The Happy Warrior Part 49

j.a.phra's left arm was about Percival's body, his right hand used the sponge. Those near him for the first and only time heard him use a coa.r.s.e expression. As he were some tigress above a threatened cub, he drew Percival closer to him and turned savagely up at Egbert's pallid face. "Shut thy b.l.o.o.d.y, coward mouth!" he cried at him. "Men's work here! Quit thee, thou whelp!"

The ring was clear. Pinsent came out, sucking a fist. Percival got to his feet, stood a moment, the blood that had dripped to his chest the red badge of courage flying there--then walked forward.

Somewhere in the crowd a woman's voice shot up hysterically: "G.o.d love yer, Gentleman!" it shrilled--"Y're pluck! Pluck!"

III

That foxy one (the old men say) he come out sucking his fistses that were gone more like messy orindges than any fistses ever I see. He see that quick-boy rockin' a bit on his feet where he stood, an' he spit his fist out his mouth an' he run slap down at him for to knock him off his legs by runnin' into him. He run at him hard as he could pelt, that foxy one; an' that quick-boy stan' 's if he was dreamin' an' never see nothin' of him. Ah, but that quick-boy could have fought if he was asleep, I reckon me! He slip aside, squeeze aside, twist aside jus' as that foxy one reach him; so quick he twist, us what was watchin' the ground for to see him go there never see him move. I reckon that foxy one never did neither. He muddy soon knowed, though, Foxy! He go sprawlin' by, an' as he go that quick-boy clip him one an' help him go an' stumble him. Round he come, that foxy one, savage with it; an'

that quick-boy dreamin' there again; an' rush him for to rush him down again; an' this time that quick-boy, too tired for to shift by the look of it, let him have it as he come fair under the eye, an' Foxy jus'

swing him one on the cheek, an' that shift him like he shift hisself before; an' he clip that foxy one the other fist a clip you could ha'

heard far as yonder tree; an' clip that same eye again; an' us see the blood run up into Foxy's peeper; an' that foxy one shake his head, an'

shake his head, like he was blinded with it. He shake a muddy lot more, Foxy, afore he was through! He set in for to do the rushing then, like that quick-boy had done first along; an' that quick-boy's turn, dreamin' there, for to do the proppin' off. But he not rush like that quick-boy rush. He shake his head an' have a go at him; an' that quick-boy prop him off an' wait for him; an' he shake his head an' walk round a bit, an' _ur!_ he go, an' rush at him; an' that quick-boy wake hisself an' prop him off; an' he suck his fist an' wipe his eye, an'

_ur!_ he come again: and that quick-boy twist hisself an' give him one--_crack!_ my life, his fistses was like stones, that quick-boy's!

Ah, my word! my word! then they got at it. That old j.a.phra--a rare one, that Gipsy j.a.phra!--sing out "Cut in! Cut in! little master!" and that quick-boy gives a heave of hisself an' they meet, those two, slapper-dash! slapper-dash! this way! that way! punchin', punchin'! an'

they fall away, those two, an' breathe theirselves, an' pant theirselves; an' that foxy one has his mouth all anyhow an' fair roarin' of his breath through it; an' his head all twisty-ways with only one eye for watchin' with; an' they rush those two--my life! they were rare ones! Hit as they come, those two--an' that put the stopper on it. Like stones--_crack!_ like stones--my word on it, their fists met, an' Foxy drop his left arm like it was broke at the elbow. Then he takes it! Like a bull-tarrier!--like a bull-tarrier, my word on it, that quick-boy lep' at him. _One!_ he smash him an' heart him, an' I see that foxy one glaze in his eye an' stagger with it. _Two!_ that quick-boy drive him an' rib him, an' I hear that foxy one grunt an' see him waggle up his hanging arm an' drop it. _Three!_ that quick-boy smash him an' throat him, an' back he goes, that foxy one; an' crash he goes! an' flat he lies--an', my life! to hear the breathing of him!

Life of me! there was never a knock-out like it; never one could do it like that quick-boy done it! Never no one as quick as that quick-boy when first along he come _tic-tac! tic-tac! tic-tac!_ left-right!

left-right! left-right! Never one could come again after he was bashed like that quick-boy come. Never his like! One of the rare ones, one of the clean-breds, one of the true-blues, one of the all-rights, one of the get-there, stop-there, win-there--one o' the picked!

IV

Quivering in silence the facing crowds stood while the count went.

"Nine!" throated Stingo--scarcely a whisper.

Stillness while perhaps five seconds pa.s.sed. Then Boss Maddox opened his hands towards the ring in an expressive gesture.

Then men came rushing to Pinsent and shook him: "Up, Foxy! Up!" Then Pinsent drew up his knees, groaned, and seemed to collapse anew. Then, then the storm burst in a bellow of sound, in a rush of figures. All, all of clamour that had gone before--of exultation, hate, defiance, blood-want, rage--seemed now to bind up in two clanging rolls of thunder that in thunder went, in thunder thundered back, and thundered on again. Percival turned and saw j.a.phra running towards him, an arm's length in advance of the mob that followed. He fell into j.a.phra's arms, felt himself pressed, pressed to j.a.phra's heart, heard in his ears "Never thy like! Son of mine, never thy like!" He knew a driving mob behind his back, before, and all about him--heard curses, grapplings, blows. Heard j.a.phra's cry "Up with him! Up!" felt himself borne aloft and dimly was conscious that his bearers were staggered this way and that by the flood that surged about them.... Sudden darkness, and sudden most delicious air and sudden most delicious rain was his next impression--they had got him outside the tent.... At his next he was in the van, on his couch, smiling at those who bent above him.

