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I nodded glumly and lit a cigarette。
〃Unbelievable； isn't it！ Burning like a damned torch and still trying to fight！ A man couldn't take that kind of punishment and still fight。 Not a man in this world could do it。〃
I stubbed out the cigarette。 It tasted like scorched feathers； despite the menthol and filter tip。
〃Well； Frank；〃 Omar said pensively； 〃there're a lot of things I don't like about cockfighting； but a cocker's got to take the bad with the good。〃
I nodded in agreement and pushed the bottle toward him。
Omar studied my face and； ignoring the bottle； leaned forward。
〃You and I need each other； Frank；〃 he said suddenly。 〃Why don't we form a partnership for the season？〃
For some reason his suggestion startled me； and I shook my head automatically。
〃Don't decide so hastily；〃 he continued earnestly； leaning over the table。 〃I've picked up twenty cocks already； and I've still got better birds to pick up on walks in Alabama。 Between the two of us； if you conditioned and handled； and I took charge of the business end； we could have one hell of a season。 I know how tough it's been since you lost your voice。 I still remember how you used to holler and argue and knock down the odds before the fights。 What do you say； Frank？〃
I was tempted。 Two of my cocks were gone before I started。 I only had thirteen birds left for the season； and my cash was low。 If we bined our gamecocks we could enter every money main and derby on the circuit； and if Omar didn't interfere with my conditioning…
〃Let it go for now；〃 Omar said carelessly； getting to his feet。 〃Just think about it for a while。 I don't like to mention my money； but I'm lousy with capital。 I've got a lot more than you have； and if you had a partner putting up the forfeits； entry fees； and doing all the betting； you could concentrate on conditioning and handling。 And on a partnership we can split everything we take in right down the middle。〃
He turned in the doorway and his shadow fell across my face。 〃No matter what you decide；〃 he said cheerfully； 〃e over to my place for dinner tonight。 I'll take that high…stationed Mellhorn home with me。 I've always wanted to eat a Mellhorn Black with dumplings。〃 He laughed。 〃Chicken and dumplings for two！ That's about thirty…seven； fifty a plate； isn't it？〃 Omar waved from the door and disappeared from sight。
I remained seated at the table。 A few minutes later I heard the engine of his new Pontiac station wagon turn over； and listened to the sounds as he drove out of the yard。 The pot of coffee on the hot plate burbled petulantly。 I poured another cup； and a cock crowed outside； reminding me of all the work still to be done that morning。 I couldn't put off the dubbing of Icky any longer。
Ordinarily； the deaf ears； wattles and b are trimmed away when the bird is a young stag of six or seven months。 Ed Middleton； for reasons known only to himself； had failed to dub Icky。 He probably meant to keep Icky as a pet and brood cock and had never intended to pit him。 But I was going to pit him； and he had to be dubbed for safety in battle。 With his lovely free…flowing b and dangling wattles； an opposing cock could get a billhold and shuffle him to death in the first pitting。 I had been putting off the dubbing； afraid that he might bleed to death。 With a stag the danger is slight； but Icky was fully matured； more than a year…and…a…half old。 And it had to be done。
I got my shears； both the straight and the curved pairs； and went outside to Icky's coop room。
He was a friendly chicken； used to kindness and handling； and ran toward me when I opened the gate。 I picked him up； sat on the bench in front of the shack； and went to work on his b。 With my experience I don't need a man to hold a chicken for me。 I've dubbed as many as fifty stags in a single morning； all by myself； and I've never had one die from loss of blood yet。 But I was extra careful with Icky。
Gripping his body firmly between my knees； and holding his head with my left hand； I clipped his b with the straight shears as close to the head as possible。 Many cockers leave about an eighth of an inch； believing erroneously that the slight padding will give the head protection from an opponent's pecking。 But I've never known a cock to be pecked to death。 I trim right down to the bone because the veins are larger close to the head and there isn't as much bleeding。 I cut sharply； and with solid； quick snips； so the large veins were closed by the force of the shears。 Luckily； Icky's head bled very little。 I then cut away the wattles and deaf ears with the curved shears； again taking my time； and did a clean job。 As an afterthought I pulled a few short feathers out of the hackle and planted them in Icky's b。 The little blue feathers would grow there and ornament his head； until they were billed out by an irate adversary。
When I pleted the dubbing I turned him loose in his coop。 He had held still nicely； and because he had been so good about it； I caught the Middleton Gray game hen running loose in the yard； and put her into his coop。 The dubbing hadn't bothered him。 He mounted the hen before she had taken two steps。 A moment later he flew to his roosting pole and crowed。 Within a week his head would be healed pletely； and he would be ready for conditioning。
Omar had taken the decapitated Ace Black with him； but the charred Mellhorn was still in the pit。 I buried the dead chicken and the other cock's severed head in the sand before eating lunch。
If I had been pletely broke； or without any gamecocks of my own； I wouldn't have considered a partnership with Omar。 But I had enough Ace chickens to hold up my end。 Omar had excellent； purebred gamecocks。 All he needed was a man like me to work the hell out of them。 The idea of forming a partnership with anybody had never occurred to me before； although partnerships were mon enough in cockfighting circles。 Besides； I had a good deal of affection for Omar； almost a paternal feeling toward him； despite the fact that he was more than twenty years older than me。 He wanted success very much； and there were many things he had to learn。 And there was a lot that I could teach him。
After feeding the chickens that evening； I drove to Omar's farm for supper。 His farm was on the state road； and his house was a two bedroom…den structure with asphalt…tile floors。 It was a luxurious house pared to my one…and…a…half…room shack。 There was an arch above the entrance gate； and a sign painted with red letters on a white background stated：
THE O。B。 GAME FARM
〃Our Chickens Lay Every Night！〃
Omar had been in advertising too many years to pass up a good slogan。 In addition to the arch sign； there was a smaller sign nailed to the post of the gate at the eye level of passing motorists。
EGGS。 15 PER DOZEN
At least once a week； some tourist driving down the highway toward Santos or Belleview would stop and attempt to buy eggs from Omar； thinking that the sign was in error and that the eggs were fifteen cents a dozen。 Omar enjoyed the look of surprise on their faces when he told them that there was indeed no mistake。 Of course the eggs were fiftee