Brounker and Vance gained. The Kenwood line was weakening fast now, but Myron feared that it was too late. Vance again, past left tackle on a criss-cross. Then Myron, sliding off left guard for the needed distance. Well past the fifty-yard line now, and still going, but with seconds remaining instead of minutes and the time-keeper's eyes glued to the dial of his watch. If only they could get past those Kenwood backs, thought Myron! The Blue line was pasteboard now, but the backs still fought hard and held firm. Somewhere near the enemy's thirty yards Warren called a sequence and Myron's heart leaped. If they played quickly, smoothly, they _must_ get through! Brounker tried left of centre and piled through, but was nailed by Kenwood's backs. Four yards! Then, without signals, the team snapped into the next play. A quick shift to the right, Brounker sprang away to the left, the ball sped back straight from centre and Myron caught it. Kenwood sensed danger now and shifted back to meet it, but Myron was already charging past the left of the line, the interference working like a charm. He was through before he realised it and only a surprised quarter-back stood between him and the goal!
Ahead and at his right sped Vance, tuckered but still game. Behind him weary feet pounded. In his ears was a mighty noise that he knew for the wild, imploring shrieks of friend and foe. Through it came the dull _thump, thump!_ of the bass drum. Twenty yards more now, and the quarter, white-faced and desperate, running toward him with clutching fingers. Then Vance was down, run out, and Myron was alone. Fifteen yards and the Kenwood quarter-back poising for his tackle! Myron gave a little toward the side-line, slackened his pace and then, with a final demand on his strength, sprang forward again at renewed speed. The quarter-back leaped. Myron felt his arms at his hips as he spun on his heel. One arm fell away, but a hand closed inside his leg above the knee and a great weight pulled at him. One plunge, a second, and the last line was swimming in his sight. Then, as if by a miracle, the clutching hand was gone, and, freed of the dragging burden, Myron stumbled, fell to his knees, recovered and went on, straight across the last white line to victory!