CHAPTER XI
THE TOUCHDOWN
Buck Claxton was genuinely worried. It was Thursday of the week thatwas to end with the post-season football game against Belden High, andthe practice was going all wrong. The little Boy Scout, Bunny Payton,who as quarterback was the most important cog in the machine, wasn't"delivering."
Because he was big and heavy, and because the regular team neededdefensive drill, Buck had been shifted temporarily to the scrubs. Andthat was the reason, also, why two very poor players, whose names donot matter, had been substituted in the line. Coach Leland wanted totest his backs on defense.
The scrubs were given the ball in the middle of the field. The twoelevens crouched, facing each other, and awaited Specs' signal, whichcame presently, like the crack of a whip. On the last number, the backsbroke into action. It was a line plunge, with Buck carrying the ball.
The weak link in the first team's line snapped at once. Bunny Payton,backing it up, gave ground and swerved into the path of the runner.Buck, big, solid, a veritable battering-ram when he was under way,looked as if he might crush this ambitious tackier as easily as anelephant might an ant in its path.
But the ant, who was Bunny, did not falter. As Buck reached him, theboy leaped toward the runner, tackling low and fiercely, and broughthis opponent to the ground with a tremendous thump.
Buck sat up presently. He was unhurt, except as to pride. "Trying tolay me out?" he blazed. "You needn't half kill a fellow to bring himdown."
The look he gave Bunny made some of the other substitutes shake theirheads wisely. The little quarter had offended his captain. It wasn'texactly diplomatic, and--Well, they guessed he wouldn't try it again.
But a few minutes later, when exactly the same situation arose, theywondered what he would do. Again Buck took the ball on a straight lineplunge; again his interference swept aside the other tacklers of thesecondary defense, leaving only the shunted Bunny as a possible danger.
Runner and tackler met. The two came together with a crash. Buckstaggered forward blindly, tottered, caught himself once, and then fellheavily. Bunny rebounded from the shock, but he did not plunge to theground. Instead, a very remarkable thing happened.
In the very twinkling of an eye, so sudden was the transformation,Bunny ceased to be a tackler and became a runner. In some mysteriousmanner, the ball that Buck had been carrying, snuggled in the crook ofhis arm, was now the other's.
There appeared to be no tardy recognition of the shift on Bunny's part.Even as Buck was falling, the quarterback started racing down the fieldtoward his goal. The point of the ball was tucked into his armpit. Hishand clasped the other end. The biceps of his arm pressed hard againstthe rough surface.
Bunny could run like a deer. Before the astonished scrubs could recovertheir wits, he was flashing past, dodging now and then, circling somemore alert tackler, pushing off another with a moist palm, but alwayssprinting over the white lines that marked the field.
But the surprising play was not yet done. Without any apparent reason,the runner slowed to a trot and finally stopped altogether. Specsrushed up and tackled him apologetically.
A certain touchdown had been sacrificed by Bunny on some mad impulse.
The little crowd of rooters that fringed the field babbled itsconsternation and disgust. The scrubs smiled knowingly at each other.Coach Leland plucked off the players who had piled on the boy with theball, and then yanked the youngster to his feet with a practiced hand.
"What made you stop?" he demanded hotly. If there was one thing morethan another that angered the coach, it was an exhibition of mentalstupidity.
Bunny looked down the field; down to where Buck was striding forwardbelligerently. Scrubs and regulars alike bent forward to listen. Whenhe spoke, he faced the coach squarely.
"I committed a foul," he said slowly. "When I started to tackle Buck,I saw that he was holding the ball loosely. It had slipped out of hisarmpit. So, under cover of the tackle, because of some crazy notion, Ijerked it away from him. I violated a rule. I'm sorry."
Coach Leland opened wide his blue eyes, but he said nothing then. Alittle later, when he was by Buck's side, he asked his question.
"Did you fumble when Bunny tackled you?"
"Maybe I did," said the captain shortly; "it seems to be a habit ofmine." He kicked at a little clod of dirt. "Hang it all, coach," hevolunteered, "the--the Scout was grandstanding for my benefit. He'safraid of me."
The practice that day ended with drop-kicking. Lining up the scrubssome thirty yards from the goal, Leland gave Bunny the ball, withinstructions to boot it over the bar.
Bunny failed on five successive attempts. Twice he fumbled good passes.Twice he caught the ball with his toe too much on one side. Once hejuggled it wildly, allowing himself to be tackled before he made thekick. And each time, as Buck noted with wrinkled brow, opposing playerswere close enough to threaten any kicker who might have fear in hisheart.
When he made his fifth failure, Buck groaned. With the post-seasongame for the State high-school championship only two days away, hisquarterback, the very pivot of the team, was in a stage of cowardlypanic. He wished now that the game with Belden had never been arranged;that they had been content with a clean slate for the season; that theyhad agreed to claim the title jointly with unbeaten Belden.
Saturday afternoon came at last, with no change in the situation. Thetwo opposing teams lined up.
