The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Six (80 page)

T
HE
T
IGERS KEPT
trying. They made two first downs through the Shipper wall with Ken Martin’s twelve-yard reverse sparking the drive. Then a Shipper end spilled through and squelched a spinner, and the Tigers had to kick.

Higgins toed the ball into the corner, and it didn’t bounce out.

Duffy fell back as if for a kick, but the Shippers’ Jalkan took the ball and powered it through for five yards. They continued to feed him the pigskin for three downs, and he ran the ball back out of danger.

Then Duffy got loose. The flashy Irishman got into the secondary, and he was running like Red Grange. When Flash drove for him he met a stiffarm that dropped him in his tracks. Duffy was away and going fast. He was a wizard on his feet, anyway, and today he was running as if possessed.

Ken Martin cut down the field heading for him, but Duffy had a hidden burst of speed, and he pulled the trigger on it and cut back across the field. Martin swerved, lost distance, gained, and then made a dive that left his arms empty and Duffy went across the goal line standing up.

I
T WAS SHEER MURDER
. Duffy was playing way over his head, and Jalkan seemed to have more drive than normal. Against the weakened Tiger line even less worthy opponents would have had a field day; as it was, Jalkan pulverized them, and Duffy kept the backfield in a dither.

Then, with four minutes to go, Flash got away and Martin dropped back for a pass. The ball came over like a bullet, and Flash glimpsed it, then let his legs out. He was in an open field and there wasn’t a man between him and the goal posts. The ball was leading him; he ran like a madman, stretched and got his fingertips on it, almost had it, then it eeled from his fingers and dropped, hitting the ground. Pounding feet warned him, and with a frantic dive he made a recovery.

When the pile untangled he got up slowly. Schaumberg stared at him, but said nothing. Makin, a Shipper end, stood looking at him and then said, “We don’t need any help. We can win it without you.”

Flash froze. Then he wheeled and started for Makin. Somebody yelled, and Makin said, “All right, come an’ get it!” He threw a right. Flash slipped it, and smashed him in the ribs with his own. A left caught him over the eye, but it bounced off the padding of his helmet, and then he was jerked back and the referee was yelling at him. “Cut it out or get off the field!”

Without a word he pulled himself free and walked back. Tom Higgins took the ball and went through tackle for three, then Martin for two, and then Higgins took it over for their only score of the game.

Slowly, Flash started for the dressing room. Higgins was limping. As if it hadn’t been enough to lose Wilson and Krakoff, now Burgess and Higgins were both hurt. He started toward Schaumberg, but the big German deliberately walked away from him, and Moran stopped.

Pop Dolan was standing by the door with Micky. His face was pale. Ken Martin was talking to him, then Martin shrugged and walked into the dressing room. Flash stopped.

Micky looked at him, her eyes scornful. “Well,” she said, “you probably earned
your
money!”

Moran felt himself turn sick inside. He turned to her. “What makes you say that?” he demanded. “I do my best!”

“Do you?” she inquired. “But for whom? Dad, or Lon Cramp?”

Moran stared at them, pale and helpless. Even Pop suspected him. “What are you thinking of me?” he burst out. “Men have missed taking passes before!”

“After talking with Cramp?” Micky demanded. “And you, Moran, you who were supposed to be so grateful! You, who never missed a pass!”

For a moment, he stared at them, and then he turned and walked inside. There was dead silence when he came in, and he walked across to his locker and began to strip. He didn’t even bother to shower, just dressed, and no one spoke, no one said a word.

M
ICKY AND
P
OP HAD GONE
when he got outside. He walked slowly across the street and got into his car. Rossaro was leaning against it, waiting for him. “See how it goes when you don’t play ball?” The smaller man arched an eyebrow and sauntered off and Flash watched him go.

Just what, he asked himself suddenly, had Rossaro meant by that? Those passes…. But that would mean that Ken Martin was taking a payoff from Cramp. And Ken was going to marry Micky Dolan. It didn’t make sense. Even from a selfish standpoint, it would be much better to marry Micky if Pop owned a successful club.

On the inspiration of a moment, he swung his coupe into a side street and turned it to face the highway. Who had Rossaro been waiting for?

