I saw Twink Weatherby, just outside the fighting ring. Everyone said she was pretty, but I wanted to rip all her soft yellow curls out, one by painful one. Her small, pointy face was white with fear on the side lines, with her wide blue eyes fixated on the fighters in the dirt covered road. She twisted her handkerchief around her fingers. Pa pushed his way through the crowd and I quickly entered behind him. It was true, Oliver was being killed. Oliver was fighting the Forresters three to one, Lem, Mill-wheel and Buck. Oliver reminded me of a large buck deer Pa and I had once seen, bloody and wounded, with the dogs threshing at the throat and shoulders. Blood and sand covered Oliver’s face. He was boxing with fatigue, trying to fight one Forrester at a time. Lem and Buck rushed on him together. I heard their heavy fists crack against Oliver’s bone. Oliver dropped into the sand while the crowd roared with excitement. I felt so confused. Oliver deserved it, for leaving the cottage for a girl. But three against one was never fair. Even when Pa’s dogs attacked a bear or panther, it seemed indifferent. Ma had said the Forresters were black-hearted and I had pondered if this was what she meant only because I never believed her. The Forresters sang and drank heavily and frolicked at their house—especially for parties and occasions. They fed me when I had stayed with Fodder-wing and also allowed me to play with him. I pondered if this was what she had meant by black-hearted for three to fight against one. Yet Mill-wheel and Buck were fighting for Lem, keeping his girl for him. Wasn’t that good? Weren’t they being loyal to Lem?
Exhausted, Oliver staggered to his knees and then stumbled to his feet. He smiled eagerly through the dirt and blood, wanting to engage more in the fight—even if he was being killed. I could feel my stomach lurch inside my belly. I jumped on Lem’s back, clawing at his neck and pounding on his head. Lem shook me off and turned, sending me to tumble in the dirt. My face stung from the sudden impact of Lem’s large hand. My hip ached badly from the fall. Lem snapped, “You keep outen this, you leetle panther.” Pa called out to the sound filled commotion and bystanders, “Who’s judgin’ this fight?” “We’re judgin’ it.” Lem called back. Pa pushed his way closer in between Oliver and Lem. His voice loud against the continual shouting, “If it take three men to whop one, I say that one is the better man.” Lem advanced to Pa. He said, “I’m o’ no mind to kill you Penny Baxter. But I’ll smack you flat as a skeeter if you don’t git outen my way.” Pa talked back, “Fair is fair. If you aim to kill Oliver, shoot him honest and hang for murder. But be men.” Buck shuffled his feet in the sand, gaining his approach toward the two. He said, “We’d of fit him one at a time, but he lit right in.” Pa pressed closer and said, “Whose fight is it? Who done what to who?” Lem started, “He come back stealin’, that’s what he done.”Oliver wiped his sleeve across his bloodied face, “It’s Lem that tried to steal.” “Steal what?” Pa demanded, he pounded one hand inside the other, “Hounds, hogs, guns, or hosses?” Outside the fighting rim, Twink began sobbing. Oliver reassured in a low voice, “This is no place to tell it, Penny.” “Then be this the place to fight it out? Like a pack o’ dogs fightin’ in a road? You two fellers fight it out alone another day.” Oliver announced, “I’ll fight a man anywhere, that says what Lem said.” “And I’ll say it again.” They ran toward one another, Pa the only one keeping them from practically mugging another. Pa seemed like a small pine tree, standing against a hurricane. The crowd cheered frantically, encouraging the fight to continue. Lem drew a fist and struck Oliver directly over Pa’s head. The sound was an echo to that of a fired rifle. Oliver flopped to the dirty earth once more like a ragdoll. He lay there in the sand, motionless. Pa brought up his knuckle, meeting it with Lem’s lower jaw as Lem simultaneously punched into Pa’s rib cage. I moved toward Lem, filled with anger and spite for him attacking Pa. I sunk my mouth onto Lem’s wrist while kicking at his bare shins. Lem turned—he had the same annoyed look of Ol’ Slewfoot being nipped at by the dogs. He knocked me clear off his body, striking me again in midair. Then I lay on the sanded earth. I saw Oliver sway dizzily to his feet and Pa continuing to fight. I heard the roar of the crowd circling the fight from all directions. The noise was deafening like an incoming train and then became distant. I felt as if was drifting off to sleep and welcomed the dreams that would come.
I woke at Grandma’s house. I suspected it all to be a dream. I thought it was morning, since the Volusia steamboat could be heard down the river. I believed I had a nightmare about Oliver coming home to fight the Forresters. I turned to peer at the coming steam engine. A sharp pain shot through my neck and shoulder. I could hardly move my neck, twisting it only part-way. Memory of the “battle” raced through my mind. It was true then. It was afternoon. The sun shone in the west far across the river. The pain ceased, but I laid there, faint and dizzy. A rocking chair creaked in the corner. I knew it was Grandma Hutto. “His eyes are open.” She proclaimed. I tried moving my head toward her soothing voice but I couldn’t, not without the aching pain piercing me. She came and leaned over my head. She spoke, not to me, but Pa, “He’s tough as you. He’s all right.” “Hey, Grandma,” I spoke softly. Pa appeared on the other side of the guest bed I laid upon. One of his eyes was black and blue, while his wrist was bandaged tightly. Even through his pain, Pa smiled at me. Grandma reached to the back of my head, searching for the pain. It was where I landed in the sand and dirt and in my jaw where Lem struck me to loosen my grip of his wrist. The pain slowly eased with the touch of her mature, wrinkly hands. She spoke, “Say somethin’, so I’ll know your brains ain’t jellied.” “I cain’t think o’ nothin’ to say.” I added, “Ain’t it past dinner-time?” Pa said, “The only serious hurt could come to him, is likely his belly.” I spoke back, “I ain’t hongry. I jest seed the sun and I was wonderin’. Where’s Oliver?” “In the bed,” Grandma claimed. “Is he bad hurted?” “Not bad enough to learn him sense.” I figured he needed some sense, especially after abandoning us and getting into a fight with the Forresters and Lem. I knew Grandma was right, again.
