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By Root 1330 0

calm in such tense times as now. Then they were all trooping back toward the cockpit through the crowd, Massa Lea carrying the splendid dark buff bird he had chosen to fight first, and Chicken George bringing up the rear carrying his woven basket of emergency injury medications, rabbit underbelly fur, some leaves of fresh ivy, glycerin, a ball of spider’s web, and turpentine. It was a worsening push-and-shove progress the closer they got toward the cockpit, with the alcoholic cries of “Tawm Lea!” ringing in their ears, as well as sometimes “That’s his Chicken George nigger!” and George could feel the eyes on him as if they were fingers, and it felt good, but kept both moving and looking straight ahead, trying to appear as cool as the massa.

And then Chicken George saw the short, squat, titled Englishman standing casually near the cockpit, holding a magnificent bird within the crook of his left arm, as his eyes watchfully appraised the little procession of them arriving with the challenger birds. After exchanging curt nods with Massa Lea, Russell set his bird on the scales and the referee sang out, “Five pounds and fifteen ounces!” The beautiful bird’s silvery blue plumage reflected brilliantly in the sunlight.

Then the massa stepped up with his dark buff bird, which was one of Chicken George’s particular favorites. It was powerful, savage, its neck jerking about like a rattlesnake, murder in its eyes, and it was seething to be released. When the referee shouted “Six pounds even!” the hard-drinking poor-white fans started yelling as if the extra ounce meant the fight was won already. “Taaaaawm Lea! Go git that Britisher, Tawm! Act like he mighty stuck up! Take ’im down a peg!”

It was plain that Massa Lea’s special fans were really well liquored, and Chicken George saw the darkening flush of embarrassment on both the massa’s and the Englishman’s faces as, pretending not to hear, they kneeled to tie on their birds’ steel gaffs. But the cries grew more loud and rude: “Them chickens or ducks he fightin?” ... “Naw, it’s swimmin’ chickens!” ... “Yeah! He feed ’em fishes!” The Englishman’s face was angry. The referee had begun dashing back and forth, furiously waving his arms, shouting, “Gentlemen! Please!” But the derisive laughter only spread and the wisecracks became more cutting: “Where’s his red coat at?” ... “Do he fight foxes, too?” ... “Naw, too slow, waddle like a possum!” ... “More like a bullfrog!” ... “He look to me like a bloodhound!”

Massa Jewett strode out, angrily confronting the referee, his hands hacking the air, but with his words drowned out by the chanting chorus, “Tawmmm Lea!” ... “Tawmmmmm LEA!” Now even the judges joined the referee, dashing this way and that, flailing their arms, brandishing their fists and barking repeatedly, “The cockfight will stop unless there’s quiet!” ... “Y’all want that, keep it up!” Slowly, the drunken cries and laughter began subsiding. Chicken George saw Massa Lea’s face sick with his embarrassment, and that both the Englishman and Massa Jewett were absolutely livid.

“Mr. Lea!” When the Englishman loudly and abruptly snapped out the words, almost instantly the crowd fell silent.

“Mr. Lea, we both have such superb birds here, I wonder if you’d care to join me in a special personal side bet?”

Chicken George knew that every man among the hundreds present sensed just as he did the Englishman’s tone of vengeful-ness and condescension behind his manner of civility. The back of the massa’s neck, he saw, had suddenly become flushed with his anger.

A few seconds brought Massa Lea’s stiff reply: “That will suit me, sir. What is your proposition?”

The Englishman paused. He appeared to be pondering the matter before he spoke. “Would ten thousand dollars be sufficient?”

He let the wave of gasps sweep the crowd, and then, “That is, unless you haven’t that much faith in your bird’s chances, Mr. Lea.” He stood looking at the massa, his thin smile clearly contemptuous.

The crowd’s brief exclamatory rumbling quickly faded into a deathly stillness; those who had been seated were standing