He had only to wait a minute. Rossaro came by in the big black car, and there were two men in the backseat with him. Who they were he couldn’t make out. He waited what seemed a full minute, then swung out and began to follow them. Up the drive and down the street toward the Parkway. Suddenly they turned sharp left and went down a street that led toward the country. He fell back a little further, puzzled, but alert.

The black car swung off the highway and took to the woods. He waited an instant, then followed. Ahead of him, the car was stopped. Hastily, he swung his own car into a side road and got out.

He was almost up to the black car when he heard a slight noise. He moved forward, through the brush, and then he saw Rossaro. The Italian was turning, then recognition caused a sneer to curl his lips. “Well, Moran! I guess you asked for it. Take him boys!”

Flash tried to turn, then something slugged him, and he staggered. In staggering, he turned. The man he was facing was Makin. Something slammed over his head with terrific force and he fell, tumbling away into an awful, cushiony blackness that smelled strangely of damp earth and pine needles.

W
HEN HE OPENED
his eyes it was dark. His head was one great throbbing burst of pain. He got his hands under him and pushed up, then lifted to his knees. He could see the dim marks of a dirt road, and then, overhead, the stars. He got shakily to his feet.

It came back, slowly. He had followed Rossaro to see who was with him. They must have guessed who he was, or known, and had turned off and led him into this trap. Makin had been one of them, and they had hit him. When he was facing them, Rossaro must have stepped up and hit him on the head.

He got back to his car. It was there and unharmed. He got in, started the motor, and drove back to his room. When he got to the door, he opened it, staggered in and fell across the bed.

I
T WAS DAYLIGHT
when Flash was awakened by the sound of movement. He turned his head and groaned. He heard somebody walking over, and looked up to see Butch Hagan. “What happened to you?” Butch demanded.

Stumblingly, he told him. Hagan stared at him, then got up and dampened a towel. When he came back he went to work on the cut on Moran’s head. A long time later, when Flash had bathed and shaved, the two men looked at each other.

“Well,” Butch said, “I’ll admit, they had me doubting. You always got everything Martin threw and missing two passes, the same way, it didn’t look reasonable. Martin swore he put them just as he always had.”

“You said ‘they’ almost convinced you. Who did you mean?”

“Martin and Schaumberg. Both of them said you’d sold out. They said the offer Cramp made you was to fumble or do something to mess up.”

Suddenly, Flash looked up. “Butch, I got an idea that can save the Tigers. Are you with me?”

“Yeah,” Hagan said. “I need the dough. I’ll admit, I told ’em I’d think it over. But I’ve got a kid, and—You know how it is, you’ve got to set an example.”

“Yeah.” Flash leaned forward. “Butch, did you know Deacon Peabody was working at Denton Mills now?”

“Peabody? Used to be All-American? Why, he was a pal of mine!”

“I know. Now here’s what I want you to do. We’ve got a week until the game with Cramp’s Bears. Let’s get busy.”

F
LASH CAME DOWN
the stadium steps to the box where Pop Dolan sat with Micky. Pop saw him, and his face got red. Micky saw him, too. She started to speak, then tightened her lips and deliberately turned her back on him.

Flash sat down. “Pop,” he said, “it’s nearly game time. In a few minutes you’ll have a crippled team going out on that field for a beating. You’ve only got sixteen men down there, and I know for a fact that two of them have sold out.”

Pop stared at him, and Micky turned suddenly, her eyes angry, but before she could speak, Flash leaned forward and grabbed Pop Dolan’s arm. “Listen, Pop! I know what they told you. But it was all lies! Give me the word and I’ll have a winning team on that field when the game starts. They’re all here, ready to go!”

“What do you mean?” Pop demanded. “What kind of a team?”

“Pop,” Flash said, “you’re a square guy. You got friends. Well, I’ve got them, too. So has Butch Hagan.”

Flash stood up and waved, and down on the field near the door to the dressing room, Butch Hagan turned and went through the door. Suddenly, there was a roar, and out on the field came the Bears. They were big, and they were the favorites in today’s game, and Flash knew that, even at the odds he had to give, Cramp had bet heavily. The true facts of the Dolan team weren’t out, and the fans still believed in them.

