Back Country by William Fuller

Author:William Fuller [Fuller, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Thriller & Suspense
ISBN: 9781951473594
Publisher: Stark House Press
Published: 2022-02-03T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Billy didn’t show up for the late breakfast the next morning. Gloria had eaten earlier and was on the river. Ringo and I finished breakfast and went to the cockpit. The crowd—dusty-eyed, sharp-cheeked cracker men for the most part, with a sprinkling of moon-faced, barrel-thighed women—had begun to gather. Pickup trucks with cooped cocks in their beds were parked under the live oaks. Handlers were walking cocks scheduled for the early pittings. Ringo walked among the men, with a slightly condescending lord-of-the-manor swagger, greeting the ones he knew. The men returned the greeting politely, but with no warmth. It was fairly obvious that they lost no love on Ringo.

Ringo’s cocks had been brought up from Cartersville in a truck by a man introduced to me as Fee. Fee, it seemed, was an old-time cocker from Alabama. Ringo had found him there, down on his luck, and had brought him on to Cartersville to raise and handle his pit stock. Fee showed me the stock he’d brought for the day’s pittings—likely looking Allen Roundheads, fit and aggressive. He saved the best until last:

“Right here’s the boss-man’s favorite,” he said, “and well he should be. The finest, airiest gamecock in the Southeast, at least. Osceola, the boss-man calls him. He’s a shake: he’ll weigh in at about six pounds nine. He’s a fighter, and mean to handle. Boss-man likes to pit him himself sometimes, and I hope he does today. I’ll tell you the truth, Mr. Dolan, with two-and-a quarter inches of killing gaff strapped to each spur, I’m might proud when he does. This shake’s been pitted nine times and he’s yet to lose a fight.”

“Fine-looking bird,” I agreed.

I made the rounds, listening to the talk, sizing up cocks that looked like good bets. I found one man—a sharp-eyed, gnarly little old cracker with a squirrely way of moving—who had a truckload of chickens that caught my fancy. They were Pure Law Grays, and the Grays had been my favorites when I was raising gamecocks back in West Virginia. The little old man was trying to heel one of his cocks and he was having a tough time of it; one of his hands was heavily bandaged across the palm and he was cursing.

“Give you a hand, mister?” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“Hold him steady,” I said. I was surprised how quickly it all came back to me. I wrapped the spurs quickly and neatly and I took the needle-pointed gaffs from their leather case and I fitted the leather bases of the gaffs over the spurs. Then I bound them firmly to the cock’s horny legs. The little man tested them. His face warmed.

“Son, I’m mighty obliged to you.”

I grinned at him. “Glad to give you a hand.”

“A hand is just what I needed. Snagged this one on a barbed wire fence three days ago. Thought nothing of it until she started swelling up on me the middle of last night. Had a man, a so-called friend

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