Too late they saw their error and trailed after him. There were but two men between him and the coveted goal. He could easily outdistance the first, who was a little to one side, but the full back would have to be dodged. As he ran, he watched the man keenly, wondering just what trick he would have to bring into play to get away from him. The fellow stood alertly on his toes, watching, waiting, ready to spring to one side or the other, as the case might be. Dick came on without slackening his speed, swerved suddenly to the right, whirled, darted the other way, and all in such a brief moment that to this day Princeton’s full back hasn’t the least notion of how he was fooled. He only knew that by the time he had turned Dick was a dozen feet away, speeding on toward the goal. The next instant the full back gave a grunt of triumph and stretched himself, for the Yale man suddenly staggered, tried wildly to recover, and then fell full length to the sod. A groan of horror went up from the stands, followed by deathlike stillness. Then, to the amazement of the onlookers, they saw that, instead of lying where he had fallen, Merriwell spun end over end, and the next instant he was on his feet again. But he ran with an appreciable limp. It was a tense moment. The full back was gaining. Slowly, but surely, he crept up and the distance between the two lessened. Dick ran with more and more apparent effort, and it was plain to all that he must be suffering tortures. Now the full back’s fingers touched him, but could find no hold on the smooth canvas. The next instant they clutched his waist, and clung there with a firm, dragging grip. Five yards more! Could he ever make it? Struggling, dragging, straining every nerve and muscle, Merriwell flung himself over the line; and, as he did so, a great sigh arose from the spectators, merging into a crashing burst of sound, for they realized that the ball was over. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VIII A BROKEN PROMISE AND A VICTORY. Despite his sprained ankle, Merriwell kicked the goal, straight and true, and the teams lined up again. But that run had been a last desperate attempt to wrest victory from defeat. Unable to count longer on Dick, who, though he was still able to play, could not be expected to continue the extraordinary efforts which had made him an object of wonder to every man on the field, the team went to pieces as nearly as any Yale team can. They played despairingly, doggedly, disputing every inch on the part of the Princeton organization, but for all that being borne slowly down the field. The ginger was gone out of them. They had no life, and their playing had become more or less machinelike. Bob Hollister realized this swiftly. He knew the signs only too well. “They can’t do it!” he almost sobbed. “They can’t beat them that way!”