cwilleford.cockfighter-第27部分

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was　a　Pole　or　a　New　Yorker。
　　Members　of　the　cockfighting　fraternity　are　from　all　walks　of　life。　There　are　men　like　myself；　from　good　southern　families；　sharecroppers；　businessmen；　loafers　on　the　county　relief　rolls；　Jews；　and　Holy　Rollers。　If　there　is　one　single　thing　in　the　world；　more　than　all　the　others；　preserving　the　tradition　of　the　sport　of　cocking　for　thousands　of　years；　it's　the　spirit　of　democracy。　In　a　letter　to　General　Lafayette；　George　Washington　wrote；　〃It　will　be　worth　ing　back　to　the　United　States；　if　only　to　be　present　at　an　election　and　a　cocking　main　at　which　is　displayed　a　spirit　of　anarchy　and　confusion；　which　no　countryman　of　yours　can　understand。〃　I　carried　a　clipping　of　this　letter；　which　had　been　reprinted　in　a　game　fowl　magazine；　in　my　wallet。　I　had　told　Mary　Elizabeth　once　that　George　Washington　and　Alexander　Hamilton　had　both　been　cockfighters　during　the　colonial　period；　but　she　had　been　unimpressed。　Nonetheless；　cockfighters　are　still　the　most　democratic　group　of　men　in　the　United　States。
　　But　the　Milledgeville　Tourney　was　unlike　other　U。S。　meets。　Senator　Foxhall　had　his　own　rules；　and　he　made　his　own　decisions　about　whom　to　invite。　I　had　earned　my　right　to　fight　there；　and　I　suppose　the　old　man　knew　that　I　would　be　there　if　it　was　physically　possible　for　me　to　be　there。　Maybe　he　didn't　think　Omar　was　ready　yet。　I　didn't　know。　Surely　Omar's　fifty…fifty　showing　didn't　put　him　into　the　top　cocker's　class。　He　stifi　had　a　lot　to　learn　about　game　fowl　if　he　wanted　to　be　a　consistent　winner。
　　I　looked　at　Omar　and　smiled。　There　wasn't　any　use　to　write　a　note　for　him　telling　him　what　I　thought　was　the　reason　for　his　turndown。　His　feelings　would　be　hurt　more　than　they　were　already。　By　writing　to　the　senator；　he　had　made　a　grave　error；　a　social　error。　It　was　like　calling　a　host　of　a　party　you　were　not　invited　to　and　asking　point　blank　for　an　invitation！
　　I　had　finished　my　coffee；　and　I　had　work　to　do。　I　got　up　from　the　table　and　clapped　Omar　on　the　shoulder。　Before　leaving　the　shack；　I　took　a　can　of　lighter　fluid　off　the　dresser　and　slipped　it　into　my　hip　pocket。　Omar　sighed　audibly　and　decided　to　follow　me　out。
　　When　we　got　to　the　cockhouse；　I　removed　the　Mellhorn　Blacks　one　at　a　time　from　their　separate　coops；　showing　off　the　good　and　bad　points　to　Omar　as　well　as　I　could　before　putting　them　back。　For　a　shipment　of　a　dozen；　they　were　a　beautiful　lot。　As　Jake　had　promised　in　his　letter；　six　were　full　brothers；　a　few　months　past　staghood；　and　the　other　six　were　Aces；　two　to　three　years　old；　with　one　or　more　winning　fights　behind　them。　Each　cock　was　identifiable　by　its　web…marking；　and　the　cardboard　record　sheet　of　each　bird　had　been　enclosed　in　its　shipping　crate　when　Jake　had　expressed　them　down　from　North　Carolina。　Before　putting　them　away　the　night　before；　I　had　purged　them　with　a　mild　plain…phosphate　mixture；　and　they　were　feeling　fine　as　a　consequence。
