"If it's not too deep, and there's good bottom," was the chauffeur's answer. "Oh, it's good bottom, but, as I say, it's a trifle deep." "Try it, anyhow," suggested Tom. "It's our only chance. Go ahead." This was the sentiment of all, and the players getting into their seats again, which they had left to gaze at the river, the auto was backed up, and headed for the ford, the man with the buckboard going in advance to show the way. As he had said, the water was rather high, and it seemed to swirl along dangerously fast. He would not venture in with his mule, but, after a look at it the chauffeur said he would try it. "I'll be all right," he announced, "if the water doesn't come up high enough to short-circuit the batteries or the magneto." "Let her go!" cried Tom. Backing up, to get a good start down the slope that led to the ford, the chauffeur turned on full speed. Into the river went the big auto, with its heavy load. The water splashed up in a spray as the front wheels, with the big tires, struck the limpid surface. A moment later the entire machine was in the water, submerged to the hubs. "It's all right! Go on! Go on!" urged the man with the mule. "It won't be much deeper than that." "If it is we're done for," remarked the chauffeur in a low voice. It was a perilous passage, but the Randall nine was too anxious over the consequences of delay to mind that much. The man in charge of the auto was rather white-faced, but he gripped the steering wheel, and kept on high speed, though he throttled down the engine a trifle as he neared the middle of the river. The big machine careened dangerously, and several clung instinctively to the sides. "Can you make it?" asked Mr. Leighton anxiously. "I don't know," replied the chauffeur, as he peered at a bit of smooth water directly ahead. It looked to be deep, and he was contemplating turning to one side, though their guide had warned him to steer straight for the other side. "Keep on! Keep on!" cried the man with the mule encouragingly. "Straight ahead, and you'll be safe!" The chauffeur yanked the gasolene lever over the rachet, opening the throttle wider, and the car shot forward at increased speed. It swayed, and seemed about to topple over, righted itself, almost like a thing alive, and then, with a crunching of gravel, was out of the stream, and climbing the slope that led from the ford to the road. "By Jove! I'm glad we're over that!" exclaimed Tom, with a sigh of relief. "Speed her up now, and get us to Boxer Hall!" Half an hour later the players were on the diamond, being received by a crowd of their friends who had preceded them to the game earlier in the day, for the last game of the season was a gala affair, and the Randall lads usually came over to Boxer Hall early in the morning. "Now for a battle to the death," said Tom grimly, as he led his men out to practice. CHAPTER XXXIII THE CHAMPIONSHIP GAME