Both teams were now warmed up, and for fully five minutes the ball
flew back and forth, remaining at the end of that time almost in
the center of the gridiron.
Then Pornell tried some heavy mass play, but lost the leather on a
fumble, and it came into Tom Rover's possession.
Away flew Tom, as though a legion of demons were after him,
straight for Pornell's goal. The crowd began to shout itself
hoarse.
"See Tom Rover! Go it, Tom, old boy, go it!"
"He can't carry it through! See, Conkey and Largren are after
him!"
"There he goes down! Conkey has the leather!"
This was true, but ere Conkey could start to run Fred Garrison
brought him to earth and the ball rolled out into the field.
Sam and a Pornell halfback made a rush for it.
"My ball!" yelled the Pornellite, who was twenty pounds heavier
than the little captain.
"Not today!" retorted Sam, and snatched it from under his very
feet. Before the Pornellite could recover from his astonishment,
Sam was pelting up the field with all the nimbleness of his agile
legs.
"Hurrah for Sam Rover!"
"Great Caesar! see him leg it! They can't catch him!"
"There he goes over the line!"
"A touchdown! The game is a tie!"
"Quick, fellows!" cried Sam.
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