　　As　a　conditioning　bench；　I　used　a　foam…rubber　double　mattress　stretched　flat　on　a　wooden；　waist…high　platform　Buford　and　I　had　knocked　together　out　of　scrap　lumber　when　I　had　first　leased　the　farm。　I　had　one　of　the　older　Mellhorn　cocks　on　the　bench　showing　it　to　Omar。　The　cock　was　a　one…time　winner；　but　he　must　have　won　by　an　accident。　His　conformation　was　fair；　but　the　bird　was　highstationed；　with　his　spurs　jutting　out　just　below　the　knee　joint。　He　would　miss　as　often　as　he　hit。　A　low…stationed　cock　would　have　greater　leverage　and　fight　best　in　long　heels；　but　a　high…stationed　cock　like　this　one　would　never　make　a　first…class　fighter。　Jake　Mellhorn　hadn't　gypped　me　on　the　sale。　He　was　truly　bred；　and　in　small…time　petition　against　strainers；　the　cock　could　often　win。　It　had　weight　in　its　favor　and　was　close　to　the　shake　class；　but　the　chicken　couldn't　really　pete　in　S。C。　petition　unless　it　got　lucky。　Luck　is　not　for　the　birds。　The　element　of　chance　must…　be　reduced　to　the　minimum　if　a　cocker　wants　to　win　the　prize　money。　In　a　six…entry　derby；　for　instance；　when　the　man　winning　the　most　fights　takes　home　the　purse　put　up　by　all　the　entries；　the　odd　fight　often　provides　the　verdict。　I　couldn't　take　a　chance　with　this　one。
　　After　pointing　out　the　high　spurs　to　show　Omar　what　was　wrong　with　the　Black；　I　picked　up　my　hatchet　and　chopped　off　the　rooster's　head　on　the　block　outside　the　doorway。
　　〃I　see；〃　Omar　said　thoughtfully；　as　he　watched　the　decapitated　chicken　flop　about　in　the　dusty　yard。　〃You　don't　like　to　pit　high…stationed　cocks。〃
　　I　clipped　the　hatchet　into　the　block　so　it　stuck。
　　〃Some　cockers　prefer　high…stationed　birds；〃　Omar　said　argumentatively。　〃And　a　seventy…five…dollar　chicken　is　damned　expensive　eating。〃
　　True；　the　plateful　of　fried　chicken　I　would　eat　that　night　would　be　a　costly　meal；　but　it　would　have　been　much　more　expensive　to　pit　the　cock　when　he　would　probably　lose。　And　an　owner　should　only　bet　on　his　own　gamecock…not　against　it。　I　shrugged　indifferently。
　　〃I　suppose　you　know　what　you're　doing；〃　Omar　said。　〃But　he　was　a　purebred　Mellhorn　and　could　have　been　kept　as　a　brood　cock。〃
　　Except　on　a　small　scale；　I've　never　done　much　breeding。　I　prefer　to　buy　my　gamecocks。　Conditioning　and　fighting　them　are　what　I　do　best；　but　I　would　never　have　bred　the　high…stationed　Black。　Like　begets　like；　and　the　majority　of　the　chicks　sired　would　have　been　high…stationed。
　　I　shook　my　head　and　grinned　at　Omar。　He　was　well　aware　of　the　heredity　factor…his　head　was　crammed　with　breeding　knowledge　he　had　learned　through　reading　and　four　years'　experience。　Omar　was　still　sore　about　the　Milledgeville　Tourney。
　　〃What　about　the　six　brothers？　How　do　you　know　they're　game？　The　Aces　have　been　pit…tested；　but　if　one　of　the　brothers　is　a　runner　they　all　may　be　runners。〃
　　Unfortunately；　there　is　no　true　test　for　gameness。　Only　a　pit　battle　can　decide　gameness。　There　are　various　tests；　however；　a　cocker　can　try　which　will　give　him　an　indication　of　a　cock's　gameness。　In　the　case　of　the　six　brothers；　I　was　stymied　by　a　lack　of　knowledge　concerning　the　father　and　mother。　If　the　father　had　been　a　champion；　Jake　Mellhorn　would　have　said　so；　and　charged　a　higher　price　for　them。　The　six　cocks　were　obviously　Mellhorn　Blacks。　I　could　tell　that　by　looking　at　them。　But　only　one　drop　of　cold　blood　from　a　dunghill　will　sometimes　cause　a　cock　to　run　when　it　is　hurt。　One　of　the　young　cocks　had　to　be　tested　for　gameness；　and　I　had　planned　on　doing　it　this　morning　before　Omar　came　over。　If　the　cock　I　tested　proved　to　be　game；　I　could　then　assume　that　the　others　were　equally　game。　But　in　the　testing　I　would　lose　the　gamecock。　Another　seventyfive　bucks　shot。
