cwilleford.cockfighter-第9部分

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　cock　was　a　hybrid　of　some　kind　that　I　couldn't　place　or　recognize。　He　walked　proudly　to　the　fence　and　tossed　his　head　back　and　crowed；　beating　the　tips　of　his　long　wings　together。　The　tips　of　his　wings　were　edged　with　vermilion。　The　crow　of　a　fighting　cock　is　strong　and　deep　and　makes　the　morning　sounds　of　a　mon　dunghil　barnyard　rooster　sound　puny　in　parison。
　　The　same　flaming　color　that　tipped　his　wings　was　repeated　in　his　head　feathers　and　thighs；　but　his　remaining　feathers；　including　the　sweep　of　his　high　curving　tail；　were　a　luminous　peacock　blue。　Ed　was　planning…or　had　planned…to　keep　him　for　a　brood　cock；　because　his　b　and　wattles　hadn't　been　clipped　for　fighting。　His　lemon　beak　was　strong；　short　and　evenly　met。　His　feet　and　legs　were　as　orange　and　bright　as　a　freshly　painted　bridge。
　　The　floor　of　the　cock's　private　walk　was　thickly　covered　with　a　mixture　of　finely　ground　oyster　shells　and　wellgrated　charcoal；　essential　ingredients　for　a　fighter's　diet。　The　oyster　shells　were　for　lime　content；　and　the　charcoal　for　digestion；　but　against　this　salt…and…pepper　background；　the　cock's　colorful　plumage　was　emphasized。
　　Unfortunately；　coloring　is　not　the　essential　factor　for　a　winning　gamecock。　Good　blood　first；　know…how　in　conditioning；　and　a　good　farm　walk　are　the　three　essentials　a　pit　bird　needs　to　win。　I　knew　that　thirty　years　of　cock…breeding　knowledge　had　found　its　way　into　that　cock。　I　could　see　it　in　every　feather；　and　his　good　blood　was　assured　by　the　pleased　smile　on　Ed　Middleton's　thin　lips。
　　〃Except　for　a　couple　of　battered　Grays　and　an　old　Middleton　hen　I've　kind　of　kept　around　for　a　pet；　this　is　the　only　cock　I've　got　left。　I've　never　pitted　him；　and　he's　overdue；　but　I　was　afraid　to　lose　him。　Not　really；　Frank。　I　know　damned　well　he　can　outhit　any　other　cock　in　the　South！〃
　　I　agreed　with　him；　at　least　in　theory。　I　spread　my　arms；　grinned；　and　shook　my　head　with　admiration。　Ed　nodded　sagely　with　self…satisfaction；　and　I　didn't　blame　him。　A　flush　slowly　enveloped　his　features　until　his　entire　face　was　as　red　as　his　bulbous　nose。
　　〃He's　got　a　pretty　damned　fancy　handle；　Frank；〃　Ed　said。　〃I　call　him　Icarus。　You　probably　remember　the　old　legend　from　school。　There　was　a　guy　named　Daedalus；　who　had　a　son　named　Icarus。　Anyway；　these　two…Greeks　they　were…got　tossed　into　jail；　and　Daedalus　made　a　pair　of　wings　out　of　wax　for　his　boy　to　escape。　This　kid；　Icarus；　put　on　the　wings　and　flew　so　damned　high　he　reached　the　sun　and　the　wings　melted　on　him。　He　fell　to　the　ground　and　was　killed。　No　man　has　ever　flown　so　high　before　or　since；　but；　anyway；　that's　the　handle　I　hung　on　the　chicken。　Icarus。〃
　　Ed　Middleton　cracked　his　knuckles　and　clomped　away　from　the　walk　and　entered　the　feed　shack。　I　gripped　the　chicken　wire　with　my　fingers　and　turned　my　attention　to　Icarus。　For　a　rugged　character　like　Ed　Middleton；　the　highbrow　name　and　the　story　that　went　with　it　were　fairly　romantic；　I　thought。　Most　cockers　who　fight　a　lot　of　cocks　don't　get　around　to　naming　them　in　the　first　place。　A　metal　leg　band　with　the　cock's　weight　and　owner　number　usually　suffices　for　identification。　Of　course；　a　favorite　brood　cock；　or　a　bird　that　has　won　several　battles；　is　frequently　named。　But　I　went　along　with　Ed　all　the　way。　As　far　as　looks　were　concerned　the　fancy　name　fitted　the　chicken　to　a　T。　However；　if　I　had　owned　the　bird；　I　would　have　called　him　Icky；　and　kept　the　private　name　to　myself。
