THE TEST
The Clary Grove gang were gathered in council. A grave matter was to be
decided and there seemed a division of opinion as to the qualifications
of Abe Lincoln for becoming a member of the brotherhood. Personally
no man had an unfriendly feeling. In fact some of them liked him. But
there were certain qualifications which it was not certain he possessed.
The horse-trade with Buck was discussed. Had he gotten the best of
Buck? Several contended that he should have kept the horse and would
have done so had he not been afraid of the gang. Others were of the
opinion that he did not want the horse, and several declared him a good
fellow for knowing where to quit joking.
There were graver considerations than this, however.
"Ever see a man that had any guts totin' rabbits around in his
pockets?" Ole Bar questioned sharply. "I seen a feller once that packed
a couple of wild cats about with him--but rabbits--_rabbits_----" and
language failed to express his disgust.
"And he don't drink no whiskey."
"And Jo Kelsy says he never carries a gun."
"Don't never go gamin'?"
"No," answered Jo Kelsy, "he ain't never been no hunter."
"Hain't never killed nothin'?" Ole Bar questioned in amazement.
"Not just fer fun. Once he killed a pant'er what dropped on him without
saying nothin'. He ketched it around the neck and choked its eyes out
and skinned it. He said he wouldn't have bothered it if it hadn't acted
so nasty and climbed his frame without warnin'."
There was silence. No such case had come up for discussion. Here was a
young giant who could strangle a panther--perhaps a bear. Yet he didn't
bother them if they let him alone, and he carried new-born rabbits in
his pocket, and didn't drink whiskey.
"Offutt's got him put up against any man in Sangamon County; says he
can out-run, out-wrestle, out-throw, out-whip the best man that can
be put up. He's bragged till folks has forgot about Jack Armstrong of
Clary Grove."
The eyes of the company turned to Jack Armstrong, the champion wrestler
of Sangamon County. Built square as an ox, his mighty muscle gave the
suggestion of the monarchy of muscular force. Added to his force of
muscle was unusual quickness, and added to this, as the Clary Grove
crowd knew, was the art of a trick that was held permissible by the
gang as a last resort in holding championship of the county.
"What about it, Jack?" Kit Parsons asked.
"I'll wrastle him."
"He's different from anything you've gone up against. Jo Kelsy saw him
lift a whiskey barrel and let a feller drink out of the bung hole one
day when he was in the store."
"The Lord's truth," Jo answered solemnly.
"And Buck Thompson says he histed a chicken coop that weighed five or
six hundred pounds and set her down on the other side of the yard,
nobody lendin' a hand."
"The Lord's truth," Buck answered.
"And Ole Bar says they was having some sort of a contest down at the
mill when he first come here--some sort of a stone-moving tussle--and
Abe Lincoln let them strap him like a hoss and moved a thousand pounds.
Hey, Ole Bar?"
"I ain't sayin' nothin', only I seen it done."
"I can whip any man on Sangamon River." It was Armstrong who spoke.
This was final and gave great satisfaction. The crowd shook hands with
the champion, and one of the number was appointed to bear the challenge
to Abe Lincoln, early the next morning.
When the young clerk was approached on the matter of the fight he
declined. "What's the use of this wooly-rousin', anyhow? I never did
see no sense in tuslin' and cuffin'. Grown-up men might be in better
business."
But Offutt, satisfied that he could win the contest urged him on, and
as there seemed nothing else to do, Lincoln accepted, and the day was
set.
The news spread over town and around the country. Jack Armstrong the
long-time champion was to meet the giant youth known as flat-boat Abe,
the railsplitter.
Early in the game Offutt and Bill Clary bet ten dollars on their
respective men. Lesser lights bet whiskey, knives, tobacco, and even
caps and coats. The better element entered no protest, and the Clary
Grove kind from Wolf Creek openly exulted.
During the growing interest Lincoln seemed to pay no attention to
the matter nor cared to discuss it. He said he had a good feeling for
the whole bunch and believed his antagonist to be a brave and square
wrestler.
"Clear the street of weak things," Bill Clary had advised, the morning
of the match, which was taken to mean that there might be a gang fight
instead of a wrestling match.
Even before the appointed hour the town was out and lined up opposite
Offutt's store. Doctor Allen, who had formed a warm friendship for
the young clerk and who was opposed to fighting, was there. The
school-teacher was there; Clary Grove to a man was present with several
from Wolf Creek. John Rutledge and Cameron stopped by to look on. The
women folks were on hand, for here was something that promised to be
as interesting as a shouting match at a camp-meeting. And the girls
were there, Nance Cameron, Ann Rutledge, Phoebe Jane Benson and Ellen
Green, keyed up with the excitement that comes to the young female of
any species when the males of like kind give an exhibition of primitive
strength. Nor did John McNeil remain away. He even stood by a Clary
Grove leader to see the show.