There was another roar as the Tigers ran out onto the field. Flash was watching Cramp, and suddenly he saw the gambler stiffen and come erect. There weren’t sixteen men out there—there were thirty-five!

Micky sat up suddenly. “Pop, look! That man with the twenty-two on his jersey! Why, it’s Red Saunders!”

“Saunders? But he’s not playing football anymore!” Pop said. “He hasn’t played since he quit the Tigers two years ago to practice law!”

“And there’s Larry Simmons, twice All-American end! And Lew Young, ex-Navy center, and—!”

“We’ve got you a team!” Flash said. “We’ve got a team that will win if you give me the word. So what do you say?”

“Why, son,” Pop smiled suddenly, “I couldn’t make myself believe that you would go back on me!”

“Then we’ve got a game to play!” Flash said, and slipped away before they could say any more.

He knew it was a good team. Right now there were more stars on that field than there had been in years. Of course, they hadn’t all played together, but some of them had. Simmons had played on an Army post team, and Lew Young had played with the Navy, and Saunders had just come back from a hunting trip and was in rare condition. It was a chance, and a good chance.

The Bears had everything in the books. Lon Cramp was out for a title, and he hadn’t spared money. He had a big fullback, a ten-second man named Brogan. And the Bears’ captain was a lad named Chadwick who ran like a ghost. Their other backs, both triple-threat men in college ball, were Baykov and Chavel.

The line was bigger than that of the Tigers, and they had power to spare. There was a big tackle named Polanyi, and an end with long legs and arms who could run like a streak and was named Monte Crabb. They had others, too. They had Leland, Barnes, Wilson and, at center, Krakoff.

Red Saunders kicked off for the Tigers and they started down the field. Flash Moran was playing tailback, and he was hanging far back, looking over the team.

Monte Crabb took the ball on the Bear twenty-five yard line and running behind perfect interference got down the field for twenty yards before Larry Simmons cut in, evaded a halfback and dropped Crabb with a bone-jolting tackle.

They lined up and Brogan powered through the center for five yards. Then he took the ball again, and hitting the line, went through for three more before they stopped him.

They drove on until they had rolled the Tigers back to their own ten yard line, but the Tigers were playing good ball. They were getting used to each other, and they were looking over the opposition.

Brogan started through the line, but Butch Hagan shoved Polanyi on his face in the dirt and hit Brogan with everything he had. Brogan clung to the ball, however, and they lined up with a yard lost.

The Tigers held them again, held them without the ball moving an inch, and then on the next play the Tigers’ Lew Young and a guard named Corbett hit Krakoff and drove him back on his heels. Krakoff got up mad and took a swing at Young, and Lew, who had been some shakes as an amateur heavyweight, dropped him in his tracks.

They broke that one up, but Krakoff was mad clear through. He snapped the ball, then drove at Young, and Lew jumped back and Krakoff sprawled forward off balance and Corbett went through that hole and nailed Brogan before he could get out of his tracks. Saunders cut around and as the ball slipped from Brogan’s hands, he nailed it and went to the ground.

The Tigers had the ball. Higgins called the signals and Saunders took it around the end for five yards, then they snapped it to Flash and he went off tackle for six. They lined up, and Moran took the ball again, and Red Saunders, running like a deer, got off ahead of him. They went down the sidelines, and he was crossing the Bear forty yard line when he was downed by Chavel.

He was feeling good now, and the team was beginning to click. They liked Pop Dolan, and they didn’t like Cramp, and they were out for blood. They weren’t saving themselves for another game because most of them weren’t expecting to play another.

Flash went around end on the next play and Ken Martin passed. The minute he saw the pass he knew he couldn’t make it. He ran like a wild man, but his fingers just grazed the ball. It went down and Chadwick recovered.

Flash turned and started back up the field and saw Schaumberg and Ken Martin standing together. He started toward them, and they stood there waiting for him.

“You deliberately passed that ball out of range!” Flash accused Martin.

“Moran, you’re a fool!” Martin said. “If Lon Cramp gets this club you stand to make more money than you ever did!” Suddenly Flash was sure he knew who the other men had been that day in the woods. It had been Makin and Rossaro…and, in the car, where he could barely be seen, Ken Martin!

“Yeah?” Moran’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a lot about it!”