But follow the runner of Breage. By leaping successive hedges he has distanced the pursuers, but he is some degree out of his course, and makes obliquely for the highway. The Helston players perceive his purpose, and gain the highway first. Here they can make faster progress. By the time the Breage captain vaults the hedge with a few of his fellows, the van of the Helston crew, their captain in the lead, is but a hundred yards in the rear. And now comes a race with fair footing. The heavy brigade is closing up fast, and the light and dogs running rapidly in the rear. He is overtaken at last, but the ball is hurled onward to Breage. A Breage runner seizes it and speeds rapidly onward. It was now Breage's chance, and they were doing their best. Ande blew his whistle valiantly for his men to close up on the ball. And close up they did, running with a will. The course again diverged from the highway and approached near the coast. He is downed at last without chance to hurl the ball. Quickly on top of him pile the other runners in the lead. "Off of me; I've lost the ball!" It was the Breage man underneath who had shouted, and the five or six players on top of him slowly arose, gazed at each other, then for the hurling ball, but it had disappeared as if by magic. The players arrived one by one, panting hard with their exertion, but the ball was not found. A new ball was forthcoming for the emergency, tossed off by a ploughman, and the fierce contest renewed. All the remainder of the afternoon the battle went on, victory favouring, smiling, on one side, then on the other. The players showed the effect of their hard usage. The dogs were torn and bleeding with brambles and thorns, and of the hue of earth from their constant contact with it. The larger players were also battered and soiled, but they only played the harder. Sunset was approaching and gilded the western heavens with hues of scarlet. The ball was once more stopped within a quarter-mile of Helston. The brook, or river Cober, had been passed. The heavy brigade, the light brigade, and even the dogs, were mingled in one great heap with Breage men. Who had the ball was a mystery. A Breage runner had it when he went down. It was Dick who downed him. The Breage men were desperate, the school men determined. Tenny, Creakle, Jordan, and others resolved that the ball should not leave them thus close to victory. But suddenly the great mound was heaved and tossed like the earth undulated by an earthquake. "Pin 'im down! Hold un!" roared the Breage captain. "E's their man, and 'e's got the ball!" The dogs and lighter men nimbly stepped aside to make way and assist their own runner. The Breage players made a last futile effort to hold the runner down. "'Old un! 'Old un! damme, can none hold un!" shouted the Breage captain, in wrath at the apparent weakness of his men.