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him were negligible。 Doc Riordan was the man to see first。 Even if Doc could only give me a partial payment of two or three hundred； it would be a start。 With only a ten…dollar bifi in my watch pocket； and a little loose change； I felt at loose ends。 After collecting some money from Doc I could make a fast trip home to Georgia and see my brother。 I couldn't go home pletely broke。 I never had before； and it was too late to start now。
As I thought of home I naturally thought of Mary Elizabeth。 My last visit had been highly unsatisfactory； and I had left without telling her good…bye。
On my last trip home two years before； I had been driving a black Buick convertible； and I had worn an expensive white linen suit。 Although I looked prosperous； most of it was front。 My roll had only consisted of five hundred dollars。 That was when Randall had nicked me for the loan of three hundred。 In the rare letters I had received from him since…about one every four or five months…he had never once mentioned returning the money。
Jacksonville it would be then。 If nothing else； I could pick up my mail at the Jacksonville post office。
Two ancient trucks rolled through the gate loaded down with fruit tramps。 They were returning to the migrant camp on the other side of Belle Glade。 A couple of the men shouted to me； and I waved to them。 There was a maroon Cadillac sedan about two hundred yards behind the last truck； hanging well back out of the dust。 This was Ed Middleton's car。 As he came abreast of the gate； I grinned and stuck out my thumb。 Mr。 Middleton pressed a button； and the right front window slid down with an electronic click。
〃Throw your stuff in the back seat； Frank；〃 Ed Middleton said。 〃I don't want to lose this cold air。〃 The window shot up again。
I opened the back door； arranged my luggage on the floor so it would ride without shifting； slammed the door； and climbed into the front seat。 A refreshing icy breeze filled the roomy interior from an air…conditioning system that actually worked。
I settled backed fortably； and Ed pointed the nose of the big car toward Orlando。
3
Ed Middleton is one of my favorite people。 He is in his early sixties； and if I happen to live long enough； I want to be exactly like him someday。 He is a big man with a big voice and a big paunch。 Except for a bumpy bulbous nose with a few broken blood vessels here and there on its bright red surface； his face is smooth and white； with the shiny licked look of a dog's favorite bone。
Against all the odds for a man his age； Mr。 Middleton still has his hair。 It is a shimmering silvery white； and he always wears it in a thick bushy crew cut。 A ghost of a smile…as though he is thinking of some secret joke…usually hovers about the corners of his narrow lips。 In southern cockfighting circles； or anywhere in the world where cockers get together for chicken talk； his name is respected as the man who bred the Middleton Gray。 Properly conditioned； the purebred MIddleton Gray is a true money bird。
Despite his amiable manner； Ed can get as hard as any man when the time to get tough presents itself； and he wears the coveted Cocker of the Year medal on his watch fob。
〃Lost your car and trailer； eh Frank？〃
I nodded。 Bad news has a way of traveling faster than good news。
〃Tough luck； Frank。〃 Mr。 Middleton laughed aloud。 〃But I don't worry about you landing on your feet。 If I know you； you've probably got a rooster hidden away somewhere that'll give Jack Burke his lumps。〃
I smiled ruefully； made an 〃0〃 with the thumb and forefinger of my left hand and showed it to him。
〃I sure didn't suspect that； Frank；〃 Mr。 Middleton said sympathetically。
I opened a fresh package of cigarettes； offered them to Ed and he waved them away。 He was silent for more than ten minutes； and then he fingered his lower lip and squirmed about slightly in the seat。 The signs were easily recognized。 He wanted to confess something； a problem of some kind was on his mind。 Two or three times he opened his mouth； started to speak his mind； and then shook his head and clamped his lips together。 But he would get it out sooner or later； whatever it was。 Since my vow of silence I had bee； unwillingly； a man who listened to confessions。 Now that I couldn't talk； or wouldn't talk…no one； other than myself； knew the truth about my muteness…people often told me things they would hesitate to tell to a priest； or even to their wives。 At first； it had bothered me； learning things about people I didn't want or need to know； but now I just listened…not liking it； of course； but accepting the confessions as an unwele part of the deal I had made with myself。
We sailed through the little town of Canal Point and hit Highway 441 bordering Lake Okeechobee。
From time to time； when the roadbed was higher than the dike； I got a glimpse of the calm mysterious lake； which was actually a huge inland sea。 Small herds of Black Angus cattle were spotted every few miles between the lake and the highway； eating lush gama grass； but there were very few houses along the way。 Lake Okeechobee； with its hundreds of fish and clear sweet water； is a sportsman's paradise； but the great flood of the early twenties； when thousands of people were drowned； had discouraged realestate development； I supposed。 No plush resort hotels or motels had ever been built near its banks。
〃Frank；〃 Ed Middleton said at last； lowering his voice to conspiratorial tones； 〃today's pitting at Belle Glade was my last appearance at a cockpit。 Surprises you； doesn't it？〃
It did indeed。 I reached up and twisted the rear…view mirror into position so Ed could look at my face without taking his eyes off the highway too much。 I looked seriously into the mirror and widened my eyes slightly。
