Right End Emerson

by Ralph Henry Barbour

“I—I’m scared!” he croaked.

“Fine stuff! Hand it on! I’ll be with you pretty soon, son, and we’ll show those red-legs how to play football!”

During the first half of the game McLeod had played left end and Lake right. Harley had showed himself just as much at home on the left of the line as in his accustomed position, but Lake, first substitute, had not equaled him. Lake had been boxed far too often, and, once, when he had missed a tackle almost under Kenly’s goal, the Cherry-and-Black’s quarter had dodged his way along the side line to the forty yards before he had been pulled down by Richards. Coach Cade had determined to try a new right end for the third quarter. Perhaps when the fourth period began Lake would go back again. Meanwhile new blood might help.

Kenly kicked off and Longstreth captured the short kick and was brought down with no gain. From the twenty-eight yards Alton began her journey. Kenly’s line from guard to guard was impregnable. That had been already proved. Her tackles, too, were clever and not easily fooled. In short, gains through the Kenly line were few and far between, and Alton had recourse now to end runs and occasional forward passes. Russell’s stage-fright lasted through two plays. Then he forgot to be scared, forgot everything but his overmastering desire to serve and win. After all, this was not greatly different from playing against the first. Those red-legged, red-sleeved opponents seemed no more in earnest than the old opponents and played no more desperately. The big, square-jawed tackle who faced him at times was no more formidable than Mart Proctor had been. In fact, Russell began to think that Mart was the better of the two, especially after Ned Richards, with a cunningly concealed ball, whizzed inside the big tackle for four yards.

Like the first half, the second proved the teams too evenly weighted and skilled for long gains by either side. Two yards, three, two yards again, and then a punt. Sometimes one or the other managed an end run that brought a larger gain, but neither team made first down by straight rushing until the third quarter was almost done. Then Kenly worked a criss-cross of a pattern as old as the hills and got seven yards through Stimson, placing the pigskin on Alton’s thirty-eight. Yet two minutes later the Gray-and-Gold was again in possession and Ned Richards’ voice was chanting his shrill signals.

Back and forth across the middle of the field went the ball. Penalties for off-side were many. There were a few for holding. Each team suffered about equally from these. The quarter came finally to an end and the rivals drew away and the ball was taken across the field and deposited close to the forty-five-yard line. Raleigh and Mawson trotted on, then Linthicum. But Lake did not come back. It didn’t occur to Russell to give consideration to this fact. The whistle blew again and the lines once more tensed. On the stands the prospect of a no-score game was already a favorite topic of discussion. The teams were too well matched for anything short of a miracle to break the dead-lock. Alton accepted the likelihood with better grace than Kenly, for Alton, until a few days since, had looked for defeat, and anything short of that was to be accepted with thanksgiving. Kenly, however, knowing of her ancient rival’s long-continued slump and realizing her own powers, had come to Alton looking not only for victory but a decisive and glorious one. Of the two forces it was Kenly Hall who saw the time shortening and the game drawing to an inconclusive end with the less satisfaction.

Once, soon after the last period started, Ned Richards brought the Alton stand to its feet with a thirty-yard run that, for one ecstatic moment seemed to spell a touchdown. But he was spilled on Kenly’s twenty-four, and, although Alton chanted lustily for a score, two rushes made no headway, a forward-pass grounded and Linthicum’s effort at a drop-kick was a sad performance. Coach Cade began on his reserves then, and from that moment new men appeared at short intervals. Jimmy joined soon after the period started, and afterwards came Cravath and Johnston and Smedley and still others.

Russell had long since proved Coach Cade’s wisdom. Harley McLeod was no more fleet of foot under kicks than Russell, nor were there more gains at Russell’s end of the line than at the other. At tackling Russell showed himself earnest and certain, and no Kenly back, having caught the booted ball, moved after Russell’s arms had clutched him. He was streaked of face, sore of muscles, lame of leg, but gloriously happy.

Kenly was becoming almost hysterical now in her mad efforts to score. Forward-passes that were on the face of them forlorn hopes sailed through the air. Twice the Cherry-and-Black almost made them good, but once Captain Proctor saved the day and once it was Russell who at the last moment shouldered the expectant catcher aside. Alton tried her best to win, but she indulged in no risky plays. To keep the ball and get a back away inside or outside tackle was now her only hope until she could reach a point inside the enemy’s thirty yards. Once there, she would try a field-goal. But the backs couldn’t get away, at least, not far. Kenly watched Harmon, and subsequently Mawson, as a cat watches a mouse. So, as through the former periods, the ball remained well inside the two thirty-five-yard lines and, so far as scoring was concerned, the game was already evidently at an end.

The time-keeper announced four minutes, then two. The stands were emptying. Kenly, who had risked all on her first-string men until now, began to hurl new warriors into her army. Every other moment the pauses were prolonged by the appearances of hurrying, eager substitutes. The shadows were deepening about the field and over on the Alton stand the hundreds of voices were singing the spirited pæan that is reserved for victory. The ball was on Alton’s forty-six yards and it was the third down. Linthicum took the pass from Richards and hurled himself at right tackle for one scant yard. It was fourth down and five to go now. Jimmy stepped back slowly, held forth his hands. Four times he had punted far and true, but this time it was to be different. Cries of “Hold ’em, Alton!” and cries of “Get through, Kenly! Block this kick!” broke forth hoarsely. Then the lines swayed, were torn into fragments. A Kenly forward hurled himself high in air and met the kicked ball against his helmet. The pigskin bounded back up the field toward the Alton goal. Half a dozen players tried for it and missed. Then, in the blue haze of twilight, the watchers saw a figure detach itself from the mêlée and cut across toward the side line. Shouts of warning, of joy, of despair floated up from the field. The scattered forms there, like hounds on the track of the fox, sped helter-skelter after the fleeing player. [Now he was blocked, now he had broken free again!] Past midfield he went, heading in again toward the center of the trampled expanse. Friend and foe were about him and his flight seemed ended a dozen times. Yet always, by a sudden turn, a wrenching to left or right, a quick thrust of a straight arm, he managed to break away. Now he was out of the confusion, the field was trailing astern. He was passing the thirty-five yards under flying feet. Between him and the nearing goal no enemy lurked, for Kenly’s quarter had been drawn out of position by the blocked kick. But that quarter was in hot pursuit a half-dozen strides behind. Back of him the rest of the players were strung out for many yards.