Authors: Jon Sharpe
Louisiana Laydown (21 page)
Before they fell to the ground, Satan pulled out a couple of the general’s feathers, and a few drops of blood hit the dirt of the barn floor as the feathers floated down.
The crowd got rowdier. Most of the men were yelling encouragement at one bird or the other and slapping each other on the back. Even Calder, a man Fargo didn’t consider excitable, jumped up and down as he strained to see over the heads of the men in front of him.
The birds rushed together again. Fargo thought they must have been tiring because they didn’t gain much altitude. The pecking was just as furious as before, though, and Satan ripped out quite a few more of the general’s feathers.
Fargo glanced at the Brysons. They stood stiffly at the side of the ring, stony silent, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. The kid, on the other hand, sat leaning against the boards, to all appearances as calm and relaxed as if sitting in church with a clean conscience.
The fighting cocks clashed again, this time without rising from the ground. Satan got his beak into General Washington’s neck and twisted. The birds fell to the ground, and Satan flapped his wings to rise above the General. He hacked at the general with his spurs, slashing at his eyes.
The General’s neck writhed as the bird tried to avoid the stabbing spurs, but one of them sank into his left eye. The General jerked his head away. Blood spurted, and the General went into a frenzied backward dance, his legs hardly touching the ground as he spun and flipped. He fell on his back in the dirt, his wildly beating wings stirring up a small gray storm.
Then he stopped and was still. Satan walked over to the dead bird and hopped onto the body. He looked around the ring slowly and crowed.
Hap Bryson jumped into the ring, his face twisted with rage. Before anyone could stop him, he reached the birds and gave Satan a vicious kick, sending him flying from General Washington’s body.
The referee ran toward Bryson. “Stop it, Hap! Get out of the ring!”
Hap either didn’t hear him or didn’t give a damn. His hand reached for the pistol at his side, and he jerked the gun from its holster.
The kid jumped up and ran toward Hap, but he was too late. The revolver in Hap’s hand roared. Satan exploded in a bloody mass of feathers.
The kid landed on Hap’s back, fingers tearing wildly at his eyes. Fargo thought for a second that Hap might meet the same fate as General Washington.
Willie Bryson must have thought the same thing because he leaped to his brother’s aid. He had a wide-bladed knife in his hand. He crossed the pit with a couple of long strides, and raised the knife to strike at the kid’s back.
At that point things started to go to hell.
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