Ramsay rose and rushed forward, flinging himself into this combat with
all the fierce joy of a newly awakened warrior. He had given a full
summer, an important part of his life, to building up a career which he
greatly loved. Now he stood ready to defend it with his muscles, his
heart and, if need be, his life.
He saw Devil Chad rise uncertainly to meet him, not knowing whether he
was friend or foe. He aimed a mighty kick at the shotgun in the other's
hands, and he knew that he had knocked it completely out of his enemy's
grasp. He felt a fresh burst of wind on his cheek and, strangely, knew
all about the storm that was brewing on the great lake. He closed with
his enemy.
Devil Chad and his men had come to destroy and, if necessary, to kill.
But they had counted on Ramsay, Pieter and Hans, charging angrily up the
sand beach. Outlined against the burning boats, they would be at a
tremendous disadvantage. A hail of lead from five shotguns could cut
them down in almost no time. They had their choice between surrendering
or dying for what they believed in.
It had never occurred to Devil Chad or his men that an enemy would dare
crawl into their very midst. The darkness that had befriended them now
became their enemy. Nobody dared shoot because nobody could possibly be
certain whether he were shooting at friend or foe. Ramsay edged up to
Devil Chad and swung a tremendous upper-cut to the other's jaw.
He missed, felt his knuckles graze his enemy's cheek, and stepped back
for a new try. Only vaguely was he aware of muffled exclamations that
became shouts and then grunts. He knew that Pieter and Hans had closed
in. Then it was as though he and Devil Chad were alone.
This was something that had to be. The seed that made the task necessary
had been planted long ago, on the _Holter_. It had taken deep root
during the fight in the tannery. Since that time Ramsay had met every
challenge the lake had flung at him. Now he would have to prove himself
capable of meeting the challenges men flung at him. Then, and only then,
could he survive.
Ramsay's lips framed a grin. He had taken the risk, and he had won. For
one brief second somebody might have shot him down, then the opportunity
was forever gone. Now nobody dared shoot. He found a firm footing on the
lake sand.
Ramsay dodged a terrific blow that would have knocked him flat had it
connected, and went back in with his arms swinging. He sunk a left and a
right to his adversary's midriff and heard Devil Chad's breath whistle
out of his clenched lips. He drew back to strike again.
Like the bull he was, Devil Chad charged recklessly. He took Ramsay's
stinging blows without flinching, and the boy had to give ground. But it
was not lost ground, and for one brief, glorious second Ramsay stood and
traded blows. His head rocked, but he took what the other had to offer
and returned it in full measure. Then he learned his mistake.
A pair of gigantic arms were flung about his middle. They tightened like
a vise, bending him backward and seeming to compress him into a space
not half-big enough. His spine was ready to crack, and lights danced in
his head. He gasped for air.
The many lessons he had been taught by Hans Van Doorst came to his
rescue. Four months ago, and perhaps even one month ago, the fight would
have been ended by that terrific bear hug. But now Ramsay remembered in
time that he was not fighting a man alone but a man who was part beast.
And it was never wise to lose one's head. A man must always adapt
himself and fight like a beast if he fought with one.
Summoning all his remaining strength, Ramsay drew back his right foot
and sent his heavy shoe smashing into Devil Chad's shin. The fellow
relaxed his hold and staggered back into the darkness.
Ramsay stumbled away from him. Devil Chad was a bull, he remembered, and
he did not know about matadors. The next time he rushed, the boy stepped
aside and let his opponent's momentum carry him past. Ramsay's strength
and breath came back.
He became cool, able to reason coolly. Devil Chad outweighed him by
fifty pounds, so he must not close again. If he did not, and there were
no accidents, he, Ramsay, would win this fight. For the first time in
his life Devil Chad was fighting his equal.
Ramsay felt strength swell within him. It was the strength of the lake,
and it had flowed into his body through the numberless sturgeon he had
carried to the pond and from the many times he had helped bring in the
seine and from the many fish he had scooped from the raised pound nets.
