And again there was no gain. Back of Hillton, less than eight
yards away, lay the goal-line. Desperation lends strength. Huddled
together, shoulder to shoulder, the backs bracing from behind, the
crimson-clad youths awaited the next charge. It was "the thin red line"
again. Then back went the ball, there was a moment of grinding canvas,
of muttered words and smothered gasps, of swaying, clutching, falling,
and "Down!" was heard.
"Hillton's ball; first down," announced the umpire.
What a cheer went up from the grand stand! What joy was in Remsen's
heart as the St. Eustace full-back went trotting up the field and Greer
stooped over the ball! Then came a pause, a silence. Every one knew what
to look for. Squarely between the posts and directly under the cross-bar
stood Joel March, his left foot on the goal-line. Back came the ball,
straight and low into Joel's outstretched hands. The line blocked long
and hard. One step forward, an easy, long swing of his right leg, and
Joel sent the ball sailing a yard over the upstretched hands of the
opposing line and far and high down the field.
There it was gathered into the arms of the St. Eustace full-back, but
ere that player had put his foot twice to ground he was thrown, and the
teams lined up on St. Eustace's forty-five-yard line. Then it was that
the god of battle befriended Hillton; for on the next play St. Eustace
made her first disastrous fumble, and Christie, Hillton's right end,
darted through, seized the rolling spheroid, and started down the field.
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