute of the time was up. Phil lay on the ball motionless, his face buried in the grass.
"He's hurt!" cried Dave, bending over his chum. "Phil!"
There was no answer, and now Roger and some others came to the aid of the fallen one. They turned Phil over. His face was pale and his eyes closed. He made not the slightest sound.
"Call the doctor!" said Dave, in as steady a voice as he could command. "I—I hope he isn't hurt very much."
Water was brought and Phil's face was bathed, but still he made no sound nor did he open his eyes. Then the doctor came up and took charge.
"He has received a severe shock," said the physician, after an examination. "As yet I cannot tell how badly he is affected. His head is bleeding, and it is possible he may have fractured his skull. We had best remove him to the house."