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At the right of the forward line stood the redoubtable Dan Munro, the stocky, tricky, fierce captain of the Front team, and with him three rather small boys in red shirts. The defense consisted of Hec Ross, the much-famed and much-feared Jimmie Ben, while in goal, sure enough, stood the immense and solid bulk of Farquhar Bheg. The center was held by four boys of fair size and weight.
Had he not, the very year before he went to the college, cut the comb of the "Cock of the North" from Glen Urquhart, in running and jumping; and the very same year had he not wrested from Callum Bheg, the pride of Athole, the coveted badge of Special Distinction in Highland Dancing?
She helped her off with her hood and coat, patting her on the shoulder the while, and murmuring words of endearment. "Ah, M'eudail! M'eudail bheg! and did you come through the night all the way, and it is ashamed that I am to have sent for you, but he was very bad and I was afraid. Come away! come away! I will make you a cup of tea."
"Take that, you brute, you!" he said, and followed after Craven. Only Farquhar Bheg was left. "Take no chances," cried Craven again. "Come on!" and both of them sweeping in upon the goal-keeper, lifted him clear through the goal and carried the ball with them. "Time!" called the umpire. The great game was won.
Immediately the Twentieth forward line rushed, and by a beautiful hit of combined play, brought the ball directly before the Front goal, when Don, holding it for a moment till Hughie charged in upon Farquhar Bheg, shot, and scored. The result of their combination at once inspired the Twentieth team with fresh confidence, and proved most disconcerting to their opponents.
"That's right!" called out Hec Ross; "that's what we're here for." And his answer was echoed on every side, except by Jimmie Ben, who continued to bluster and offer fight. "O, shut your gab!" finally said Farquhar Bheg, impatiently. "If you want to fight, wait till after the game is done." "Here's your cap, Jimmie," piped a thin, little voice. "You'll take cold in your head."
As sure as death I'll do for him," he skated off to join the forward line. It was the Front knock-off from goal. There was no plan of attack, but the Twentieth team, looking upon the faces of the master and Thomas, needed no words of command. The final round was shot, short, sharp, fierce. A long drive from Farquhar Bheg sent the ball far up into the Twentieth territory.
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