Blood on Mcallister

by Matt Chisholm

  The judge came forward.

  ‘You understand the rules, boys. There’s not much to ‘em. You win by a knockout or a knockdown for a count of ten. No kicking, gouging, biting or holding. I ain’t goin’ to stand no nonsense. I want to see a good clean fight.’

  The contestants shook hands. The crowd shouted and the two men squared off. McAllister decided to fight south-paw so that he could keep his injured side away from Billy. Straight off, even as they circled each other, he saw that the stance worried the other man. While McAllister was conscious of an unaccustomed tiredness, he saw that Billy was full of ginger and go. He knew that he would have to finish this quickly or he wouldn’t finish it at all. He could hear Mart Krantz circling the ring, telling people to keep back. Over Billy’s shoulder, he glimpsed Rosa’s anxious face. This time, he’d show ‘em.

  Billy feinted twice with the left and then jabbed the same fist at McAllister’s face. He rode away from the punch easily and slammed his left into Billy’s side. The fair boy fell back from this, but not far or fast enough, for McAllister snapped the same fist up into his face and rocked him on his heels. Before he could recover from this sudden onslaught, McAllister hit him one-two-three with left and right hard in the belly and over the heart. Billy managed to counter with a left to the face and McAllister retreated.

  The crowd was suddenly beside itself with excitement now and were baying like hounds at the scent of blood.

  Billy had been warned and he became more cautious. McAllister’s speed and ferocity had obviously shaken him. They sparred and exchanged ineffectual blows for maybe two or three minutes when Billy thought he saw an opening and tried to break through it. McAllister sidestepped adroitly and hit Billy hard over the kidney as he went past him. The fair man fell to one knee, hurt, and the crowd howled.

  ‘Get up, Billy. Get up an’ kill him.’

  ‘Finish him, McAllister.’

  McAllister stood back, allowing the other man to rise, then sparred up and took the attack to him, pressing him hard with a pistoning right. Billy managed to get under this and drove several good blows into McAllister’s ribs and belly. Then they were in a clench and the judge was yelling for them to break. They pushed each other clear and Billy, hair over his eyes now and blood on his face, clipped McAllister lightly on the temple. McAllister brushed the fist aside with his right and swung a long left into Billy’s belly. The blow knocked the wind out of the fair man, staggering him back, guard down completely for a moment. This was an opportunity McAllister couldn’t afford to lose and he went in. He landed a couple of blows to the heart, but Billy covered quickly, managed to hold on and come back vigorously. In doing so he hit McAllister with his right on the knife wound. Pain flooded through McAllister and, for one terrible moment, he thought he would faint. He drifted back out of the fight, parrying blows and sidestepping, using his feet to save himself. Billy persisted, sensing that the mood of the fight had suddenly changed, and battered McAllister about the face and body.

  McAllister fell forward against his opponent and they were in a clench again. The judge howled for them to break and both pushed each other clear. Billy danced on his toes, circling McAllister, still full of go, getting McAllister into a corner. McAllister countered this, got into the clear and darted into the attack again. He knew that he wouldn’t last much longer and must finish it now.

  Billy came in, feinted with the left and swung a hard right for McAllister’s jaw. Had it contacted, it would have finished the fight. But McAllister moved his head the needed couple of inches to the left, caught Billy open and hit him hard with the right under the ribs. Billy gasped and leaned on him, but this time, McAllister didn’t allow the clench. He stepped back and hit Billy one-two-three again, belly, heart and head.

  The fair man staggered back, guard down, utterly demoralised suddenly, a dazed look in his eyes. McAllister jumped in, flat-footed and aimed for the jaw. It contacted and Billy hit the ground on his shoulders.

  The judge started to count. The crowd jumped and roared.

  Billy got to his hands and knees; the judge reached six and Billy was on his feet. He looked a mess, but he was ready to fight.

  McAllister went in with confidence, feinted with his right and swung a long left. With too much confidence. Billy guarded himself deftly and hit McAllister with a short left to the body that put him on his back in turn.

  The judge started counting. McAllister didn’t hurry, but took a rest. The crowd howled for him to get up and fight.

