Roots_ The Saga of an American Family - Alex Haley [316]
Massa Lea’s voice was strained. “Sir, would you care to double that? Twenty thousand!”
The whole crowd vented exclamations of incredulity amid rustling agitated movements. In sheer horror Chicken George realized that sum represented Massa Lea’s total assets in the world, his home, his land, his slaves, plus Chicken George’s savings. He saw the Englishman’s expression of utter astonishment, before quickly he collected himself, his face now set and grim. “A true sportsman!” he exclaimed, extending his hand to Massa Lea. “A bet, sir! Let us heel up our birds!”
Suddenly then Chicken George understood: Massa Lea knew that his magnificent dark buff bird would win. Not only would the massa become instantly rich, but this one crucial victory would make him forever a heroic legend for all poor crackers, a symbol that even the snobbish, rich blueblood massas could be challenged and beaten! None of them could ever again look down their noses at Tom Lea!
Massa Lea and the Englishman now bent down on their opposite sides of the cockpit, and in that instant it seemed to Chicken George that the entire life of the massa’s bird flashed through his mind. Even as a cockerel, its unbelievably quick reflexes at first had caught his attention; then as a stag its amazing viciousness saw it constantly trying to attack others through the cracks in their fence-row pen; and when recently retrieved from the rangewalk, within seconds it had nearly killed the old catchcock before it could be stopped. The massa had picked that bird knowing how smart, aggressive, and deep game it was. For just a split second Chicken George seemed again to hear an outraged Matilda, “You’s crazier even dan massa! Wors’ can happen to ’im is endin’ up jes’ a po’ cracker again, but you’s gamblin’ yo’ whole fam’ly’s freedom on some chicken!”
Then the three judges stepped out, positioning themselves evenly around the cockpit. The referee poised as if he stood on eggs. An atmosphere seemed to be hovering that everyone there knew they were about to witness something to talk about for the rest of their days. Chicken George saw his massa and the Englishman holding down their straining birds, both of their faces raised to watch the referee’s lips.
“Pit!”
The silvery blue and dark buff birds blurred toward each other, crashing violently and bouncing backward. Landing on their feet, both were instantly again in the air, tearing to reach each other’s vitals. Beaks snapping, spurs flashing were moving at a blinding speed, attacking with ferocity that Chicken George had seldom seen equaled by any two birds in a cockpit. Suddenly the Englishman’s silvery blue was hit, the massa’s bird had sunk a spur deeply into one of its wing bones; they fell off balance, both struggling to loosen the stuck spur while pecking viciously at each other’s heads.
“Handle! Thirty seconds!” The referee’s shout was barely uttered before both the Englishman and Massa Lea sprang in; the spur freed, both men licked their birds’ disarrayed head feathers to smoothness again, then set them back down on their starting lines, this time holding them by the tails. “Get ready.... Pit!”
Again the cocks met evenly high in midair, both sets of spurs seeking a lethal strike, but failing to do so before they dropped back to the ground. The massa’s bird dashed trying to knock its enemy off balance, but the English bird feinted brilliantly sidewise, drawing the crowd’s gasps as the massa’s bird lunged harmlessly past at full force. Before he whirled