　　I　entered　the　feed　shed；　dipped　into　the　open　sack　of　cracked　corn　in　the　corner；　and　picked　out　a　dozen　fat　grains。　I　returned　to　the　cock's　walk；　opened　the　gate　and　entered。　As　the　cock　watched　me　with　his　head　to　one　side　I　lined　up　the　grains　of　corn　on　the　ground　about　six　inches　apart。　The　cock　marched　toward　me　boldly；　eating　as　he　came；　and　pecked　the　remaining　grain　of　corn　out　of　my　outstretched　palm。　He　wasn't　a　man　fighter。　Ed　had　probably　spent　a　good　many　hours　talking　to　the　cock　and　gently　handling　him。　I　picked　Icarus　up　with　both　hands；　holding　him　underhanded；　and　examined　the　cock's　legs　and　feet。
　　They　hung　down　in　perfect　alignment　with　his　body。　If　a　cock's　legs　are　out　of　line　with　the　direction　of　his　body；　he　is　called　a　dry…heeled　cock；　because　he　can't　hit　and　do　much　harm。　But　if　the　legs　are　in　perfect　direction；　the　cock　stands　erect；　and　he　rises　high。　And　usually　he's　a　close　hitter。　This　cock's　legs　were　perfect。
　　I　lowered　the　cock　to　the　ground；　released　him　and　opened　the　gate。　The　cock　tried　to　follow　me　out；　and　I　liked　that；　for　some　reason。　Ed　came　out　of　the　feed　shack；　and　showed　me　the　bird's　weight　chart；　which　was　attached　to　a　clipboard。
　　Icarus　was　seventeen　months　old　and　weighed　4：03　pounds。　He　had　maintained　this　weight　fairly　well　for　the　past　three　months；　within　two　ounces　either　way。　For　a　cock　that　wasn't　on　a　conditioning　diet；　this　even　weight　indicated　that　the　bird　was　healthy　enough。　He　was　fed　cracked　corn　twice　a　day；　barley　water；　and　purged　twice　a　week　with　a　weak　solution　of　one　grain　of　calomel　and　one　grain　of　bicarbonate　of　soda　dissolved　in　water。
　　The　flirting　and　exercising　sections　on　the　chart　were　empty。　I　tapped　them　with　a　forefinger　and　looked　questioningly　at　Mr。　Middleton。
　　〃I　haven't　done　any　conditioning；　Frank。　But　as　you　can　see；　I've　watched　his　weight　closely。　He　should　go　to　4：05；　maybe；　or　4：07　at　most…under　training。　That's　my　opinion；　anyway；〃　he　qualified　his　estimate。　For　a　full　minute；　Ed　looked　through　the　fence　at　the　cock；　and　I　returned　the　weight　chart　to　the　hook　on　the　wall　inside　the　shack。
　　〃Do　you　want　this　cock；　Frank？〃　Ed　asked　fiercely；　when　I　rejoined　him。
　　What　could　I　say？　I　stretched　out　the　fingers　of　my　left　hand　and　made　a　sawing　gesture　on　my　right　forearm。　I　shook　my　head；　then　made　the　sawing　motion　higher　up；　at　the　shoulder。
　　〃Okay；　Frank。　You　can　have　him　for　five　hundred　dollars。　I　told　Martha　last　night　you'd　e　home　with　me　to　buy　the　last　of　my　chickens。　So　that's　the　price。　Pay　me　and　take　him！〃
　　The　old　cock　fancier　dug　his　hands　into　his　pockets　and　walked　away　from　me；　unable；　for　the　moment；　to　look　me　in　the　face。
　　He　knew　perfectly　well　I　didn't　have　five　hundred　dollars；　and　he　also　knew　that　the　cock　wasn't　worth　that　much。　For　fifty　dollars　apiece　I　could　purchase　countrywalked　gamecocks；　with　authenticated　bloodlines；　from　almost　any　top　breeder　in　the　United　States。　And　fifty　dollars　was　a　good　price。　The　average　for　a　purebred　cock　was　thirty…five；　and　I　could　buy　stags　for　ten　and　fifteen　dollars　apiece。　I've　seen　Ace　cocks　sell　for　a　hundred；　and　sometimes　for　one　hundred　and　fifty…but　never　for　five　hundred。