  He got up at eight and played hurt, but he didn’t fool Billy. The fair man wasn’t having any; he pressed a little, but not too much, trying to gentle McAllister into a corner, but not succeeding. McAllister was acting cautious, too, and their behavior didn’t satisfy the crowd who howled for blood. To quieten them, McAllister jolted Billy’s head with two stabbing rights and then retreated as Billy retaliated. But he didn’t persist, he continued to circle till the crowd lost patience and bellowed for action and blood.

  ‘Quit the fandango, man.’

  ‘Kill him, Billy.’

  ‘Finish him, Mack.’

  Neither fighter took much notice. McAllister though moved Billy around till he got him near a corner and drove him into it with a series of feints and half-blows. Billy reacted, attacking fiercely and beating McAllister back. McAllister could see that the fair man was still suffering from the knock-down, but was slowly recovering. That was what all this fooling around was about. He was getting his strength back.

  McAllister went in. Billy met him with a solid blow to the heart, one to the head and another, a swinging right that landed on the knife wound. McAllister had no time to recoil from the terrible stab of pain, for the battle-heat was on him now. He drove in close, smashed Billy’s guard aside and jabbed two hard rights to the heart. These staggered Billy. He raised his guard to protect his face as McAllister moved upstairs and McAllister switched to his belly. One blow went home with terrible effect and doubled the fair man. No sooner was his head exposed than McAllister drove home a looping left that smashed his head back. He staggered again, flat-footed and badly hurt, came forward with arms groping and tried a clench, but McAllister backed, hitting as he went and keeping Billy upright and then, when he was fully exposed, hit him hard on the jaw.

  Billy flung out his arms, walked on rubber legs blindly in a circle and fell on his face in the dust.

  McAllister backed off.

  Billy got slowly to his knees and McAllister reckoned he must have been made of iron to have withstood such punishment. He raised a blood- and dust-flecked face, searching for McAllister, then he sighed and fell over on his back.

  The judge started counting.

  The crowd yelled for him to get up.

  Pat Rigby had her fists clenched and was screaming abuse at McAllister. Harry Shultz’s ugly face had a look of unholy joy on it. He knew that a man who had suffered as much as Billy wouldn’t be recovered for the next combat. Shultz now stood a chance.

  The judge reached six and the crowd was half ecstatic and half beside itself with fury and disappointment.

  When the judge reached eight, Billy made a brave effort to get up, but he couldn’t make it. He was lying prone when the judge reached ten and cried ‘Out’. Somebody brought a bucket of water and hurled the contents over the defeated man. Billy sat up, looking bewildered and Pat Rigby ran to him and got down on her knees beside him. This gesture was greeted with a mocking cheer from the crowd. McAllister turned and found Rosa ready with his shirt. Her face was all concern.

  ‘You’re all over blood,’ she told him and he looked down at his side. He saw that the wound had opened again and was oozing blood. She handed him a towel and he held that against the wound. She draped his shirt around his shoulders and they walked together through the crowd. Men slapped him on the back and cursed him as he went.

  When they were in her room, she made him lie on the bed after she had put an old sheet on it and she attended to him.

  ‘You men,’
she said in disgust. ‘All this violence! My God, how you love it!’

  She managed to stop the blood. He demanded whiskey and got it. That cheered him a little and he demanded beer. He thought he could drink the town dry.

  Rosa stood over him and nagged.

  ‘Great snakes,’ he said, ‘we might as well be married.’

  ‘If we were,’ she said, ‘you wouldn’t have fought at all.’

  She taped his side, nagging all the time. When it was finished, he pulled her down on the bed beside him.

  ‘No,’ she cried, ‘not now.’

  ‘Nothing sets a man up like it,’ he said.

  ‘You are nothing but a savage and an animal.’

  He smiled with great gentleness and kissed her. Some of her objections seemed to disappear.

  ‘We shouldn’t, Rem,’ she said.

