It was true that Austin had made a beautiful tackle, catching Dick about the legs and bringing him down so near the goal-line that another bound would have carried the ball over. Then the pursuing players came pouring down upon them. In the lead was Porter, New Era’s right end. Porter jumped into the air to come down on Dick with both feet, evidently hoping to put Captain Merriwell out of the game. As Porter jumped into the air Dick rolled to one side, seeking to break Austin’s hold on his legs. That saved him from serious injury. Porter struck him with one foot only, and then, as he reeled to fall, Brad Buckhart booted him with all the strength of a muscular leg, lifting him clean over the goal-line. There was a mad roar of rage from the cadets who had witnessed Porter’s dastardly act. Another roar of satisfaction as they saw Buckhart lift the fellow with a swinging kick. Then it seemed that those watching lads would rush down from the seats and come pouring on to the field. “Hold them back!” cried Professor Broad, the athletic instructor and master of the gym. Thirty or forty lads, many of them wearing chevrons on their sleeves, joined with Professor Broad in restraining the excited witnesses. On the field it seemed that a fight was imminent. Some of the New Era men wanted to tackle Buckhart, and he promptly invited them to come on. “Sail right in, you galoots!” he cried, swinging his clenched fists in the air. “If that’s the kind of game you want to play, you’ll get all that is coming to you! You hear me shout!” Captain Huckley restrained his men. “The whole thing was unintentional,” he said. “Not on my part,” promptly confessed Brad. “I kicked the onery skunk, and I meant to do it, you bet! He tried to stamp out my pard, and I’d shot him full of holes if I’d had a gun!” From behind the ropes where he was being held in check, Chester Arlington cried: “That’s the stuff, Buckhart! Get at him again!” The excited cadets had been checked, but they were standing, looking black enough as they glared through the rain at the mud-bespattered players. “Put him off the team!” Somebody raised the cry, a dozen caught it up, it swelled louder and louder, it rose to a mad roar for the removal of Porter. “Put him off! Put him off! Put him off!” “Are you all right, captain?” asked big Bob Singleton, who had pulled Merriwell to his feet. “All right,” assured Dick, squirming a little. “Nearly lost a rib, but I’m all right.” “Porter jumped you with both feet. It was lucky you rolled just as you did.” “Porter, eh? Where’s Captain Huckley?” “Here,” was the answer. “You know what I said about that fellow. He——” “No use to fuss about him now,” said Huckley. “The umpire disqualified him. He’s out of the game.” This was true, and a substitute had been called to take Porter’s place. The game went on, Fardale lining up with the ball within two yards of New Era’s goal.