From Butcher Stevens' boot the ball went twisting and veering down the field. Stover went down, dodging instinctively, hardly knowing what he did. Then as he started to spring at the runner an interferer from behind flung himself on him and sent him sprawling, but not until one arm had caught and checked his man.
McCarty had stopped the runner, when Dink sprang to his feet, wild with the rage of having missed his tackle.
"Steady!" cried the voice of his captain.
He lined up hurriedly, seeing red. The interference started for him, he flung himself at it blindly and was buried under the body of the red-haired half. Powerless to move, humiliatingly held under the sturdy body, the passion of fighting rose in him again. He tried to throw him off, doubling up his fist, waiting until his arm was free.
"Why, you're easy, kid," said a mocking voice. "We'll come again."
The taunt suddenly chilled him. Without knowing how it happened, he laughed.
"That's the last time you get me, old rooster," he said, in a voice that did not belong to him.
He glanced back. Andover had gained fifteen yards.
"That comes from losing my head," he said quietly. "That's over."
It had come, the cold consciousness of which Cockrell had spoken, strange as the second wind that surprises the distressed runner.