Bomar told us again.
"You'll have to whip us first," I said.
And good old Jim, in a very friendly voice, said, "Well we can do that, too."
It was about that time I realized that Castleberry and I were in a real spot. We were both pretty fast and they were all big tackles, and we could've outrun them easy. But they'd maneuvered us so we were backed up to one side of the car and the four of them were in a semicircle around us.
But the only chance we had was to run. I figured Castleberry was thinking the exact same thing, so I yelled "Go!" and headed for a hole between Bomar and the guy on his right, Harry Cannon. I was running lead blocker for Castleberry, so I give Cannon a shoulder, hoping to wedge him out a little, and then planned on bouncing over into Bomar. But Jim grabbed me and I went down. I felt Castleberry running up my back, but Cannon got him just as he started over the top. No gain on the play. We put up a brief scuffle, but it wasn't any use. Inside of 10 minutes we were standing there naked and the seniors were wishing us good luck in getting back to the campus.
"Coach says football builds character, and we're just trying to do our part by giving y'all a little off-season training," Bomar called out as the car pulled away.
Lord it was cold—must have been around 25°. We didn't have a real good idea where we were, and we were hardly dressed for traveling. I had to agree with Bomar; this was going to be a real character builder.
Castleberry and I started jogging. We didn't know where we were going, but anything was better than standing still. Finally after three or four miles we got lucky; we struck the main highway, and there, just to our left, was a sign that read: STEPHENVILLE, 41 MILES. That was good news, but we were still naked, freezing and 41 miles from the Fort, with several towns to get through on the way back.
"Castleberry," I said, "we're in big trouble."
"Yeah," was all he said. He was shivering too hard to carry on a full conversation.