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pur a slight advantage over Little David。
The cockfight between Sandspur and Little David was an extra hack； and I had not； of course； been required to post any entry fee。 However； Mr。 Middleton examined both cocks with minute attention。 He was acting as judge and referee and had received at least a minimum fee of one hundred and fifty dollars； plus expenses； from Captain Mack。 The judge of a cockfight has to be good； and Ed Middleton was one of the best referees in the entire South。 His word in the pit was law。 There is no appeal from a cockfight judge's decision。 As sole judge…referee； Ed Middleton's jurisdiction enpassed spectator betting as well。 The referee's job has always been the most important at a cockfight。 As every cocker knows； for example； honest Abe Lincoln was once a cockpit referee during his lawyer days in Illinois。 Hard and fair in his decisions； and as impersonal as doom； Ed Middleton was fully aware of the traditional responsibilities of the cockpit referee。
After pleting his examination of the cocks to see that they were not soaped； peppered or greased and that they were trimmed fairly； Mr。 Middleton stepped back to the table。
〃Southern Conference rules； gentlemen？〃 he asked。
〃What else？〃 Burke said。
I nodded my head in agreement。
〃Forty…minute time limit； or kill？〃
I closed my fist； jerked my thumb toward the ground。
〃What else？〃 Burke said。
Captain Mack held Sandspur while Jack Burke examined him； and I took a close look at Little David。 Burke's chicken was a purebred O'Neal Red and as arrogant as a sergeantmajor in the Foreign Legion。 Although I had never seen Little David fight before； I had followed his previous pittings in The Southern Cockfighter； and I knew that he liked aerial fighting。 But so did Sandspur fight high in the air； and my cock was used to short gaffs。 The three additional wins Little David had over Sandspur didn't worry me when I had such an advantage。
Burke tapped me on the shoulder and grinned。 〃If I'd known your chicken had him a cracked bill； I'd have given you better odds。〃
I shrugged indifferently and sat down on the edge of the pit to arm my cock。 I opened my gaff case； removed a bottle of typewriter cleaning solvent and cleaned Sandspur's spur stumps。 Most cockers use plain alcohol to clean spurs； but typewriter solvent is fast…drying and； in my opinion； removes the dirt easier。 After fitting tight chamois…skin coverings over both spurs； I slipped the metal sockets of the short heels over the covered stumps and tied them with waxed string； setting them low and a trifle to the outside。 The points of the tapered heels were as sharp as needles； and a man has to be careful when he arms a cock。 I had a puckered puncture scar on my right forearm caused by a moment of carelessness seven years before； and I didn't want another one。
The betting had already started； but the crowd quieted down when Mr。 Middleton stepped into the pit。 They listened attentively to his announcement。
〃This is an extra hack； gentlemen；〃 he said loudly。 〃Little David versus Sandspur。 Southern Conference rules will prevail。 No time limit； and short gaffs。 Little David is owned by Mr。 Jack Burke of Burke Farms； Kissimmee； Florida。 He's an Ace cock； with eight wins and will be two years old in November。 Little David will be handled by Mr。 Ralph Hansen of Burke Farms。〃
The crowd gave Little David a nice hand； and Mr。 Middleton continued。
〃Sandspur is owned by Mr。 Frank Mansfield of Mansfield Farms； Ocala； Florida； and he will handle his own chicken。 Sandspur is a five…time winner and a year and a half old。 Both cocks will fight at four pounds even。〃
Sandspur got a better hand than Little David； and the applause was sustained by the two Dade County breeders who wanted him to beat Burke's cock。 Mr。 Middleton examined Sandspur's heels and patted me on the shoulder。 Many cockers resent the referee's examination of a cock's heels； but I never have。 A conscientious referee can help you by making this final check。 Once the fight has started and your cock loses a metal spur； it cannot be replaced。
As Mr。 Middleton crossed the pit to examine Little David； I watched the flying fingers of the bettors。 The majority of the betting at cockfights is done by fingers…one finger for one dollar； five for five dollars； and then on up into the multiples of five…and I was an expert in this type of betting。 I had learned finger betting in the Philippines when I was in the army and didn't understand Tagalog； and I had also used the same system in Puerto Rico； where I didn't understand Spanish very well。 Little David was the favorite； getting two…to…one； and in some cases three…to…one odds。
Bill Sanders； Jack Burke and the two Miami gamblers were in a huddle next to the canvas wall。 Both gamblers were staring across the pit at Sandspur while Sanders and Burke talked at the same time。 Sanders had a roll of money in his hand and was talking fast； although I couldn't hear his voice from where I was sitting beside the pit。
A fistfight broke out on the top tier of seats between two fruit tramps； and one of them was knocked off backward and fell heavily to the ground。 Before he could climb back into the stands； the state trooper had an armiock on him and made him sit down on the other side of the pit。 When I looked back to Bill Sanders； he was smiling and holding up three fingers。
So Bill had got three…to…one。 That was good enough for me。 When Sandspur won； I'd be 2；250 ahead from the Miami gamblers； plus 1；000 more from Jack Burke。 3；250。 This would be more than enough money to see me through the Southern Conference season； and enough to purchase six badly needed fighting cocks besides。
〃Get ready！〃 Mr。 Middleton yelled。 I stood up； stepped over the edge of the pit； and put my toes on the back score。 The back score lines placed us eight feet away from each other。 Ralph Hansen； holding Little David under the chest with one hand； called impatiently to the refereee。
〃How about letting us bill them first； Mr。 Middleton？〃
Billing is an essential prelude to pitting。 Ed Middleton didn't need the reminder。 〃Bill your cocks；〃 he growled。
We cradled our fighters over our left arms； holding their feet； and stood sideways on our center scores； two feet apart； so the cocks could peck at each other。 These cocks had never seen each other before； but they were mortal enemies。 Ed allowed us about thirty seconds for the teasing and then told us to get ready。 Ralph backed to his score and I returned to mine。 I squatted on my heels and set the straining Sandspur with his feet on the score。 The cocks were exactly eight feet apart。
I watched Mr。 Middleton's lips。 This was a trick I had practiced for hours on end and I was good at it。 Before a man can say the letter 〃P〃 he must first press his lips。 There isn't any other way he can say it。 The signal to release the cocks is when the referee shouts 〃Pit〃 or 〃Pit your cocks！〃 The handler who releases the tail of his cock first on the utterance of the letter 〃P〃 has a split…second advantage over his rival。 And in the South； where 〃Pit〃 is often a two…syllable word； 〃Pee…it；〃 my timing was perfe