Many glances were cast at the store inside of which Abe Lincoln was
seen talking to a crowd, and laughing as good naturedly as if the whole
town were not feverishly waiting for him to come out and face the
broad-shouldered, iron-muscled man, who as calmly awaited the event,
surrounded by his friends under a tree near the side of the store.
At the appointed time Abe Lincoln came slowly out and took his way in
an unhurried sort of a shamble across to the side of the store. Seeing
him, Jack Armstrong emerged from his friends. The tall youth extended
his hand and shook in a friendly grasp. Then he pulled off his hat and
pitched it aside, opened his shirt and turned it back, hitched up his
breeches, tossed back his mop of black hair, and the wrestle was on.
A cheer went up as they went the first round.
Armstrong had entered the contest with the determination of a speedy
finish. He knew the art. It was evident from the beginning that Lincoln
was not a skilled wrestler. Indeed he seemed only defending himself,
which he did so easily that he was not given full credit for it.
Armstrong gave him some blows. They might as well have fallen on a
steel trap. Lincoln gave no hard blows; evidently his intention was
not to inflict harm. Through the early portion of the wrestle he was
entirely good-natured. But not so with Armstrong. He was working hard.
He was not making progress. His backers and friends were urging him on,
while cheers sounded each time his wily antagonist escaped what seemed
to be a well-directed, sledge-hammer blow.
When the contest had been on some minutes it became apparent to the
crowd and to Armstrong that he must use different tactics, or the wily,
good-natured Abe Lincoln would keep him fighting for a week.
Armstrong now undertook his trick.
The moment he did so the eager crowd saw an instantaneous change in the
young giant.
The good-natured expression on his face was swept aside by a wave of
such anger as transformed him from a citizen into a fighter. The mild
and friendly light in his gray eye made way for a fire that gave it a
strange, shining appearance. The slight stoop of the body disappeared
and the tall figure towered high and tense, for a passing instant. Then
he threw out his powerful arm and just as his antagonist hoped to take
him from his feet, he felt his neck caught in the grasp of something as
unrelenting as a steel trap. Tighter the powerful fingers wrapped about
his neck. He felt himself forced away from the man he would defeat by
trickery.
It was done in a moment. The crowd saw Abe Lincoln holding Jack
Armstrong at arm's length and shaking him as a cat would shake a
kitten, as he shouted in white wrath "Play fair, will ye? If you win,
_win_. If you lose, _lose_--_but do it like a man_! Play fair, will
ye?" and again he shook him as if in an effort to shake the words from
him.
For a moment there was an ominous silence.
"He's a bar! He's a bar!" shouted Ole Bar. Whatever this meant was
uncertain. The gang closed in. They seemed coming to the rescue of
their champion.
With the breath half-choked out of him, Armstrong felt himself
pulled along. Abe Lincoln backed against the store wall. He released
Armstrong, shouting, "I'm ready! I'll meet anybody in a fair tussle,
but no tricks go with Abe Lincoln!"
Again there was a moment of silence. The gang looked at Armstrong,
then the crowd cheered. The gang fell back. The next moment something
unexpected happened. Jack Armstrong approached, held out his hand and,
turning to the crowd, said, "Boys, Abe Lincoln's the best fellow that
ever broke into this gang."
The white anger faded from the face of the tall giant as quickly as it
had come. The fire passed from his eyes. His homely face was lit by
a kindly smile. He hitched up his trousers and pushed back his hair.
Then with his hand warmly grasped around that of Armstrong he said,
"Hand-shakes are better than cuffin's. It's friends we are."
A shout went up, the women shouting with the men. Among those who
cheered most heartily was the group of girls with whom Ann Rutledge
stood. So interested had she been in the climax of the contest she had
not noticed that John McNeil had moved to a place beside her. She did
not know it until, in the midst of her most enthusiastic hand-clapping,
she turned and met his eye. Her face was bright with pleasure at the
outcome. She was laughing and cheering. When she met his eye she knew
he was not pleased.
"I told you he'd be one of the gang," McNeil said.
"But he plays fair."
"I never could understand why women and girls like the fighting kind,
the rowdy kind--the kind that has roustabout ways, and that has no
business, and opposes religion."
"But are you sure he opposes religion?"
"These fighting roustabouts generally do. Now don't get mixed. I'm not
saying Abe Lincoln's not a good fellow. He's good enough of his kind,
and I like him. But for women and girls that's religious, he wouldn't
be my kind."
"I'm going to find out if he opposes religion," Ann said.
"Going over to the store to see him?" John questioned.
"No; I would so like to talk with him just once. But I won't
because----"
"Why?" he asked, looking at her.
"Because, John, some way I feel you would not like it. I'm promised to
you, and I play fair."
He made no answer, but some way Ann felt that her statement was not
altogether satisfactory to John McNeil.