Cockfighter - Charles Ray Willeford [109]
I took Bernice to the house for lunch.
The rematching delay ruined the planned schedule. The last match between Roy Whipple and Colonel Bob Moore didn't start until three thirty. The moment the two cockfighters entered the pit, Omar and I raced for our cockhouse to heel Icky for the last hack between my bird and Burke's Little David.
When we returned to the pit, Jack Burke was already heeled and waiting. As the three of us stood in the doorway, watching the fight in progress, Jack looked contemptuously at Icky and said, “Let's raise the bet to two thousand, Frank.”
Omar bridled. “One thousand is the bet, Mr. Burke. You've had Little David on a country walk all season, and Icky's had to fight to qualify. If there's any bet-changing to be done, you should give us some odds.”
“Are you asking for odds, Frank?” Burke challenged, ignoring my partner.
I shook my head. Holding Icky under my left arm, I pointed to the pit with my free hand. Colonel Bob was carrying out a dead chicken, and Ed Middleton was cutting the gaff tie strings away from Whipple's winner with his knife.
We reported to the judge's booth and weighed in. Icky was at fighting weight, an even 4:02. The freedom of the long rest on a farm walk had brought Little David's weight up from four pounds to 4:03. Omar protested the one-ounce overweight immediately, and Peach Owen ordered Burke to cut away feathers until his cock matched Icky exactly.
“While the results of the tourney are being tabulated and rechecked,” Peach drawled into the microphone with his deep southern voice, “there'll be an extra hack for your pleasure. The weight is 4:02, short heels, between entries four and five!”
A murmur of approval and a scattering of applause encircled the packed tiers. The majority of the people in the audience were aware of the extra hack before the announcement. Omar had laughingly told me about some of the rumors he had heard. Some people thought that the hack was a simple grudge match, while others claimed that several thousand dollars had been bet between us. The reported incident at Plant City, when Dody had kicked me in the shins, had also caused a great many rumors. Supposedly, I had made a pass at Jack's wife, or Jack Burke had taken Dody away from me, and—wildest of all—Dody had been my childhood sweetheart. How a man of thirty-three could possibly have had a childhood sweetheart of only sixteen didn't prevent the rumors. What Jack had spread about himself, or what people said about me, didn't matter. My only concern was to win the hack.
Ed Middleton examined both cocks, returned them to us, and told us to get ready.
“I've been ready!” Jack said.
I bobbed my head, and Ed said, “Bill 'em.”
We billed the cocks on the center score.
“That's enough!” Ed said, when he saw how quickly the combativeness of both cocks was aroused. “Pass 'em once and get ready.”
Holding our gamecocks at arm's length, we passed them in the air with a circling movement and retreated to our respective eight-foot scores.
“Pit!”
As usual, by watching the referee's lips, I let Icky go first, beating Burke off the score. I needed the split second. The O'Neal Red, with its dark red comb, and fresh from a country walk, was faster than Icky. Despite his superb condition, the days and nights in a narrow coop walk had slowed my Blue chicken down. Icky missed with both spurs as Little David side-stepped, and my cock wound up on his back with a spur in his chest.
“Handle!”
The second I disengaged the spur from Icky's breast, I retreated to my side of the pit and examined the wound. It wasn't fatal. Using the cellulose sponge and pan of clean water furnished by the pit, I wiped away the flowing blood, and pressed my thumb against the hole to stop the bleeding until the order came to get ready.
“Pit!”
Little David was overconfident