Football Fugitive (7 page)

The second quarter got under way with the Digits ahead 13–0, a comfortable lead. The score remained that way till the middle
of the third quarter when Manny caught a twenty-two-yard pass on the Finbacks’ forty-one, and went all the way for his second
touchdown of the game. Doug tried the point-after kick, but failed for the second time to boot the pigskin between the uprights.
19–0, Digits.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re ahead of them,” Doug said sourly. “Maybe you’d better let somebody else kick for the extra
point next time, George.”

“What a switch,” thought Larry. He had never heard Doug bad-mouthing himself before.

Doug was still tops in the kickoff department, however. The ball sailed end over end into Finbacks territory, landing in left
halfback Dutch Pawling’s arms. Larry was among the crowd that went after him, feeling confident that Dutch would be lucky
to get within fifteen yards of midfield.

Dutch did better than that. Besides getting excellent blocking, he did some fancy hip-swiveling, too, twice wiggling himself
free of Digits’ clutches. Then, for the last twenty-six yards, he had clear sailing and went for a touchdown.

“I can’t believe it!” exclaimed George, pounding his helmet with his fists.

“You’d better believe it,” Larry said.

Fullback Paul Henley made the point-after kick good. Digits 19, Finbacks 7.

In the fourth quarter the Finbacks picked up seven more points. Not easily, though. They had to punt twice to get the ball
deep into Digits territory. But it was the punts that helped, and then Dutch’s crossbuck run that put him just across the
goal line.

Again Paul’s kick was good. But the Finbacks couldn’t keep up the fire, and the game went to the Digits, 19–14.

“Man, am I glad that’s over,” said Greg, walking off the field with Larry, helmet in his hand, sweat pouring from his face.
“Those guys were coming up fast.”

“Telling me,” said Larry.

Yancey was waiting for them at the gate. The broad smile on his face gave no hint that his court trial was pending.

“Well, guys, you pulled those plays off like pros,” he said proudly.

Larry smiled. “You drew them up so well, Yancey,” he said, “that we
couldn’t
miss.”

“Got any new ones for us, Yancey?” Greg asked.

“Frankly, Greg, I haven’t given it a thought; had other things on my mind. I’ll try to have another one for you by Monday,
though. Okay?”

“You don’t have to, Yancey,” Larry replied. “We know you’re pretty busy.”

Not even a pro football star, he reflected, should be thinking about play patterns when his own trial is coming up.

“That’s okay,” Yancey insisted. “I’ll have a play for you. Maybe a couple of them.”

T
he trial lasted two days, Friday and Monday. It was almost five o’clock on Monday when the case went to the jury.

By the next afternoon the jury was still deliberating.

“What rotten luck,” Larry said to Greg as they headed for the field to play their final game of the season, against the Moths.
“I was hoping that the jury would have their verdict by this morning, anyway.”

“My parents said that sometimes a jury could be working on a case for days,” said Greg.

“That’s right,” agreed Larry, who had learned a little about law from his father.

The day was cold in spite of the sun popping out from behind white clouds now and then. The crowd was the largest that had
attended any of the Digits’ games this season. Maybe the Digits’ spreading reputation as a winning team was responsible. A
winning team always drew the fans. And the Digits, having won their last two games, was certainly a winning team.

“Oh, well,” thought Larry, “who cares how many fans are here? I just hope that Yancey is found not guilty. As a matter of
fact, I would rather lose the game than have him be found guilty.”

During the game he felt scared each time the Moths had the ball. He wondered whether he’d ever get over the feeling when meeting
a runner head-on, or throwing himself at a ball carrier, or throwing a block on a
guy. “How long will I have to play before that scared feeling wears off, anyway?” he asked himself.

It wasn’t till the end of the first three minutes of the second quarter when Sammy Shantz, the Moths’ safety man, intercepted
one of George Daley’s long passes and ran sixty-three yards; the first score of the game went up on the scoreboard. Franky
Milo kicked for the point after and made it good. 7–0.

Two minutes later, with the ball back in the Moths’ possession on their own forty-two, Sammy Shantz’s pitchout to Earl Dimmick,
his left halfback, was fumbled, and Larry was one of the first to go busting through the line in a wild scramble to recover
it. He saw the ball popping like a cork out of one and then another guy’s hands, and finally saw it rolling freely across
the grass turf. Out of the corner of his eye he
saw Franky making a mad dash for it. At the same time Larry bolted after it, too, and got to it a fraction of a second before
Franky did. He pulled it under him and lay on it, while Franky tried vainly to take it from him.

The whistle shrilled. Digits’ ball.

“Mash Forty-one,” George said in the huddle.

The play worked for twenty-eight yards. An end-around run by Doug Shaffer accounted for sixteen more. They were on the go
now, with short runs, short passes. They were moving… moving…

They got to the Moths’ two, and Doug went over for the touchdown. He kicked successfully for the extra point, too. 7–7.

Minutes later the whistle announcing the end of the half came as a surprise. The time had really zipped by.

