But in the furious battle that developed from the kick-off, it was evident that the "Maroons" were very lively corpses. It was no use to play on the defensive. If they did that, they were beaten already by the three points that now loomed up in such tremendous proportions. Nor was there any reason to keep any of their plays up their sleeves. For them it was the last game of the season and now was the time to uncover their whole "bag of tricks." So they threw caution to the winds and played with utter recklessness and abandon. Their "Wheel shift" was a new one on the Blues, and the "Maroons" had used it twice for a gain of thirty yards before the Blues solved and checkmated it. Then the forward pass was tried, usually without advancing the ball, though one clever skirting of the end gained fifteen yards. The ball was getting pretty well down into Blue territory when a magnificent drop kick by Bert sent it sailing to the middle of the field. In the momentary silence that succeeded the cheering, some wag from the Blue stands piped out: "It's too bad that fellow Wilson is lame." And everybody laughed. But the laugh of the "Maroons" had a pang behind it. Only five minutes of playing time were left, and the ball was in the hands of their enemies. They ranged up for the scrimmage with the desperation of men faced by advancing doom but bound to go down fighting. And go down they did before the savage and exulting onslaught of the Blues. Fighting, raging, blocking, charging, they were forced back toward their goal. Drake and Dick and Axtell went ploughing through big holes opened up by their comrades in both sides of the line until, with two downs yet to go, the ball was in the hands of the Blues twelve yards from the enemy's goal. Everybody was standing now. Flags were waving, voices yelling and the tumult was indescribable. It was the supreme moment, and Bert was called on for the final plunge. "Go to it, old man, the instant I snap it back," whispered Tom. "For the sake of the old college," urged Dick. Bert stiffened. "Watch me," he said. It was a perfect snap from Tom to Dick, who passed it to Bert so swiftly that the eye could scarcely follow it. At the same instant Drake and Axtell opened up a hole between left guard and tackle and Bert ploughed through it like an unchained cyclone. The whole "Maroon" team was on him in an instant, but the fearful headway of his charge had carried him through nine of the coveted twelve yards and the goal post loomed almost directly overhead. "Buck up, fellows, buck up," screamed Halliday wildly. "For heaven's sake, brace!" Bert's head was buzzing with the impact of that mighty plunge, but his eyes blazed with the light of coming triumph. "Not an inch, boys, not an inch," yelled Halliday. "Throw them back. It's their last down."