　　One　rigid　test　for　gameness　is　to　puncture　a　cock　all　over　his　body　with　an　ice　pick；　digging　it　in　for　a　quarter　to　half　an　inch。　If　the　injured　cock　will　still　attempt　to　fight　another　cock　the　next　morning；　even　if　all　he　can　do　is　lie　on　his　back　and　peck；　it　is　considered　game。　The　ice…pick　method　of　testing　is　fairly　popular　with　cockers　because　they　can　usually　salvage　their　bird　after　it　recovers　from　its　injuries。　I　don't　consider　this　test　severe　enough。　The　Roman　method　I　use　is　more　realistic　than　a　halfhearted　jabbing　with　an　ice　pick；　even　though　the　cock　is　lost　during　the　process。
　　For　the　test；　I　selected　one　of　the　brothers　with　the　poorest　conformation。　The　choice　was　difficult　because　all　of　the　brothers　were　fine　Mellhorn　Blacks。　For　an　opponent；　I　used　the　largest　of　the　two　Middleton　Grays。　Omar　held　the　Gray　when　I　heeled　it　with　sparring　muffs。　The　Black　would　be　practically　helpless；　and　I　didn't　want　him　killed　until　he　had　suffered　sufficiently　to　determine　his　gameness。
　　My　homemade　pit　is　crudely　put　together　with　scrap　lumber；　but　it　meets　the　general　specifications。　I've　also　strung　electric　lights　above　it　in　order　to　work　my　birds　at　night；　and　it's　good　enough　for　training　purposes。　Omar　put　the　Gray　under　one　arm；　after　I　pleted　the　heel…tying　of　the　muffs；　and　headed　for　the　training　pit　in　front　of　my　shack。
　　The　young　Black　was　a　man　fighter　and　pecked　my　wrist　twice　before　I　could　get　a　good　grip　around　his　upper　legs　with　my　left　hand。　A　moment　later　I　had　his　body　held　firmly　against　my　leg　where　he　couldn't　peck　at　me　anymore。　In　this　awkward　position；　I　stretched　his　legs　out　on　the　block　outside　the　cockhouse　and　chopped　them　off　at　the　knee　with　the　hatchet。
　　When　I　joined　Omar　at　the　pit；　his　brown　eyes　bulged　until　they　resembled　oil…soaked　target　agates。　〃Good　God；　Frank！　You　don't　expect　him　to　fight　without　any　legs；　do　you？〃
　　I　nodded　and　stepped　over　the　pit　wall。　I　cradled　the　Black　over　my　left　arm；　holding　the　stumps　with　my　right　hand；　and　raised　my　chin　to　indicate　that　we　should　bifi　them。　Omar　brought　the　Gray　in　close　and　the　Black　tore　out　a　beakful　of　feathers。
　　We　billed　the　cocks　until　their　ingrained　natural　bativeness　was　aroused；　and　then　I　set　the　Black　down　on　the　floor　of　the　pit　and　took　the　Gray　away　from　Omar。　The　Gray　was　anxious　to　get　to　his　legless　opponent；　but　I　held　him　tightly　by　the　tail　and　only　let　him　approach　tJD　within　pecking　range。　When　the　Black　struggled　toward　him；　I　pulled　him　back　by　his　tail。　Without　his　feet；　the　Black　was　unable　to　get　enough　balance　or　leverage　to　fly；　and　his　wildly　fluttering　wings　couldn't　support　him　in　an　upright　position。　He　kept　falling　forward　on　his　chest；　and　after　a　short　valiant　period　of　struggling；　he　gave　up　altogether。　I　let　the　Gray　scratch　into　range；　still　holding　him　by　the　tail。　The　Black　pecked　every　time；　although　he　no　longer　tried　to　stand　on　his　stumps。　Finally；　I　let　the　Gray　go；　and　he　described　a　short　arc　in　the　air　and　landed；　shuffling；　in　the　center　of　the　Black's　back。　Getting　a　good　bill　hold　on　the　prostrate　cock；　the　Gray　shuffled　methodically　in　place；　hitting　the　padded　muffs　hard　enough　to　make　solid　thumping　sounds　on　the　Black's　body。　This　was　the　first　time　I　had　seen　the　Gray　in　action。　I　realized　that　Ed　Middleton　had　really　done　me　a　favor　when　he　gave　me　the　once…battered　fighter。　Any　cock　that　could　shuffle　with　the　deadly　accuracy　displayed　by　the　Middleton　Gray　would　win　a　lot　of　pit　battles。
　　The　Black　was　too　helpless　to　fight　off　the　Gray；　so　I　picked　up　the　muff…armed　bird　and　gave　him