Coach Ellis’s talk during the intermission was filled. with its usual “go-get-’em-guys-you’ve-got-it-in-you” spirit. But only
some of it filtered through Larry’s busy mind. He was wondering how the jury was doing on Yancey Foote’s case.

Franky Milo, after two short runs, took a pitchout from Sammy, then faded back and winged a long pass to his right end, Peter
Buttrick. Peter went all the way to the Digits’ three-yard line, where George pulled him down. Then Sammy went over on a quarterback
sneak for the Moths’ second touchdown. Again Franky’s kick was good. Moths 14, Digits 7.

The Moths kept pressing, forcing the Digits back against their own end zone again, and Larry wondered what the Digits fans
thought of them now. The Digits certainly were not the same fighting, spirited team
that had defeated the Crickets and the Finbacks. What had happened to that fighting spirit, anyway?

With fourth down and the ball on their eight-yard line, Larry thought of one of the two plays that Yancey had given him last
Sunday.

“How about trying the Fake Punt, George?” he said. “This might be a good time for it.”

George looked at him. “One of those new plays? I don’t know. We could be tackled back here and give them a safety.”

“Or we could pull the biggest fake of the year,” said Larry.

“Okay, let’s try it,” said George.

The team went into a punt formation. George called signals. Larry snapped the ball.

George took the long spiraling snap from Larry, started to kneel with it, then got up
and sprinted toward the right side of the line. With fine blocking from Billy, Doug, and Ray, he churned up yardage till he
reached the Moths’ thirty-eight.

“We did it!” cried Larry happily.

From there the Moths slowed the Digits’ forward progress, but the Digits managed to get to the Moths’ eighteen, where they
were held for three downs without gaining a yard.

“Doug, think you can boot one over?” asked George.

“Why not?” replied Doug. “I can’t miss
all
the time.”

He kicked, and it was good. The field goal made the score 14–10, the Moths still leading.

The score remained unchanged to the middle of the fourth quarter. The Moths had possession of the ball on the Digits’ nine
when Franky dropped a pitchout. Larry, plowing through like a wild buffalo, picked
up the ball, carried it for eight yards, and was dropped like a sack of potatoes.

“Nice going, Larry!” Greg exclaimed, slapping him on the back.

On two plays they gained four yards. The situation looked glum.

“Swing Pass,” said George.

The play worked for twenty-one yards.

They tried it again. It went incomplete. Again they tried it, and again it went incomplete.

Third down and ten, on their forty-two.

“How much time left?” George asked the referee.

“Fifty seconds,” answered the official.

The guys stared at each other, eyes like black holes, faces smeared with dirt and sweat.

“Four Shotgun,” said George. “And it better work.”

Larry’s heart beat fast. Four Shotgun was the other play that Yancey had given him last Sunday. It called for the quarterback
to stay in his regular position behind the center, and the other backfield men to line up behind the right tackle. If it worked,
Doug, taking the pitchout from George, could gain substantial yardage.

They broke out of the huddle and rushed to the scrimmage line.

“Forty-six! Thirteen! Hut! Hut! Hut!”

Larry snapped the ball. George took it, spun around to his left, then pitched the ball out to Doug as he started to run behind
Billy James. The fullback bolted through the hole that yawned before him like a tunnel, legs churning like pistons as they
gulped up yardage. Sammy brought him down on the Moths’ fourteen.

“Thirty-eight seconds,” informed the ref.

“Let’s try it again,” said Larry anxiously.

“Why not?” exclaimed Doug, his face glistening with sweat.

They did. This time Doug carried it to the twelve-yard line, where he was smeared.

“Twelve yards from home,” said George in the huddle. “Let’s try the keeper. Larry, Greg — everybody — I’m depending on you.”

They did the job, opening up a hole wide enough for George to barrel through. Touchdown!

Doug kicked for the extra point, and it was good. 17–14, Digits.

Seconds later the game ended, the Digits jumping and cheering with the sweet taste of victory.

As Larry sprinted past the bleachers in his eagerness to get home, he heard a voice yelling to him, “Larry, wait!”

He stopped, and stared. It was his father!

“Dad!”

Next to his father stood Yancey! Both of them were smiling! He ran to them, took their extended hands.

“Nice game, son!” exclaimed Mr. Shope. “I’m sure glad I didn’t miss this one!”

“It was a great finish, Larry,” said Yancey, his face beaming.

“I know how
we
came out!” Larry cried. “It’s how
you
came out, Yancey, that I’m anxious to know about!”

“Oh. We won, too,” Yancey said, his eyes flashing. “Your father’s one of the best doggone lawyers that has ever come down
the pike. Do you know that, Larry?”

Larry’s eyes danced. “I’ve
always
known that, Yancey,” he said.

Mr. Shope, holding Larry’s hand, squeezed it warmly.

“From now on I’m going to see to it that that word
lawyers
is interchangeable with
fathers”
he vowed. “Shall we go? Your mother promised to cook us a big dinner — win or lose.”

Baseball Flyhawk	Dirt Bike Runaway
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Body Check	Fairway Phenom
Catch That Pass!	Football Fugitive
Catcher with a Glass Arm	Football Nightmare
Catching Waves	The Fox Steals Home