Perhaps Coots was a little over-confident in the initial performance. He had had such an easy time of it in past performances that he may have grown a shade careless, as the best of players will.
"Frank hooked it away from him! See him go, will you? Hey! Clifford, what's the matter with that for a beginning? Wow! what a scramble!" shouted Buster Billings.
"But there's the left wing cornered Allen! Watch him get it from him!" answered a faithful Clifford rooter.
"Will he—maybe, maybe not!" quoth Jack Eastwick, as Frank, rightly gauging the downward swoop of Gentle, sent the puck over to Lanky Wallace at just the very last second.
The tall rover was off with it in charge like a lightning express train, and the entire bunch, as it seemed, trailing behind. Straight at the goal he swung, made a feint that had the agile McQuirk on pins and needles, and before the defender of the Clifford goal could recover from his surprise. Lanky, with a cracking shot, sent the rubber disc spinning into the net.
Then pandemonium seemed to break loose! Certainly never before since the red Indians roved the heavily-wooded banks of the picturesque Harrapin, had such a confusion of whoops and shouts sounded in that shallow valley.