  An hour later he sat down to a large steak and a schooner of beer. He looked a battered, but contented man. Rosa’s hired hands ate with them in the kitchen and he enjoyed himself among them, sitting silent, letting the talk wash over him. Then he went upstairs and slept for an hour, dropping straight off into a deep sleep. Rosa woke him to tell him that he had a visitor. Feeling deliciously refreshed he swung his legs over the side of the bed as Billy Gage walked in.

  The big fair man looked as though he had been in a fight, but McAllister guessed that Pat had cleaned him up. His face bore a cut or two and one eye was a greenish-blue color. In spite of this he looked remarkably cheerful. In fact, his grin spread right across his face.

  ‘Hello, Rem,’ he said, ‘how’d you feel?’

  McAllister grinned.

  ‘Fine. Ready to take you on whenever you want.’

  ‘And the side?’

  ‘Never felt better.’ The grin hadn’t dropped from Billy’s face yet. ‘What’s up with you? You look like you won a fortune instead of gettin’ your head beat in.’

  ‘It’s Pat,’ Billy said. ‘I’m just a dumb guy. But getting beat by you and her patching me up and all, why, I guess I just talked naturally. I asked her and she said “yes”.’

  ‘You mean you’re goin’ to get hitched.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What’s her old man say about it?’

  ‘He’s all for it. Says he could do with another man around the place. I’m going to learn the cattle business. I’m going to be the best cattleman you ever saw.’

  McAllister stood up and said: ‘Well, here’s all the luck in the world, Billy,’ thinking that there was another fine woman lost to McAllister. They shook and Billy continued to look pleased with himself.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Shall we get started.’

  ‘Sure.’

  They went down onto the street, picking Rosa up on the way and made their way down to the combat ground. The crowd there seemed to be very much the same. A great cheer went up as they came in sight and people came running. Pat Rigby came out of the crowd and proudly took Billy’s arm, so Rosa took McAllister’s and the four of them marched through the crowd into the arena. There Pat kissed Billy to wish him luck, so Rosa kissed McAllister and that got another cheer. Mart Krantz came up and said did McAllister think he should go on with the fight, injured as he was and McAllister said ‘yes’ he did think he ought to go with it, because he was going to win. The judge shouted for everybody to clear the ring. Mart said he thought McAllister was crazy and stalked away. McAllister and Billy peeled off their shirts.

  The judge talked to them, telling them that he didn’t want any gouging, kicking, punching or butting. That he wanted a good clean fight or he’d stop it. They nodded and shook hands. The crowd fell silent.

  The two men faced each other, crouching ready, muscles bracing in the strong sunlight, little puffs of dust coming up from their shifting feet.

  ‘Kill him, Mack.’

  ‘Tear him apart, Billy.’

  They circled, warily, came into a hand clasp, strained and broke. The crowd whistled and kyacked. They sparred a little, ever circling, right and left hand gripped, McAllister twisted, gripped and threw Billy forward over his right shoulder. Billy landed, somersaulted and came lightly to his feet, showing that he was fresh and full of go in spite of the morning’s fight. Mentally, McAllister cursed him. His side was aching like hell.

  They both took hand-holds, strained and played strength against strength. McAllister started to give way, he turned to escape and Billy got a neck-hold on him, throwing him powerfully over his left hip and landing him on his back. He took his time getting up. The crowd bayed.

  Billy rushed him, feinted as though he were going to tackle him about the legs, smashed two forearm blows to his face and backed off after he had jolted McAllister with a blow to the jaw with the butt of his hand. McAllister felt that to the soles of his feet, walked around a bit to get rid of the effect and came back into the attack. This time he attacked himself with the butt of his hand, changed tactics, got Billy by the ankles and put him down hard on his back, dropped both knees into his belly and backed off. Billy got up looking as though he were somewhat shaken. But he came in strongly enough, managed a flying mare, but did McAllister no damage for the dark man landed well and was on his feet and attacking again in a second. The crowd roared.