"Are you ready, Belden?" asked the official.
No answer.
"Are you ready, Lakeville?"
Crouching just behind the line on which the new football lay teed,Buck Claxton nodded his head. The great crowd stilled expectantly. Onthe side lines, blanketed and squatting like Indians, the substituteshunched forward their shoulders.
The official shrilled a blast on his whistle. Before the echo had died,Bunny Payton's toe lifted the ball from the ground and sent it hurtlinghigh and far toward the opposing eleven. The game was on.
As he ran, Buck sighed with relief. He had been afraid of that firstkick; afraid that Bunny's toe would thug into the ground, or hit theball askew, or roll it feebly along the ribbed field.
But now, with the game actually begun, the splendid kick-off gaveLakeville's captain hope. As Buck ran, indeed, he let out his breathwith an explosive gasp, and the decisive way in which he downed theBelden fellow who caught the ball was proof of his renewed confidence.If Bunny Payton could only keep that yellow streak under cover!
In the gruelling battle that followed, Buck was forced to admit thatBunny shirked no duty. His end runs were triumphs; his forward passeswere pinnacles of accuracy; his share in the interference were nicetiesof skill and training. But always, as the tide of the game flooded orebbed, Buck shivered apprehensively over possible situations that mightreveal to their opponents his quarterback's cowardice.
As they might have expected, Belden proved no mean enemy. They couldgain at times; once, indeed, they might have pushed through thewavering Belden line for a touchdown, except for a fumble. And thatfumble, as Buck recalled with grim pain, was his own. Couldn't he everlearn to hold the ball once he had it?
But Belden gained, too. Like Lakeville, when they couldn't advance theball, they kicked. And so, for three full quarters and part of another,neither team was able to cross the other's goal line. Now, near the endof the final period, the two teams fought in the middle of the field. Ascoreless tie seemed inevitable.
It was Lakeville's ball. As the players scrambled into position for thescrimmage, Captain Claxton held up his hand.
"How much longer?" he shouted toward the side lines.
"Four minutes to play," the timekeeper told him.
Buck groaned. They could never make it; they could never carry the ballover those countless lines of white to the goal beyond. True, theymight go on smashing forward a yard or two at a time, even making theirdistances often enough to hold the ball, for Belden was clearly tiring;but it would take longer than four minutes to reach the last rib ofthe field.
Buck felt suddenly weak and limp. He would never make thatglorious touchdown of which he had dreamed each night of the past week.
"Well, don't quit!" he snarled at his quarterback.
Bunny stepped into position. "Line up!" he yelled shrilly. "Line up!Seven--four--six--two--ten!"
Buck's tired brain wrestled with the signal. It was a new play they hadlearned that past week, a double pass, with the quarterback eventuallytaking the ball. Well, why not? Bunny was fast enough, and there was noelement of courage involved. Besides, in this desperate eleventh hour,it was high time for trick plays.
The ball was passed. As the Belden line braced for the onslaught, Buckswung in behind Bunny, took the soiled pigskin from him, ran with ittoward the left end, and then slipped it backward into the boy's eagerhands. The other team was jamming in front of the Lakeville captain,and he plunged head-down into the mass, to carry on the deception.As he slipped and fell, his ears caught the first rumble of a mightycheer. Perhaps--
He flung off the fellow who had piled upon him and sprang to his feet.Down the field, almost in the shadow of the goal posts, Bunny was justgoing down under the tackle of the Belden man who played back. Thetrick had succeeded. They were within striking distance now. If Bunnyhad the nerve to try it again, he might score.
Before Buck reached him, the quarterback was on his feet again, dinninghis eternal, "Line up! Line up!" As the team rushed forward to obey,the boy spat out his signal, "Nineteen--thirty--seven--four--six!"
What play was that? A cold wave of horror enveloped Buck. His numbedmind told him nothing. It was surely not a repetition of the trickthey had just tried. He might have known it would not be, he thoughtcontemptuously; this was a ticklish situation calling for every ounceof nerve a player possessed. Bunny would take mighty good care not touse himself in the pinch. But what play was it?
"Signal?" the captain called.
Again the quarterback rattled off the numbers.
And then, abruptly, Buck's mind cleared. With only a precious yard ortwo to go, the play must be a line plunge, of course. Tricks were forlong gains under desperate conditions. But why "seven--four--six"? thecaptain asked himself in amazement. That wasn't his signal; and it wasonly fair, only right, that he, as the team's leader, should have thehonor of the touchdown.
"Signal?" he yelled angrily.
A third time it came. Buck knew the play now; it was Barrett, righthalfback, between tackle and guard. So that was it! Another fellow wasto carry the ball over the line. Bunny was venting his petty spite byrefusing to allow his captain to make the attempt.
"Change signals!" Buck stormed.
In his position behind center, Bunny straightened a little from hiscrouching position. "I'm taking the responsibility for this play,Buck," he said evenly. And then, like a flash, the signal rolled outonce more, the ball chugged into the quarterback's hands, and the twoteams were scrimmaging.