　　No　breeder　wants　to　sell　any　of　his　fighters　to　another　cocker　he　may　meet　at　the　same　pit　someday。　The　cock　he　sells　or　gives　away　may　possibly　kill　some　of　his　own　birds　in　a　pitting。　On　the　other　hand；　the　breeders　who　raise　game　fowl　to　sell　would　be　thought　ridiculous　if　they　attempted　to　peddle　an　untested　cock　for　five　hundred　dollars！
　　The　answer　was　simple。　Ed　Middleton　didn't　want　to　sell　Icarus。　He　was　looking　for　an　out　to　keep　his　pet。　After　I　left　he　could　tell　Martha　I　had　made　an　offer　and　that　he　had　promised　to　sell　it　to　me。　Anybody　else　who　came　around　to　buy　it　could　be　legitimately　refused。　〃I'd　be　glad　to　sell　it；〃　he　could　truthfully　say　to　a　prospective　buyer；　〃but　I've　promised　the　cock　to　Frank　Mansfield。　Sorry。　。
　　The　old　bastard　was　trying　to　renege　on　his　promise　to　his　wife。　Knowing　that　I　didn't　have　his　price　and　was　unlikely　to　pay　it　if　I　did；　he　planned　on　keeping　his　pet　cock　until　it　died　of　old　age。　One　thing　I　did　know。　If　I　showed　up　with　the　money；　he　would　have　to　sell　it。　And　I　wanted　that　bird。　I　seemed　to　sense　somehow　that　this　was　the　turning　point　in　my　run　of　bad　luck　at　the　pits。　。　。　Little　Icky。
　　Standing　by　an　orange　tree；　Ed　jerked　a　piece　of　fruit　from　a　lower　limb　and　threw　it　in　a　looping　curve　over　the　trees。　I　could　hear　the　mushy　thud　of　the　orange　as　it　landed　deep　in　the　grove。　I　crossed　the　space　separating　us　with　an　outstretched　right　hand。
　　Ed　grimly　accepted　my　promise　to　buy　his　cock　with　a　strong　handshake。
　　While　Mr。　Middleton　made　a　mixture　of　barley　water；　I　leaned　against　the　door　of　the　feed　shack　and　finished　my　cigarette。　Somehow；　I　was　going　to　get　the　money　to　buy　that　cock。　Now　my　impending　trip　to　Jacksonville　had　a　sharpened　point　to　it。　If　Doc　Riordan　had　any　money　at　all；　I　intended　to　get　it。
　　Ed　measured　out　the　cracked　corn　and　fed　his　pet；　the　two　battered　Gray　roosters；　and　the　old　hen。　Although　I　could　feel　some　sympathy　for　Martha　in　not　wanting　her　husband　out　traveling　the　cockfight　circuits；　I　could　not　understand　her　desire　to　make　him　give　up　cock…breeding。　If　she　considered　cock…breeding　morally　wrong；　she　could　have　consoled　herself　with　the　idea　that　Ed　was　doing　the　breeding；　not　her。　A　man　like　Ed　Middleton　could　never　give　up　his　love　of　the　game。　Perhaps　she　was　going　through　her　menopause　and；　as　a　consequence；　was　losing　her　mind。
　　〃Let's　go　get　us　some　breakfast；　Frank；〃　Ed　said；　as　he　locked　the　feed　shack　door。　Ed　started　down　the　path　toward　the　lake；　and　I　lingered　for　a　last　look　at　Icarus。　He　pecked　away　at　his　grain　hungrily。　I　could　see　the　fine　breeding　of　the　cock　in　his　stance　and　proud　bearing。　The　cock　had　shape；　health；　and　an　inborn　stamina。　Through　proper　conditioning　I　could　teach　him　responsiveness；　alertness；　improve　his　speed；　and　sharpen　his　natural　reflexes。　Other　than　that；　there　wasn't　much　else　I　could　do　for　the　cock。　His　desire　to　fight　was　inherited。　And　the　only　way　his　gameness　could　be　tested　truly　was　in　the　pit。
　　I　turned　away　from　the　walk　and　ran　down　the　path　to　catch　up　with　Ed。
　　When　we　entered　the　kitchen；　Martha　greeted　us　cheerfully　and　began　to　prepare　our　breakfast。　Ed　and　I　sat　down　across　from　each　other　at　the　breakfast　nook　and　I　inhaled　the　delicious　fragrance　of　the　frying　bacon。　It　was　quite　a　breakfast：　crisp　bacon；　fried　eggs；　hot　biscuits；　grits　and　melted　butter；　orange　juice；　and　plenty　of　orange…blossom　honey　to　coil　onto　the　fluffy　biscuits。
　　As　I　sat　back　with　a　full　stomach　to　drink　my　afterbreakfast　coffee；　Ed　told　his　wife　that　I　was　going　to　buy　his　rema