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dly； open face。 Vern was a short wiry little man with a sparse gray moustache； and he had been a good host。
〃Just a second； Frank；〃 Vem's voice stopped me as I started for the bedroom。 〃It's a trick。 Old Man Peeples has never heard of you； Frank； and he's taken you for a sucker。 I've seen him take itinerant cockers before； and I've never said anything。 Why not？ Peeples is a local cocker； and most of the drifters who fight here don't e back anyway。 But I don't feel that way about you。 Because the local gamblers didn't know your reputation I won six hundred bucks today on your hacks。〃 Vern laughed with genuine amusement。
〃You wouldn't fight the old man anyway； once you saw his setup。 He's got a square chunk of waxed linoleum in his barn for the floor of his cockpit。 And that cock of his hasn't won six fights； he's won at least eighteen fights！ He rubs rosin on Little Joe's feet； and on that slick waxed floor the opposing cock doesn't have a chance。 But if you really think your cock can take him； now that you know their game； I'll give you a chunk of rosin。 That way； you'll both start even。〃
I got my suitcase out of the bedroom。 Vern rummaged through the drawers of the sideboard。
〃Here；〃 he handed me an amber chunk of rosin the size of a dime…store eraser。 〃You don't need very much； Frank。 But don't fight him on that waxed linoleum unless you use it。 If you want my advice； you're a damned fool to fight him at all！〃
I winked； shook hands with Vern and crossed the yard toward the station wagon。 These two peckerwoods had a lesson ing； and I had made up my mind to teach it to them。 Icky was in peak condition； as sharp as a needle。 They would be counting on their trick to win。 With the rosin safe in my pocket； the odds were in my favor。 I couldn't believe that Little Joe； despite his eighteen wins； was in proper condition to beat Icky in an even fight。
I put my suitcase in the back； checked Tom's loading of my coops； climbed into the front seat； and honked my horn to let Peeples know that I was ready to go。 I followed his vintage black car out of the parking lot。 The Peeples farm was some six miles out in the country； and to get there I had to follow the lurching car over a twisting； rock…strewn； spring…breaking dirt road。 When the old cockfighter stopped at the entrance to his dilapidated barn； I parked beside him。
I could see the cockpit without getting out of the station wagon。 The linoleum floor was a shiny； glistening design in blue…and…white checkered squares。 The glassy floor was such a flagrant violation of pit regulations…anywhere…that I began to wonder if there wasn't more going on here than Vern Packard had told me。 But Vern had advised me not to fight； so I decided to go ahead with it and see what happened。
When I leaned over the seat to pull out Icky's coop； Tom opened the front door and offered his help。
〃I'll hold him for you； Mr。 Mansfield。〃
I took my blue chicken out of the coop and passed him to Tom Peeples。 He smiled； hefting Icky gently with his big raw hands。
〃He feels jes' like a baseball！〃 Tom said； as I opened my gaff case。 〃Sure does seem a shame to see Little Joe kill a pretty chicken like this one。〃
I cleared Icky's spur stumps with typewriter…cleaning fluid； and heeled him low with a set of silver one…and…aquarter…inch gaffs。 Holding the cock under the chest with one hand； Tom passed him back to me。
〃By the way；〃 he said； snapping his fingers； 〃Little Joe always fights in three…inch heels； if you want to change。〃 Tom had waited patiently until I had finished heeling before providing me with this essential information。 Another violation of form。 Of course； he had no way of knowing that I wouldn't have changed to long heels anyway。
I shook my head indifferently； and he ran to meet his father who was rounding the corner of the barn。 Mr Peeples had gone to the rows of chicken runs behind the barn to get Icky's opponent while Tom had helped me heel。 I took a good look at Little Joe from the front seat。
