The Hillbury full drew back to punt. Buist was already scuttling into his back field when Hendry, who saw something in the attitude of the backs to arouse suspicion, exclaimed sharply, “Fake! fake!” But it was too late. While he was speaking the ball was snapped, the Seaton guards ploughed through to block the expected kick, and Joslin with the ball under his arm, and two interferers beside him, darted for the right end. Hendry was boxed; Read got tangled in the interference; Wendt just touched the runner with his finger ends as he flung himself at the fleeting mark; and Joslin, the fastest sprinter, barring one, in both the schools, had almost an open field to the Seaton goal-posts. The “almost” was the little quarter-back crouching in the distance, his eyes glued upon his fast approaching foe. It was an awful moment; the Seaton sympathizers caught their breaths and sent their hope in a single mighty yearning to the aid of the last defender of their goal. Durand saw nothing but the man charging with the ball, felt no fear of the critical instant, but only intense eagerness to meet the man squarely and get his arms around those flashing legs. Step by step he moved forward, in catlike watch of every movement of his opponent, who was bounding toward him in strong, free leaps. A dozen yards away Joslin swerved suddenly to run around his man. At the moment Durand shot forward to cut the runner’s path. For one critical instant only was the Hillbury man within his reach; but that instant Durand felt in every nerve of his body, and his body acted of its own volition. He did not reason nor question; it was as if some mysterious electric force suddenly caught him with irresistible impulse and launched him against his foe. Down the two went in a whirl of legs; and only when Durand had disentangled himself from the quickly formed heap and scrambled to his feet, did his mind awake to the success of the play. But the stop to the Hillbury advance was only temporary. Three yards were gained through Bent, and on a second trial three yards more. They had “found” Bent. Laughlin tore off his head-guard and flung it far away to the side-lines, hoping to see better where to strike. He played still farther out to support the weak side. Again the Hillbury charge went crashing through the Seaton tackle. When the players extricated themselves from the mêlée, one big form still lay outstretched upon the ground. It was Laughlin! The trainers came hurrying in with water-pail and sponge and liniment. The fallen man was got upon his feet, his face mopped, his condition eagerly inquired for. A bruise at the edge of his hair above his eye showed the mark of a heavy boot. “Dizzy?” asked the trainer, anxiously. “A little,” responded the player; “but it doesn’t amount to anything. I can go back now.” “You’d better take your head-guard again,” urged the trainer.