"Our only chance," he said, "is in a rush. Now, I want every man to make for that goal. Never mind the ball. I'll get the ball there. And then you, Jimmie Ben, and a couple of you centers, make right back here on guard.""They're going to rush," said Hughie to his team. "Don't all go back. Centers fall back with me. You forwards keep up."At the drop Dan secured the ball, and in a moment the Front rush came. With a simultaneous yell the whole ten men came roaring down the ice, waving their clubs and flinging aside their lightweight opponents. It was a dangerous moment, but with a cry of "All steady, boys!" Hughie threw himself right into Dan's way. But just for such a chance Jimmie Ben was watching, and rushing upon Hughie, caught him fairly with his shoulder and hurled him to the ice, while the attacking line swept over him.
For a single moment Hughie lay dazed, but before any one could offer help he rose slowly, and after a few deep breaths, set off for the scrimmage.
There was a wild five minutes. Eighteen or twenty men were massed in front of the Twentieth goal, striking, shoving, yelling, the solid weight of the Front defense forcing the ball ever nearer the goal. In the center of the mass were Craven, Johnnie Big Duncan, and Don fighting every inch.
For a few moments Hughie hovered behind his goal, his heart full of black rage, waiting his chance. At length he saw an opening.
Jimmie Ben, slashing heavily, regardless of injury to himself or any others, had edged the ball toward the Twentieth left. Taking a short run, Hughie, reckless of consequences, launched himself head first into Jimmie Ben's stomach, swiping viciously at the same time at the ball. For a moment Jimmie Ben was flung back, and but for Johnnie Big Duncan would have fallen, but before he could regain his feet, the ball was set free of the scrimmage and away. Fusie, rushing in, had snapped it up and had gone scuttling down the ice, followed by Hughie and the master.
Before Fusie had got much past center, Dan, who had been playing in the rear of the scrimmage, overtook him, and with a fierce body check upset the little Frenchman and secured the ball. Wheeling, he saw both Hughie and Craven bearing down swiftly upon him.
"Rush for the goal!" he shouted to Jimmie Ben, who was following Hughie hard. Jimmie Ben hesitated.
"Back to your defense!" yelled Dan, cutting across and trying to escape between Hughie and Craven.
It was in vain. Both of the Twentieth men fell upon him, and the master, snatching the ball, sped like lightning down the ice.
The crowd went wild.
"Get back! Get back there!" screamed Hughie to the mob crowding in upon the ice. "Give us room! Give us a show!"At this moment Craven, cornered by Hec Ross and two of the Red Shirts, with Dan hard upon his heels, passed clear across the ice to Hughie. With a swift turn Hughie caught the ball, dodged Jimmie Ben's fierce spring at him, and shot. But even as he shot, Jimmie Ben, recovering his balance, reached him and struck a hard, swinging blow upon his ankle. There was a sharp crack, and Hughie fell to the ice. The ball went wide.
"Time, there, umpire!" cried the master, falling on his knees beside Hughie. "Are you hurt, Hughie?" he asked, eagerly. "What is it, my boy?""Oh, master, it's broken, but don't stop. Don't let them stop. We must win this game. We've only a few minutes. Take me back to goal and send Thomas out."The eager, hurried whisper, the intense appeal in the white face and dark eyes, made the master hesitate in his emphatic refusal.
"You can't--"
