Dick Merriwell's Trap: or, The Chap Who Bungled. Standish Burt L.

      Darrell ran as if his life depended on it. Behind him the players strung out in pursuit, but they could not catch him.

      Dick Merriwell had made the run and touchdown possible by blocking Hickman.

      Over the line went Darrell for a touch-down. This was the stuff to thrill every watcher! Somehow Dick seemed to close behind Darrell, for all that he had been hurled to the ground, and he was laughing.

      “Great!” he said again. “Now we’re in the game good and hard!”

      “You blocked Hickman handsomely,” said Hal, relaxing a little. “I thought he had me. Where did you come from?”

      “Oh, it was a lucky stab for me, that’s all,” said Dick, modestly declining to take credit for special cleverness.

      The ball was brought out. Darrell was willing to let Dick or Singleton try the kick, but Dick declined to take the privilege away from him. So Dick held the ball, and Darrell lifted it over the bar, which tied the game.

      “They can’t beat us now!” declared Dick.

      Hickman was growling like a dog with a sore ear.

      “Talk about rotten luck!” he said. “That was it. Why, we had them skinned to death!”

      He kicked off and Singleton returned the ball with a handsome drive. There was some volleying of this sort, and then Fardale attempted a run, but the runner was pulled down promptly, and the teams lined up for the concluding struggles of the game.

      Fardale fought earnestly, but the visitors were desperate, and but four yards could be made on three downs. Singleton kicked, and the ball went out of bounds, where Gray fell upon it. It was brought in for a scrimmage, and Franklin came back at the cadets. Fardale’s line seemed made of stone, and Franklin was compelled to kick.

      Singleton rushed the ball back eighteen yards before being dragged to the turf. They piled upon him like a lot of tigers, and when the mass untangled big Bob lay still and stiff.

      Dick advanced anxiously when he caught a sly wink from Singleton and understood that Bob was playing for time in order to give the boys a chance to freshen up for the attack. That gave Dick another opportunity to turn his eyes toward the grand stand. She was not there.

      But now, at one side of the field, he saw a carriage, and standing in that carriage, waving the Fardale colors, was – June! How his heart leaped as he saw her there!

      “She has kept her word! We’ll win!”

      But little time was left, and he knew it. In order to win, some fast work must be done.

      Dick spoke to Smart as big Bob slowly rose to his feet. Ted called for the center-back play, which was a surprise to the enemy, as Smart looked “easy fruit” when he stepped in to fill the place of the fat boy.

      Singleton was behind Ted, however, and he held Selden until Tubbs came like a rushing mountain and crashed into the line. Behind Obediah were Merriwell and Darrell, pushing him on. Ahead of him were others, pulling him ahead. They seized him and sought to drag him down, but he kept on going, making full ten yards.

      Three times Tubbs did this, gaining twenty-one yards in all. But the fourth attempt resulted in no gain.

      Franklin had discovered how to meet the attack and check it. Dick knew it was time for something else, and so did Smart. The funnel-play was tried, and Dick was sent into the left wing of the visitors, making a gain of three yards. It was repeated, and Dick dodged out through the side of the funnel, striking right-guard and making four yards more. A third attempt was stopped with no gain.

      Fardale was resorting to every stratagem. A wedge was hurled into center, Singleton carrying the ball. As the wedge went to pieces Dick caught the ball when Bob tossed it out to him. He darted to the right, to the left, bowled one man over, and on he went clean to Franklin’s thirty-yard line.

      “It’s Darrell’s turn,” thought Dick. “He ought to get through for a gain. If we can only keep it up!”

      But Darrell was stopped and tackled by Wettinger, who carried him back for a loss of three yards. He tried again, but lost two yards more. Then somebody gave Dick the tip that the half was almost up. It seemed that the game would end in a tie.

      A word from Dick. What was going to happen? The cadets were breathless. They stood up and stared in silence. Even the band was still.

      “A field-kick!” cried some one.

      That was it! Franklin was preparing for it. They saw Dick Merriwell was going to try to kick a goal from the thirty-five-yard line.