Siddall High Schools drew a capacity crowd at the Taber rink to witness what had been heralded as probably their most spirited encounter. Both rooting sections buzzed with excitement as their respective teams skated on the ice. This excitement reached high tension when Whiz Deagen and Carl Hemmer met up with each other and shook hands near the Siddall bench.

“Hey, Carl,” called a wit, “which one of you’s the better player?”

“We don’t know yet,” Taber’s great star grinned in reply.

“But it won’t be long now,” added Whiz, showing a nice set of teeth.

“Those two could cut each other’s throats,” the bloodthirsty fan confided to the rooter next to him. “They’re just letting on that they’re friends. Wait till you see what they do to each other in a game!”

Slashing sticks, racing forms, skidding slides, bruising falls—all in the pursuit of a mad-traveling puck! The first period of the Taber-Siddall battle was replete with thrills, both teams putting up a frenzied defense, breaking up formations by stiff body-checking and clever poke-checking with their sticks. The puck changed hands in mid-ice with bewildering rapidity as the main fight centered between the blue lines. Long shots were taken when it was found almost impossible to crash through the human defense walls. During this hectic period even Whiz Deagen and Carl Hemmer were swallowed up in swirling action. Occasionally they would get free and the crowd would roar in anticipation of a spectacular dash but their chances didn’t materialize. They were set upon before going far and forced to retreat or surrender the puck.

“Whiz and Carl are killing each other off!” opined one rooter as the period ended, nothing to nothing. “They’re so afraid one or the other is going to break loose that they’re spending their time on each other’s necks! However, the game is young yet!”

Siddall started the second period with a rush. Having sounded out Taber’s system of play the first fifteen minutes, the enemy—led by their redoubtable Whiz Deagen—assailed the Taber net. This time they broke through Taber’s defense for close-in shots and goalie Frank Cary had a man-sized job on his hands warding the fast-flying puck off with stick, pads, gloves, body and head. He elicited cheer after cheer for his marvelous goal-guarding but Siddall’s persistent battering was not to be denied. Whiz Deagen, capturing the puck in mid-ice, whirled and feinted a pass, then zig-zagged past Taber’s two defense men who made desperate attempts to stop him. He rode on his skate runners up to the very mouth of the cage and shoved the puck, lightning fast, past goalie Cary who, even then, threw himself prone in the wild hope of averting a score.

“No soap!” grinned Whiz, fishing the puck out of the net as the referee’s whistle screeched and the red light of the official score blinked on. “You’re licked. It’s just a question of how much!”

“We’ll get that goal back!” rejoined goalie Cary. “You’ll see!”

Whiz Deagen laughed. He was still laughing at the next face-off when the man whom Taber fans had picked to outshine him, got his stick on the puck and started on a lone dash. These kind of dashes were what had made him famous and Siddall who had worked out a special defense against them, massed for the attack. To the consternation of all, however, Carl did not meet the challenge but veered sharply at the last moment and tried to get past without bodily conflict.

“That’s bad,” said Doctor Lawrence who sat beside Coach Corcoran on the bench. “It’s still got him!”

Whiz Deagen, following Carl closely, caught him as he slackened his pace, crossed sticks with him and scraped the puck away as both brought up against the sideboards with a crash, Carl pulling back instinctively