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or me to catch it； I would hit the corresponding chord on my guitar。 I might have been a little drunk； but I thought Buford had the greatest voice I had ever heard。
These were all pleasant evenings for me。 I have always guarded my aloneness jealously。 But Omar didn't encroach on my solitude； he plemented it。 For the first time in my life； I realized that panionship between two kindred spirits is not impossible…as long as each man respects the other's rights。
On the eighth day of conditioning； the exercising of each cock was cut in half。 On the morning of the ninth day my Mellhorn Black got moody and refused to eat。 He wasn't sick； he was mean and sulky。 I put the Gray game hen in his coop with him for a couple of hours and he snapped out of his lethargy。 When I removed the hen and dumped a spoonful of feed on the floor of his coop； he gobbled it up in no time。
Omar thought this was funny。 〃Maybe that's what's wrong with me； Frank；〃 he laughed。 〃If somebody dropped a blonde into my bed for two hours every night； I could probably eat those beans of yours and like them。〃
On the twelfth day； the cocks were taken off exercise and food together。 They weren't given any water； but they didn't want water。 This was a good sign； and meant they were ready for the pit。 They would fast right up until pit time。 All five cocks were in the peak of condition。 I made Omar 〃feel〃 every one of them； and his fingers learned the difference。
〃If I didn't know better； Frank；〃 he said； 〃I'd think these cocks were made out of stone。〃
Sunday afternoon we put the cocks into traveling coops and drove to the cockpit in Omar's station wagon。 The Ocala Game Club wasn't really in Ocala…it was closer to Martel； eight miles west of the city。 But it was called the Ocala pit because out…of…town cockfighters stayed in Ocala motels when the February 24 S。C。 derby was held。 During the entire season； the pit operator； an old retired farmer named Bandy Taylor； held hack matches almost every Sunday。
Bandy Taylor was in his late sixties； with brown leathery skin and enough deep wrinkles on his face to resemble a relief map。 His legs were so bowed； he couldn't have caught a pig in a trench。
Although Bandy's pit was not an elaborate setup； all of the Lownes County cockfighters liked to meet there。 His wife maintained a small stand outside the pit area； where she sold coffee； Coca…Colas and hamburgers； and Bandy charged a reasonable； one…dollar admission fee。 The old man； an authorized S。C。T。 referee； never bet on the fights； but he made enough money on admission fees and the food his wife sold to get by。 Any wins I had there could be signed by Bandy on the official records； and they would be acceptable by the Mifiedgevifie judges for qualifying purposes。
The crowd was small； considering that four hacks between Pete Chocolate and our new partnership had been scheduled。 There were thirty some…odd spectators； including a nervous Yankee tourist from Silver Springs。 There were only a half dozen other cockers； looking for extra hacks。 I wanted to get an extra hack for Icky； but the prospects weren't too good。 I wrote my name and Icky's weight on the blackboard and hoped for the best。
Pete Chocolate won the toss and decided to fight from bottom weights up。 His fighters were all Spanish crosses； and they were in fine feather。 Omar held for me while I heeled the 4：02 Roundhead； and then he tried to rustle up a few bets in the bleachers。 I considered fighting Icky against the other 4：02 opponent； but the Spanish Ace looked too formidable。 I had made a good decision。 Omar was also lucky in the stands； because the only bet he could get was a ten…dollar even money wager。
The Spanish cock uncoupled my Roundhead； breaking his spine； in the first pitting。 He was counted out； paralyzed and unable to move a feather。 Omar paid Pete Chocolate the fifty…dollar loss； and paid off the fan in the stands。 Because of our quick loss in the first fight； Omar was able to lay a thirty…dollar bet on the oute of the second hack。
In the second fight； I showed the 5：00 Middleton Gray； and he finished his opponent in the fourth pitting。 My Gray shuffler got above the Spanish every time。
The third battle was one of those fights that never appear to get anywhere。 The two cocks were evenly matched； and very little damage was done until the eighteenth pitting。 By the twenty…third pitting we were alternating on calling for the count。 On my count； however； the Spanish developed a rattle from an earlier wound； refused to face； and the hack was mine。 Our Roundhead was well battered and wouldn't be able to fight again for at least two months。
The fourth hack was a miracle win。 My 5：10 Mellhorn Black had been in fights before； and he smothered the Spanish in the first two pittings。 In the third pitting； the Black attacked furiously the moment I released his tail。 The Spanish was bowled over and fell back close to the wall。 He leaped high into the air； and landed on the ground outside the pit。 The Spanish was game…he wasn't a runner by any means…but he was outside the pit and my Black was still inside。
It was a tense moment。 I held my breath； and none of the spectators made a sound。 If Pete's Spanish had jumped back into the pit； the fight would have been continued。 He didn't。 Confused； twisting his head about in search of my gamecock； the Spanish darted under the bleachers in bewildered retreat。 The hack was mine by default。
I had known Pete Chocolate for several years； but this was the first time I ever saw him get really angry。 He caught his gamecock； removed the heels； and swung the cock's neck against an upright post。 He then jerked off the cock's head。 This isn't easy。 It takes a strong man to pull a chicken's head off with his bare hands。 He tossed the dead chicken on the ground and came back to the pit。
〃That's the first runner I ever had； Frank；〃 Pete said blackly。 〃A Spanish don't run！ That same cock won two fights before。 Is that a runner？ D'you ever hear of me showing a runner？〃
I shook my head solemnly。 Blood had dripped from the dead chicken's neck onto the white polo shirt Pete was wearing with his tuxedo； and his white tennis shoes were splashed with blood。
〃He didn't run； Pete；〃 Omar said。 〃He was confused and didn't remember where the pit was； that's all。〃
〃He won't get confused again！〃 Pete said with satisfaction。 He whipped out his wallet and paid Omar off。 We were ahead one hundred dollars from Pete Chocolate； and Omar had won eighty dollars more in side bets。 We had lost one cock； and our Roundhead had been battered so badly he might not ever win another fight。 We were just about even。
A good first day； I thought； as Omar joined me at the lunch stand。
〃Frank；〃 he said； 〃there's a kid at the cockhouse with a Gray cross of some kind who wants to fight Icky。 His name is Junior Hollenbeck。 D'you know him？〃
I nodded and finished my Coke。 I didn't actually know Junior； but his father； Rex Hollenbeck； was a real…estate man in Ocala。 He had introduced himself to me one day in town。 Mr。 Hollenbeck was a fan； he said； and he had seen me handling at the Orlando International Tourney。
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