Bob’s first waking thought was that he must be back on the rocky shores of Maine, where he had spent the past summer. Surely those were breakers which roared and thundered in his ears. Then he opened his eyes, and found that he was lying on the sod, a sweater under his head, and several vaguely familiar faces swimming above him. A moment later he knew that it was not surf, but the wild yelling and cheering of excited, enthusiastic thousands. Back and forth rolled the mighty torrents of sound, breaking and crashing in reverberations. Suddenly there was a pause, and then a fresh outburst, this time deliberate and controlled: “Rah, rah rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Hollister! Hollister! Hollister!” No need to tell him in so many words that the ball had gone over. This was enough. They were cheering for him, and, as he opened his eyes again, something like a mist came over them. Presently this cleared away, and he found himself looking into Merriwell’s face. “How are you feeling, old fellow?” the senior asked anxiously. “Hurt any place? Or is it just wind you want?” Hollister smiled. “That’s all,” he said quickly. “Be all right in a minute.” He hesitated for an instant. “Say, Dick.” Merriwell bent lower. “Yes?” he questioned. “I couldn’t help it, old man,” Bob said in a low tone. “I broke my promise, and I reckon you must think me an awful rotter. I held out as long as I could; but you needed me, Dick, and I couldn’t sit there and see the fellows licked. But it’s the last time.” “Do you really mean that, Bob?” Merriwell asked slowly. “Don’t you think that the next game you see will tempt you just as you have been tempted to-day?” Hollister shook his head decidedly. “No, sir!” he said emphatically. “I’m through. This is the last. I’ll be content now to cut it out for good. I’ve shown what I could do, and——” Another thunderous burst of cheering came from the stands. “Hollister! Hollister! Hollister!” “Not even for that would I break my word to you again, Merriwell. You believe me, don’t you, old fellow?” For an instant Dick gazed keenly into the anxious eyes of his friend. Then his face cleared and a smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Sure,” he said simply. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER IX A CHARGE OF BIRD SHOT. It was late afternoon. Dick and several of his friends were enjoying a brief holiday after the football season. The sun had dropped below the line of forest trees, but its golden rays slanted through the naked ranks of oak and chestnut and hickory, casting long, grotesque shadows on the mottled blanket of dead leaves which covered the earth. Here and there a white birch gleamed with startling distinctness against a dark background of spruce or pine.