Cockfighter - Charles Ray Willeford [93]
“Get ready, then,” Tom said to the old man.
Milam was forced to hold the straining Little Joe under the body with both hands. There weren't enough tail feathers for a good tail hold—and I watched Tom's lips.
“Pit!”
The fight was over.
The battle ended so quickly, all three of us were stunned. I've seen hundreds of cockfights end in the first pitting, a great many of them in fewer than fifteen seconds. But the fight between Icky and Little Joe didn't last two seconds.
I was aware that Little Joe's feet were rosined as well as Icky's. Mr. Peeples had coated them surreptitiously when he got the chicken from its coop run behind the barn. So the only way I can account for the quick ending is by crediting Icky's superior speed and conditioning and my longtime practice of releasing him first. The old man was hampered when the time came to let go, because of the manner in which he had to hold the Ace cock.
Tom's sharp order to pit was still echoing in the rafters of the barn when I released my Blue. Icky, with his sticky feet firmly planted, didn't take the two or three customary steps forward like he usually did. He flew straight into the air from a standing takeoff. Old Man Peeples scarcely had time to pull his hands away from beneath Little Joe's body when Icky clipped twice and cut the veteran fighter down on its score. It happened that fast. Click! Click! One heel pierced Little Joe's head, and the other heel broke his neck.
As the three of us watched in silent stupefaction, Icky strutted proudly to the center of the pit, leaving white gummy footprints in his wake, and issued a deep-throated crow of victory. The expressions on the faces of Milam Peeples &Son were truly delightful to see. And then Tom Peeples's face changed from milky white to angry crimson.
“You killed my Little Joe!” he shouted.
I was still squatting on my heels when he yelled, and I was totally unprepared for the enormous fist that appeared from nowhere and caught me on the temple. I crashed sideways into the left pit wall and it was smashed flat under the weight of my body. My eyes blurred with tears. All I could see were dark red dots unevenly spaced and dancing upon a shimmering pink background. I must have sensed the darker shadow of Tom's heavy work shoe hurtling toward my head. I rolled over quickly, and his kick missed my head. Two more twisting evasive turns, and I was in the empty horse stall next to the pit. As I scrambled to my knees, my fingers touched the handle of a heavy grooming brush. I regained my feet and swung it in an arcing loop from the floor. Tom saw the edge of the weighted brush ascending, tried to halt his rushing lunge, and half turned away. The brass-studded edge caught him on his blind side, on the bump behind his left ear. As Tom fell, his arms held limply at his sides, the opposite wail of the pit collapsed under him. He was out cold.
I could see all right now,. but I kept a firm grip on the brush handle as I watched Milam Peeples to see what his reaction was going to be. The old man shook his head sadly, and removed an old-fashioned snap-clasp pocketbook from his front pocket.
“You didn't have no call to hit the boy that hard, Mr. Mansfield,” he said. “Little Joe was Tom's pet. He was bound to feel bad about losin' him so quick.”
I tossed the brush back into the empty horse stall and rubbed my sore side. My bruised ribs felt like they were on fire. My head was still ringing, and I probed my throbbing temple gingerly with a forefinger. There was a marble-sized knot beneath the skin, and it was swelling even more as I touched it.
“Now, I'm a little short of a thousand dollars