The rules did not provide for a clock or any stoppages. At Arkwright’s arena, all fights were to the death.
When the loser was motionless, Arkwright entered the pit and beckoned the handler for the winner to come corral his bird. He managed to subdue him without getting slashed and held him high for the crowd to applaud. The gamecock seemed to care nothing for the adulation. He strained to watch the dying bird in the sand and wanted to finish him off. The loser’s handler appeared with a burlap sack, carefully scooped him up, and dragged him away to the jeers of those who’d put good money on him. His owner would eat him for dinner.
Packs of men descended on the gambling desk to collect their winnings. A stable boy raked the sand and tried to cover up the blood. Fresh cigars were lit and bottles were passed around.
Hugh said, “You guys wanna play?”
All three shook their heads. Joey asked, “What do the cops think about this?”
Hugh chuckled and pointed at the pit. “See that first row on the other side, big guy in a striped shirt with a green cap? That’s our beloved sheriff, Fats Bowman. And that’s his reserved seat. He’s here every Sunday morning, except during election years when he occasionally goes to church.”
“So that’s Fats Bowman?” Denny said. “Never saw him before.”
“Crookedest sheriff in the state,” Hugh said. “Also the richest. Look, it’s time to bet and the next fight is the biggest. There’s a breeder from up around Wiggins who raises the meanest birds in the state. He’s got a new Whitehackle named Elvis who’s supposed to be unbeatable.”
“Whitehackle?” Keith asked.
“Yeah, one of the more popular breeds of gamecocks.”
“Forgive me.”
“Elvis?” asked Joey. “They have names?”
“Some do. Elvis has this black plume thing going, thinks he’s really pretty. He’s fighting a Hatch from Louisiana and is a three-to-one favorite. I’m putting five bucks on the Hatch. That’s fifteen if I win. Anybody want some action?”
All three shook their heads and watched as Hugh weaved through the crowd and made his way to the gambling counter. He must have felt lucky because he returned with four bottles of Falstaff beer.
For the main event, the pit grew even louder. Men lined up to place bets as Phil Arkwright harangued them to hurry up, the roosters were getting antsy. They finally made their entrance, with their handlers squeezing their wings firmly to keep them under control. When the birds saw one another they almost jumped out of their feathers. Both breeds were famous for their “no retreat, no surrender” style of life-or-death fighting.
Hugh, now with money on the line, started yelling like the others, as if a rooster a hundred feet away could understand him. The one named Elvis looked nothing like the singer but for some thick black plumage that rose up the back of his neck and topped off his head. His razor-like spurs glistened as if they had been polished.
The beaks touched and the handlers quickly withdrew. The crowd bellowed as grown men yelled at two birds fighting in the sand. The cocks crowed and attacked, with blood on the line. Elvis stood a bit taller and used his height to peck away furiously. The Hatch knocked him down, rolled him over, and seemed ready to pounce when Elvis suddenly took flight, swooped over the Hatch, and landed on his back, both gaffs hacking away. Blood was suddenly everywhere on the Hatch and he could not get away for a break. Elvis smelled a quick knockout and hit even faster. The Hatch finally managed to scramble away from the onslaught but had trouble walking. It was obvious that he was grievously wounded. The crowd, or at least those who put money on the Hatch, were stunned at how quickly Elvis had cut up their favorite. He lunged at the Hatch, spun him around, and like an expert in martial arts, hacked his throat with a gaff. The blow almost decapitated the Hatch, who was suddenly defenseless.
It was a blood sport and death was part of it. Arkwright was not one to show sympathy or cheat his crowd out of a thrill, so he allowed Elvis to mutilate his opponent for a few more seconds. The mauling lasted less than a minute.