Nothing was to be used, however, but snowballs and snow. Tackling with the hands, and all rough work, such as kicking or striking or the use of other than snow missiles, was strictly barred, and every offender was to be summarily ejected from the fight, with the loss of his services to his side.
Merriwell stood with his old friends Browning and Hodge at one side of the quadrangle, all interested spectators. Merriwell was the umpire to decide on fouls of all kinds, with the power of expulsion from the play of every offender.
The freshmen behind the walls met the rain of freshmen snowballs with a counter-fire that was as hot as they could make it.
“Better save our ammunition for closer quarters!” Starbright advised, venturing to speak to Morgan.
The interference stung Morgan to the quick.
Morgan moved away, and, as if to show that he disliked the interference, he gave commands that caused the freshman fire to grow even hotter. Seeing that this was the order, and determined to be in the front rank, Starbright flew to the nearest opening, and, with an armful of snowballs, rained them on the sophomores.
He had scarcely done this when he felt a crushing blow on the back of the head which tumbled him half-senseless on his face. As he rose, staggering, and felt of his head, he found blood trickling down over his fingers.
The ball that had struck him had “exploded,” and, noticing it at his feet, he saw that in its center there had been a ragged rock.
The air was filled with flying snowballs. Nevertheless, feeling wofully faint and dizzy, he turned squarely round, cowering meanwhile behind the snow embankment, and looked over the freshmen.
“Morgan did that!” he thought. “I’d bet anything Morgan did that!”
Yet it seemed strange that a commander should want to knock out one of his own men.
Starbright picked up the rock and looked at it. Then he thrust it into his pocket and again felt of his cut and bleeding head.
“Hello!” said Dashleigh, seeing blood on Starbright’s fingers and the stain of it on the snow.
“Hit with this!” said Dick, producing the rock. “It came near laying me out.”
The big fellow was reeling sick, but he tried to conceal it. And as there was no possibility of telling who threw the stone, he gathered himself together, tied up his head with his handkerchief, and again went into the fight.