class="c007">The much-heralded combat between Whiz Deagen and Carl Hemmer was proving a washout. Whiz was having things much his own way and would probably be credited with winning the game—most certainly should his one goal be the margin of victory.

With eight minutes left to play, Lank skated close to Carl.

“Next time I get the puck,” he said in his ear, “I’m going to crash that defense or know the reason why. You follow right behind me and when I make the hole, you slip through. Watch for the puck because I’ll flip it back to you just as I smack into them!”

“I got you!” Carl replied. “I’ll be there!”

Lank’s opportunity came two minutes later. Carl cut across the ice to join him as Lank started down the ice. He was trailing as Lank skimmed past the blue line and prepared for a body-crashing contact with Siddall’s two defense men. The puck came back to him on a perfect back-handed pass. Lank, having gotten up more momentum than ever before, hit the two defense men with great force ... so much so that all were knocked off their feet. Carl, going fast himself, had to tap the puck to one side and leap their bodies to avoid entanglement. He captured the puck, with the rink a bedlam of sound, and headed for the Siddall net with the goalie crouched in its mouth, broad-bladed stick across his knees.

“There she is!” screamed Taber rooters, going mad as Carl’s close-up shot sent the puck hurtling into the net for the goal which tied the score. “Carl looked like his old self on that one, eh?”

“Sure—after Lank made the way for him!” agreed an observer. “And look at Lank now—he’s stretched out on the ice as cold as a Thanksgiving turkey!”

Cheers died to a breathless silence as Coach Corcoran and Doctor Lawrence hurried on the ice. Taber’s left forward stirred and raised partially up, then writhed in pain.

“Sprained knee,” was the verdict after he had been examined. “Breath knocked out, too ... and a nice little bump on the head!”

Carl’s elation at his having scored was shortlived at seeing that the fellow who had made his score possible was ‘out’ on the play. He reached Lank’s side as Lank was lifted up.

“Good work, Carl!” Lank complimented. “I knew—if I could get you through there...!”

Carl winced. “It’s all my fault,” he blamed. “You were doing what I should have done. I scored on your nerve!”

“You’re welcome to it,” proffered Lank, as they carried him toward the sidelines, Carl skating alongside. “Nerve is such a little thing compared to a fellow who can play hockey like you can!”

Taber’s crack hockey player swallowed. A flash came in his eyes. Turning to fellow team members he cried: “Get me that puck, you guys! That’s all you’ve got to do!... I’ll take it down the ice!”

Whiz Deagen, noting his rival’s change of attitude, turned to his team-mates. “I’ll handle this baby!” he assured.

With the next facing off of the puck at center ice, an electric thrill passed through the crowd as the long-anticipated clash between the two great hockey stars arrived! It was now anybody’s game and very likely that the next goal would decide the victor. Whiz, catching the puck on his stick as it slid along the ice on a pass from Siddall’s center, started a dodging, twisting drive into Taber territory. Carl Hemmer, however, was on his heels, dogging every stride of his journey. The two swooped together in front of Taber’s cage and went down in a heap as the puck upended and rolled to the sideboards.

“Carl prevented a sure score then!” cried a spectator.

Both stars were up in an instant and giving pursuit as team-mates dived in. And now it was Carl who stick-handled the