To his credit, be it said that Buck charged with the others. The Beldenline sagged, tautened, broke for an instant. The players eddied andtossed, and were sucked into the human whirlpool. Somewhere at thebottom, Buck heard the long pipe of the official's whistle. Then, asdaylight reached him, he discerned the smeared white goal line directlybeneath him, and on it--no, a good inch beyond!--the soiled yellowball. It was over. The touchdown had been made.
The balance of the game was like a vague dream. Somebody kickedthe goal and added another point. Somebody kicked off. The teamslined up once more before a whistle ended the game. Lakeville wasinterscholastic champion of the State.
Bunny slapped his captain on the back. "We beat 'em, Buck!" he yelled."We beat 'em, didn't we?"
"Yes," said Buck Claxton distinctly, "we beat them, you little sneak!"
The team cheered Belden then; and Belden came back with a pretty poorapology of the formula that runs, "What's the matter with Lakeville?They're all right!" And then Belden, sad, defeated, yearning forseclusion, shucked out of its football suits and into street clothes,and went away from there just as fast as it could.
Before the game, the Scouts had invited the Lakeville squad to theBlack Eagle Patrol clubhouse for supper. When the invitation had beenextended, Buck, Barrett, Sheffield and Co. had looked blank, neitheraccepting nor declining. But at six o'clock they were there, appearingawkward and embarrassed, but altogether too happy over the result ofthe game to bear any resentment. That is to say, all of them lookedthat way except Buck, who stared straight ahead during the meal, andwouldn't talk, and didn't appear to be listening to the jokes and jeststhat were bandied back and forth.
But when the meal was done, and Bunny, as toastmaster, with clenchedhands under the table, where nobody could see them, and a forced smileon his face, which everybody could see, rose and said easily, "I guesswe'd all like to hear from the captain," Buck met the issue squarely.
"I'm not much of a speech maker," he began slowly (and rapidly provedthat the literary and debating society had taught him to be a very goodone, indeed), "but there's something that must be said, and I'm goingto ask you fellows to listen while I say it. This last week has beena hard one for all of us, I guess, but I think the one who's felt thehurts most is Quarterback Bunny Payton."
They all looked at Bunny, of course, and the boy felt his face gowhite. What was the captain of the football team going to say about him?
"Back a while," Buck went on doggedly, "I thought Bunny was no good. Iguess a lot of you saw what happened during practice--you know, when Iwas sore at him, and he tackled me and got hold of the ball, and thenwouldn't make a touchdown because he thought he had committed a foul.He was--was in pretty bad, because it looked as if he had a streak ofyellow and was afraid of--well--me. I thought so. But I was--was wayoff. It was just plain nerve that made him stop when he had the ball.
"And about those goals he didn't kick. You know what I mean. It sortacinched what I thought about him--a coward, I mean. But that wasn'tright, either. He had gashed his hand on a rock; that's why he fumbledand juggled the ball and dropped it crooked on his toe and--andeverything.
"Then in the game to-day, he played like a trooper; topnotch all theway through. You know what I mean--that trick play that put the ballright on top of the goal and--and everything.
"Well, I wanted to make the touchdown then. Jiggers, how I wanted todo it! But he wouldn't let me, and I was sore at him all over again.You know what I mean--how I felt, captain and everything, and hewouldn't give me the ball. But I've been thinking that over, and I handit to him for his nerve again. He gave Barrett the ball, and Barrettwent over with it. Say, that riled me. Why didn't he let me do it?But--well, I've figured that out now. Barrett's a good old sobersideshoss; you can always count on old Barrett. And me--no. I fumbled oncebefore in the game; I guess maybe I'd 'a' fumbled again, and tossedaway the chance to win. Maybe. You know what I mean. So he passes me upfor Barrett. Talk about nerve! Why, that took more courage, I'll bet,than anybody else here ever thought of having; about a million timesmore. But he did it. He knew the sure way to win that game. Understand?
"Well, now listen to me. Maybe I won't go to Lakeville High next year.So we ought to elect a captain who will--sure. You know what I mean.And--well, say, how about Bunny Payton for the job?"
It seemed to the little quarterback that the fellows had gone suddenlyinsane. Before his dazed mind could fully grasp Buck's suggestion, hehad been unanimously elected captain, and Buck was congratulating him,and the party was breaking up.
"But--but," he stammered to Buck, "we need you for next year. Are yousure you won't be in school?"
"Well," drawled the ex-captain, winking prodigiously, "I may die beforethen, or--or make a million dollars and build me a school of my own,or--or something like that. Anyhow, you'll be a better fellow for thejob than I ever was. You should have been leading the team this year."
That was all, except that at the door Buck drew Bunny aside.
"Look here," he said. "I'm just beginning to realize that you Scoutsare the real goods. You're fine fellows,
and you're fine athletes." Helooked warily over his shoulder. "It strikes me I'd like to be a Scoutmyself, if they ever get up another patrol in this little old town ofours."