He was no longer a boy but a man.
The burning pound boats were falling into embers now, and as the light
they cast receded the blackness of the night became more intense. Wind
keened in from the lake, and the waves assaulting the sand beach made
themselves heard.
Ramsay waded in, his fists flying. In the darkness he was aware of Devil
Chad coming to meet him, but his deception of his opponent was complete.
From the first, he had had no intention of meeting him squarely.
He stepped aside, lashing out with both fists as he did so, and felt
both of them collide soddenly with Devil Chad's chin. The latter
bellowed, swung his head and hooked viciously. But he hooked falsely,
for Ramsay was not there. His lithe body, dodging and twisting, now here
and now there, became like the cape that lures the bull to its doom.
Devil Chad swung and kicked, and often he struck his target. But he did
not strike hard enough to bring Ramsay down, and he could not again get
a grip with his giant arms, although he tried desperately.
Roaring wildly, he charged. But it was a blind, mad attack, directed
almost completely by rage and desperation.
Ramsay licked his upper lip, vaguely aware of the fact that he was
tasting his own blood but not caring. He felt no pain, and it was oddly
as though he sat on some high pinnacle from which he could watch himself
and direct himself. Both his fists lashed squarely into Devil Chad's
face, driven by all the strength in his hard, young body.
Devil Chad paused, as though bewildered, and Ramsay knew that he was
stunned. Not stopping, throwing some of his caution to the wind, he
followed up his advantage. His fists worked like cracking whips as he
struck again and again. Devil Chad spun around, took two halting steps,
and sank to one knee.
He remained there like some carved statue, and again Ramsay licked away
the blood that flowed down his face. Now, if he did the correct thing,
he would go in and end it with kicking feet. He would beat Devil Chad as
mercilessly as he had been beaten. But he did not.
He waited, cool and poised, while the other bowed before him. Only when
Devil Chad lurched to his feet and struck out drunkenly did Ramsay go in
again, and he went in with his fists. He beat a continuous, almost
unopposed tatto on his enemy's chin. The second time Devil Chad
collapsed he measured his full length on the sand, and he did not move
again.
Ramsay stood watching intently for several moments. He wanted to make
certain that he had met his enemy fairly and defeated him fairly. How
long he had been fighting he did not know. It seemed like a few seconds,
but it must have been much longer. He only knew that he had come out of
the battle stronger than he was when he went into it. He called, "Hans?"
"Here," the Dutch fisherman answered.
His voice was strained, but even now there was nothing of desperation in
it. Rather, it was a joyous voice. Ramsay turned toward it and saw
scuffling men. He approached them and reached out with groping hands
until he touched another man. It was neither Hans nor Pieter, and as
soon as he was sure of that he swung.
He felt a strong disappointment, for the heat of battle flared strong
within him and, instead of fighting back, the man merely collapsed on
the sand. Obviously he had already been manhandled by Hans and had
little strength left. Ramsay looked strangely at him, as though there
was something that should not be. Then he became aware of the fact that
dawn had come and he could see. He turned to help Hans or Pieter,
whichever needed it the most, and he turned just in time to see Hans hit
Joe Mannis so hard that the body-watcher flew into the air, described a
little backward whirl, and fell on the sand.
Hans stood, shaggy and huge, breathing hard, but unbeaten and
unbeatable. Moving over beside him, Ramsay felt that at last he was
worthy to stand there. Both watched while Pieter teased the single
remaining man, one of the hired ruffians who had helped set the gill
net, then slapped him resoundingly on both cheeks. As though he were
unworthy of further notice, Pieter whirled on his heel and left his foe.
The man went weaving up the beach into the lightening morning.
Hans grinned wryly at Ramsay. "Your face, it looks like a horse stepped
on it."
"You've got a couple of mosquito bites yourself."
"Yaah." Hans grinned again.