Now she was past the opponent’s thirty yards and the cheers from the Blue’s supporters were imperative and continuous. The time-keeper had passed the five-minute word. It was now or never, for once let Broadwood gain possession of the ball and she would punt far down the field from where Yardley could never retrace her steps in the time remaining.
It was first down on Broadwood’s twenty-seven yards. Loring and Colton held a consultation. Colton was for risking all in a try at goal from placement, but Kapenhysen, when called on for an opinion, begged them not to try it.
“I’ll do my best, old man,” he panted, “but I’m pretty near all in. Let’s hammer it over. Anyhow, don’t kick until you have to.”
So back to the hammer-and-tongs plays they went, but now, in the shadow of her goal, Broadwood awoke from her lethargy and played grand football. Berwick went in at center for Hill, Minturn replaced Dickenson, Smith went in for Hadlock. But, in spite of the fresh material, or perhaps because Broadwood, too, was sending in substitutes, Yardley won her next first down by the barest three inches. Dan remembered for a long time his suspense while the officials bent over the chain measuring the distance, and the great shout of relief that went up as the referee waved the linesman on.
Loring doubted now whether the next three downs would bring the required ten yards if he continued the attack on the line. He would have liked to try that double forward pass, but hesitated because, as he knew, to be at its best it should follow a “bunch” pass to the other side of the line, and Yardley’s attempts at this play had not been brilliantly successful. Still pondering and studying as he leaned over behind Berwick and looked around at the backs, the solution came to him. He gathered the team about him, issued his instructions, gave the signals and the backs took up the kicking formation.
“Forward pass!” cried the Broadwood quarter. “Look out for forward pass, fellows!”
Back went the ball, off raced the back-field to form in a bunch at the right. But a groan arose from the Yardley side of the field; Kapenhysen had fumbled the ball! And although he recovered it long before Broadwood broke through, and although having recovered it, he tucked it against his body and went straight into the melee before he was downed, yet a first down had been wasted and the ball was no nearer the goal-line than before. They never knew on the side-lines that Kapenhysen’s little fumble had been intentional, nor did the enemy guess it now. Encouraged, she set up her line again, wearied, but grimly determined.
Again came the signals:
“43—53—177—6!” And again: “43—53—177—6!”