The ball was now near Mount Morris’s eighteen yards and close to the right side of the field. Hanser and Caner failed to gain and Boynton took the ball on an end run and gained four yards, placing the pigskin on the enemy’s fourteen yards and in front of her goal. Mount Morris called time for an injury and Blake conferred with Derry, acting captain.
At that moment Monty, absorbed in anxious speculation as to the next play, felt a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Crail,” said Coach Bonner, and Monty followed the latter along the line. “Do you know who gave you that eye?” he asked.
Monty nodded. “Their left guard, sir.”
“He’s still in there, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Think you could get through him if you had the chance?”
“I know it,” replied Monty grimly.
Mr. Bonner clapped him on the back. “Go ahead then,” he said. “Tell Blake not to kick. Tell him we want a touchdown. Tell him to use the three-abreast formation and hammer that guard!”
Only fourteen to go and a good three minutes left! Monty ran in with his message to Nick Blake and took Caner’s head-guard from that player’s unwilling hand. Then he went back to position and awaited the whistle and the signal, and as he waited he fixed a speculative eye on the Mount Morris left guard. That player glared back from a disfigured countenance and Monty smiled secretly and trod the half-frozen sod to limber his legs. And then Mount Morris, having used her full allowance of time, formed her line again, and Blake looked around at his backs and cried “Formation B! Signal!” and Monty fell in between Hanser and Boynton and crouched.
Then he sprang ahead and Blake clapped the ball against his stomach and he smashed straight into that guard position and went on ripping and tearing through, yard after yard, until arms at his neck and arms gripping his legs and arms tugging at his waist brought him to a stop and he grunted “Down,” and let them push him back.