The cock had been so badly battered I couldn't determine his game strain。 His b and wattles were closely cropped for fighting； and most of his head feathers were missing； pecked out in earlier battles。 Instead of the usual graceful sweep of arching tail feathers； the Peeples cock had only three broken quffis straggling from his stern。 Both wings were ragged； shredded； in fact。 Both wings had been broken in fighting； and although they had knitted； they had bumpy leading edges。 As Milam Peeples sat down on a sawhorse beside the pit and turned the cock on its back for Tom to heel him； I noticed that Little Joe's left eye was missing。 A blinker on top of everything else。 If Little Joe had won eighteen fights； and from his appearance he had been in many battles； Icky was in for the toughest fight of his life。
Maybe his last。
Under cover from Milam and Tom Peeples； I sat in the front seat of the station wagon holding Icky in my lap and briskly rosined the bottom of his feet。 I was still rubbing the feet when the old man… called out that he was ready。 There was only a sliver of rosin left； but I put it in my shirt pocket and joined Milam and his son at the pit。
〃I'm goin' to handle；〃 the old man said。 〃And if you don't have no objections； Tom here can referee。〃
I nodded； stepped over the low wooden wall of the pit； and took my position on the opposite score。 The waxed floor was so slick my leather heels slipped on it slightly before I got to the other side。 Although I figured Mr。 Peeples was expecting an argument of some kind about the illegal flooring； I kept a straight face。 I wondered； though； what kind of an explanation he used to counter arguments about the pit。 It must have been a good one。
〃Better bill 'em； Mr。 Mansfield；〃 Tom said。
We billed in the center； and Icky got the worst of the prefight session。 The bald head of Little Joe and shortage of neck feathers didn't give him a mouthful of anything。 The Peeples cock was the meanest and most aggressive biller I'd seen in some time。 I dropped back to my score。 Both sets of scores； the eight and the two feet； had been straightedged onto the linoleum with black paint。 As I squatted behind my back score； Tom asked me if I was ready； and I pointed to his father。
〃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 in cash； Mr。 Mansfield；〃 Milam Peeples said plaintively； standing on the other side of Tom's felled body； 〃but here's three hundred and fifty…two dollars in bills。 You're goin' to have to take the rest of the debt out in game fowl。 We'd best go on down to the runs and you can pick 'em out。 I figure six gamecocks'll make us even。〃
I didn't。 I counted the bills he handed me； shoved the wad into my hip pocket； and then held up ten fingers。
〃Most of these cocks are Law Grays； Mr。 Mansfield；〃 Peeples protested。 〃And three are purebred Palmetto Muffs。 You know yourself there ain't no better cocks than Palmetto Muffs！ Take a look first； and you'll see what they're worth。 I only got ten gamecocks altogether。〃 I followed the old man out of the barn。
Professional cockers frequently pay off their gambling debts with gamecocks instead of cash。 But this kind of payoff is normally agreed upon before a fight…not afterward。 I had no objection to taking gamecocks； instead of money； this late in the season。 Some hard…hitting replacements would be useful before we entered the Milledgevile Tourney； and I was on the high side of the hog when it came to settling up with Peeples。
On the way to the coop walks； Peeples stopped at the watering trough to light his pipe and to do some preliminary dickering。
〃Now you seen them three Grays I fit this afternoon； Mr。 Mansfield。 Aces every one。 You take them； and any five more of the lot and we'll be fair and square。 Countin' the cash I gave you already； you're gettin' the best end and you know it。〃
Giving Peeples more credit than he probably deserved； I figured his gamecocks were worth about fifty dollars a head。 According to my arithmetic I would be short about two hundred and fifty dollars if I only took eight cocks。 Even if I took all of them I would be one hundred and fifty dollars short of the thousand dollars he had bet me。 I shook my head with a positive…negative waggle。
Feet pounded on the hard'packed ground behind me。 I turned。 Less than twenty feet away Tom Peeples was charging toward me with a hatchet brandished in his upraised right hand。 His red face was contorted and his angry blue eye was focused on infinity。
Without taking time to think I jumped toward him instead of trying to dodge his rush； twisted my body to the left；