"Three minutes!" announced the timekeeper.
Otis got two at centre and Rollins again fell back to kick. The ball came to him low and he juggled it. Claflin poured through the right of the line, the ball bounded back from some upthrown arm and went dancing along the field. Blue players and maroon dashed after it. Hall almost had it, but was toppled aside by a Claflin man. Carmine dived for it and missed. Then Tim Otis and a Claflin forward dropped upon it simultaneously and struggled for its possession. Tim always maintained that he got more of it than his opponent, and got it first, but the referee awarded it to Claflin and dismayedly Brimfield gathered together and lined up only twenty yards from her goal!
"Two minutes, fellows!" shouted the Claflin quarter-back exultantly. "We've got time to do it! Come on now, come on! We can win it right now! All together, Claflin! We've got them on the run! They're all-in! They're ready to quit!"
The Claflin full-back faked a kick and circled around Lee's end for a six-yard gain. Then the Blue's right half plugged the line and got three more past Hall. It was one to go on third down. Another attack on Hall was pushed back, but Claflin made it first down by sending Cox squirming around Thayer. The ball was on the eleven yards now. It was Brimfield's turn to know the fear of defeat. Edwards implored and bullied. Claflin banged at Gilbert for a yard. A quarter-back run caught Steve Edwards napping and put the pigskin on the seven yards. Brimfield's adherents, massed along the side line, shouted defiantly. Across the darkening, trampled field, the Claflin cohorts were imploring a touchdown.
"Third down! Six to go!" shouted the referee, hurrying out of the way.
"On side, Claflin right end and tackle!" warned the umpire.
The signals came again and the Claflin full-back smashed into the left of the opposing team. But it was like striking a stone wall that time. Perhaps the ball nestled a few inches nearer the goal, but no more than that. It was Don who bore the brunt of that attack and after the piled-up bodies had been pulled aside he and the Claflin full-back remained on the ground. On came the trainers with splashing buckets. Don came to with the first swash of the big, smelly sponge on his face. Danny Moore was grinning down at him.
"Are ye hurt?" he asked.
Don considered that a moment. Then he shook his head. "I'm—all right,—Danny," he murmured. "Just—help me—up."
"Don't be in a hurry. Take all the time the law allows ye." Danny's fingers travelled inquiringly over the boy's body. "Where do you feel it?" he asked.