  McAllister’s hand grasped for Billy’s left wrist; the fair man batted the hand aside, gained a two-handed grip on McAllister’s wrist, turned and threw the big man heavily again. McAllister seemed to fly through the air, bounce twice on the ground and come finally to rest on the edge of the crowd. Men yelled into his face for him to get up and get back in the fight. He didn’t hurry himself. He went back into the fight, light-footed as a cat, muscles gleaming, the plaster Rosa had put on his side showing white against his dark skin. Billy met him with his astonishing leap into the air, body and legs parallel to the ground, feet aimed at his opponent’s jaw. McAllister danced to one side and Billy missed him by a foot. He landed badly and got to his feet shaken. McAllister gave him no time to recover, but drove in like lightning for his legs. But even so he was not quick enough. Billy jumped him and the crowd roared in appreciation of the agility shown. They thought McAllister had been made a fool of, but they soon saw that it was Billy who had been made a fool. McAllister was behind him, arms around his neck, knee in his back, wrenching him backward.

  Billy gave way immediately, knowing that his back would have broken had he resisted. He landed on the ground with his shoulders flat and McAllister at once clamped his knees down on the shoulders. The judge started to count. Billy brought his legs up and back till they were around McAllister’s neck, wrenching him violently forward and over himself. The dark man allowed himself to go, somersaulted and came up on his feet. Billy met him with another flier, this time encircling his waist with his legs and driving him from his feet. They hit the ground side by side and Billy’s feet locked together in the dreaded scissor-grip. At once McAllister felt as if his kidneys had come asunder and his ribs were cracking under the pressure. His wounded side felt as if it would explode with agony. He arched back, gritting his teeth and tried to prise Billy’s powerful legs apart with his hands and knew that it was impossible. It was just as impossible to stand the agony of that grip. He smashed the butt of his hand into Billy’s face and the grip tightened.

  ‘Give up,’ Billy ground out through his gritting teeth, ‘or I’ll finish you, Rem.’

  ‘To hell with you,’ McAllister told him, reared up within the grip still and jammed his forearm into the other’s windpipe. At first the grip of the leg tightened. McAllister increased the pressure. The grip started to slacken, but even so the pain was unbearable. McAllister strove with all his strength to increase the pressure. The legs slackened a mite more and McAllister wrenched himself free, got to his feet and charged Billy as the fair man staggered to his feet, slamming a forearm into his throat. Billy made a choking sound and went down, writhing on the ground from the effect of the blow. But he got to his feet almost immediately, though he looked a sorry sight now.

 
; This time he had McAllister really fooled. He looked bad and after that blow he should have felt bad, but as McAllister advanced for the kill, Billy executed the flying kick again and this time landed one foot on the point of McAllister’s jaw.

  The big man went down as if he had been pole-axed. He writhed a little and groaned as the judge started counting. Billy came to look down at him. The judge had almost finished the count, when McAllister’s hands shot out, gripped Billy by the ankles and, as McAllister reared to his feet, the fair man went down. He hit the ground hard and the wind went out of him and in a flash, the dark man was all over him, pinning him to the ground.

  The crowd groaned.

  Billy fought to free himself, squirming this way and that, but McAllister kept him pinned flat. The judge was counting steadily. Billy forced himself off the ground by sheer strength and it looked for a moment as if he would free himself, but McAllister suddenly bent his legs and jumped forward, landing both knees on Billy’s shoulders and pinning them to the ground again.

  The judge started to count again.

  ‘Get up, Billy. Get up an’ Goddam well fight, man.’

  ‘Hold him, Mack.’

  ‘Get up an’ kill him, Billy.’

  But Billy didn’t get up. The judge counted through to the end and a silence dropped for a moment over the assembled people. McAllister rose slowly to his feet, glistening from the sweat that covered his body. Billy got to his feet, grinning wryly. The crowd started to cheer, at least the part that had bet on McAllister did. The rest started to argue the whys and wherefores of the case. The judge raised McAllister’s hand above his head and declared him the winner. McAllister and Billy shook hands. Pat Rigby walked past McAllister to Billy and told the dark man: ‘You’re a savage and a brute.’ Rosa came up with a towel for McAllister and he wiped himself down.

  With a possessive smile, Rosa said: ‘She’s right. You are a savage and a brute.’