〃Nobody can keep a secret long in this business； Frank； but I've kept my plans to myself to avoid the usual arguments。 I've argued the pros and cons of cockfighting thousands of times； and you know I've always been on the pro side。 If there's a better way of life than raising and fighting game chickens； I haven't found it yet；〃 he said grimly。 〃But I'm a married man； Frank； and you aren't。 That's the difference。 I'm happily married； and I have been for more than thirty years； but I can still envy a man like you。 There aren't a dozen men in the United States who've devoted their lives solely to cockfighting like you have； that is； without earning their living in some other line of business。
〃I suppose I've known you for ten years or more and； as a single man； you've got the best life in the world。 You've earned the admiration and respect of all of us； Frank。〃
I was embarrassed by the praise。
〃That was a clever trick you pulled this afternoon； Frank！〃
I started with surprise； and Mr。 Middleton guffawed loudly。
〃I haven't seen anyone pull that stunt with the cracked bill to raise the odds in about fifteen years。 Don't blame yourself for losing the fight。 Write it off to bad luck； or face up that Jack Burke had the better chicken。 But that isn't what I wanted to talk about。
〃Martha has been after me to quit for years； and I finally gave in。 I'm not too old； but I certainly don't need the money。 I've got enough orange trees in Orlando to take care of my wants for three lifetimes。 If Martha shared my enthusiasm for the game； it would be different。 But she won't go on the road with me。 This business of living alone in motel rooms doesn't appeal to me anymore。 The two months I spent refereeing in Clovis； New Mexico； last spring were the loneliest weeks of my entire life。
〃Anyway； I've sold all my Grays。 Made a deal for the lot with a breeder in Janitzio； Mexico； and shipped out the last crate of April trios last week。 If he fights my Grays as slashers； he'll lose his damned camisa； but at any rate； they won't be fighting in the States。
〃If you wonder why I refereed today's fight； it was because I promised Captain Mack a year ago。 But that was my last appearance in the pit； and you won't see me in the pits again； either as a referee or spectator。〃 Ed sighed deeply； his confession pleted。 〃Like the lawyer feller says； Frank； 'Further deponent sayeth not。〃
Several dissuading arguments came immediately to my mind； but I remained silent； of course。 As far as I was concerned； what Ed Middleton did was his business； not mine； but his loss to the game would be felt in the South。 We needed men like him to keep the sport clean and honest。 But I didn't say anything because of my self…imposed vow of silence。
Up to this moment I've never told anyone why I made the vow。 What I do is my business； but the silver medal on Ed Middleton's watch fob held the answer。 Money had nothing to do with my decision to keep my mouth shut。
All of us in America want money because we need it and cannot live without it； but we don't need as much money as most of us think we do。 Money isn't enough。 We must have something more； and my something more was the Cockfighter of the Year award。
The small silver coin on Ed's watch fob was only worth； in cash； about ten or fifteen dollars； but a lot of men have settled for lesser honors。 A man may refuse a clerk's job with a loan pany； for instance； for one hundred dollars a week。 But if this same man is put in charge of three typists and is given the exalted title of office manager； the chances are that he will work for ninety dollars a week。 In business； this is a well…known 〃for instance。〃
Unlike Great Britain； we don't have any peerages to hand out； or any annual Queen's Honors List； so most of us settle for less； a hell of a lot less。 In large corporations； the businessman has reached his goal in life when he gets a title on his door and a corner office with two windows instead of one。 But I'm not a businessman。 I am a full…time cockfighter。
My goal in life was that little silver coin； not quite as large as a Kennedy half dollar。 On one side of the medal there is an engraved statement： Cockfighter of the Year。 In the center； the year the award is given is engraved in Arabic numerals。 At the bottom of the coin are three capital letters： S。C。T These letters stand for Southern Conference Tournament。
To a noncocker； this desire might sound childish； but； to a cockfighter； this award is his ultimate achievement in one of the toughest sports in the world。 The medal is awarded to the man Senator Jacob Foxhall decides to give it to at the pletion of the annual S。C。T。 held in Milledgeville； Georgia。 However； Senator Foxhall doesn't always see fit to award the medal。 In the last fifteen years he has only awarded the medal to four cockfighters。 Ed Middleton was one of them。
In addition to the medal' there is a cash award of one thousand dollars。 In effect； the cocker who wins this award has the equivalent of a paid…up insurance policy。 He can demand a minimum fee of one hundred and fifty dollars a day as a referee from any pit operator in the South； and the operator considers it an honor to pay him。 To a cocker； this medal means as much as the Nobel Prize does to a scientist。 If that doesn't convey an exact meaning of the award； I can state it simpler。 The recipient is the best damned cockfighter in the South； and he has the medal to prove it。
For ten years this medal has been my goal。 The S。C。T。 is the toughest pit tourney in the United States； and a cockfighter can't enter his game fowl without an invitation。 Only top men in the game receive invitations； and I had been getting mine for eight years…even during the two years I was in the akmy and stationed in the Philippine Islands。
A vow of silence； however； isn't necessary to pete for the award。 That had been my own idea； and not a very bright idea either； but I was too damned stubborn to break it。
Three years before I had been riding high on the list of eligible S。C。T。 cockfighters。 In a hotel room in Bioxi； I had gotten drunk with a group of chicken men； and shot off my big mouth； boasting about my Ace cock； a Red Madigan named Freelance。
Another drunken breeder challenged me； and we staged the fight in the hotel room。 Freelance killed the other cock easily； but in the fight he received a slight battering。 The next day at the scheduled S。C。T。 pitting； I had