CHAPTER VI

THE STICKS COME OUT--AND A KNIFE

I

"How dost thou go?" j.a.phra asked.

"Why, my face is sore," Percival said--"sore! it feels as if I had only a square inch of skin stretched to cover the lot. I'm right as rain otherwise. That was a fight, j.a.phra!"

"Never its like!" j.a.phra answered him huskily--"never its like! Thou art the fighting type, my son. Long ago I said it. This night hath proved me!"

Percival sighed most luxuriously. Pleasant, pleasant to be lying there--bruised, tired, sore, but weariness and wounds bound up with victory. He put up a hand and took Ima's fingers that touched his face with ointment. "That's fine, Ima!" he smiled at her. "I saw you crying. You oughtn't to have been there. Did you think I was done for?"

She shook her head; tears were still in her eyes.

"Well, it's over now," he said affectionately. "Dry those eyes, Ima!"

She gave a catch at her breath. "Well, I am a woman," she told him, and her gentle fingers anointed his face again.

Their caress a.s.sisted him into drowsiness. Without opening his eyes he inquired presently:

"What's all that row? There's a frightful noise somewhere, isn't there?"

j.a.phra, who was looking through the forward window into the early dawn of the summer morning, turned to Ima and shook his head. She took his meaning and answered Percival: "It rains heavily. There is a storm coming up."

He dropped into slumber.

II

But the noise he had heard was heavier than the rain that streamed upon the van's roof; there raged outside a fiercer storm than the thunder-clouds ma.s.sing up on the wind. It had been many seasons brooding; it was charged to the point of bursting when the two factions came shouting from the marquee after the fight. Swept up with arrogant glee, the Stingo men paraded with hoots and jeers before the Maddox vans. A stone came flying through the gloom and cracked against a tall man's cheek. He stooped for it with a curse, sent it whistling, and the crash of gla.s.s that rewarded his aim was the signal for a scramble for stones--smashing of windows, splintering of wood.

There came a wild rush of men from behind the Maddox vans. j.a.phra, watching from his window, turned swiftly and took up the stout limb of ash he commonly carried. He gave it a deft twirl in a tricky way that spoke of the days when single-stick work figured at the fairs, and looked at Ima with his tight-lipped smile.

"The sticks are out!" he said grimly. "I knew it would end thus;" and as he opened the door and dropped to the ground there came to him from many throats the savage cry--glad to the tough old heart of him that once had told Percival, "Ay, a camp fight with the sticks out and the heads cracking is a proper game for a man"--of "Sticks! Sticks!"; and one that came running past him toward the press shouted to him: "j.a.phra? Good on yer! The sticks are out! The ----s ha' come at us with sticks!"

It was s...o...b..ll White. "This way with it, boy," j.a.phra told him as they ran. "Thy stick thus--with a hand at each end across thy head.

Crack at a pate right hand or left when thou seest one--then back to overhead to guard thine own again. I have been out with the sticks. I know the way of it."

III

Weight of numbers had told their tale when Percival got a glimpse of the fierce work.

"I'm fit--I'm absolutely fit, I tell you!" he had told Ima when, awakened by the sounds that now had raged close to the Stingo vans, and recognising them for what they were, he had shaken off her protests and entreaties and had come to the scene.

"Lie here while they're fighting us! Why, you'd be ashamed of me, you know you would!" he had cried; but when he was outside, and had gone a few steps in the rain that now was sheeting down, he was informed how weak he was, and was caught and spun dizzily back by a sudden mob of men driven towards him, and was held dizzy and fainting by the panting breaths and by the reek of sweating bodies that wedged him where he stood.

He was packed in a mob of his Stingo mates, half of whom could not free their arms for use and about three sides of whom the Maddox mob were baying, driving them further and further back against the vans with sticks that rattled on sticks and on heads like the crackling of trees in a wood fire. Two forms, taller than the rest, upstood clearly--near Percival old Stingo, hatless, blood on a cheek, and throating "Hut!

Hut, boys! Hut!" with each stroke he made; further away Boss Maddox, pale, grim and iron of countenance as ever even in this fury, and using his long reach to strike with deadly precision at heads half a dozen men in front of him.

The two were working towards one another, Percival could see, and a sudden surge of the crowd brought him almost within reach of Boss Maddox's stick. It was at that moment that he felt a jostling at his ribs as of someone burrowing past him from behind, looked down and recognised Egbert Hunt--shut in by accident and trying to escape, Percival guessed.

"Hullo! You're going the wrong way to get out," he told him.

Egbert Hunt thrust up and filled his lungs as a diver might rise for air. He peered in the direction of Boss Maddox, and went down again.

"I know which way I'm going," he said, and squirmed ahead--feeling and thrusting with his outstretched left hand, his right in the pocket of his coat.

Stingo and Maddox met. Each stood high above those about them and each had a cry of challenge for the other as their sticks joined. "Hut!"

grunted Stingo and slashed to Boss Maddox's shoulder.

Percival saw the stick caught where it had slipped from its mark and gone into the press; saw Boss Maddox shake himself for freer action and the crowd give way from about him; saw him swing up his arm and poise his stick a dreadful second clear above Stingo's unprotected head--then saw him give an awkward stagger, saw the raised stick slip down between his fingers, heard him grunt and saw him drop down and disappear as a man beneath whose feet the ground had opened.