Nate’s shirt had been torn when he was thrown off Big Red during the race. Jeb showed him how to use a needle and thread.
“Can’t rely on your mama out here to patch up your clothes, Nate,” he said. “You should always carry a spool of thread and a needle or two in your gear.”
Nate was sitting on his bunk, mending the shirt, when Jeb returned from giving Dudley leftover biscuits from breakfast.
“Nate, put that shirt aside for now,” he ordered. “Time to see if you can use your fists.”
“What?”
“You’re gonna fight in a boxing match. It’s the only way we can tell if a new man can handle a fist fight or a saloon brawl. Come with me.”
Nate put down the shirt and stood up.
“You mean I’m really gonna fight someone?”
“Yep. Hoot Harrison. He’s closest to you in size and age, so Cap’n Dave figures you and him’d be the most even match.”
“But I like Hoot. I don’t want to fight him,” Nate objected. “Matter of fact, I don’t want to fight anyone here.”
“That doesn’t matter. You have to prove yourself, Nate. You don’t want to wait until you’re tryin’ to face down two or three drunken cowboys in a bar to find out that you don’t have the stomach for a fight. We’ve all been in these matches. In fact, sometimes we set one up just for fun, and of course a chance to make some money by bettin’ on the outcome. Sometimes, two men’ll want to fight each other just for the heck of it, or out of pride. No one’ll think less of you if you lose, but if you refuse to fight, you won’t have any chance of bein’ a Ranger. You comin’ or not?”
“Yeah, I’m comin’. Might as well get it over with.”
“You’ll do just fine. Nothin’ to worry about.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You ain’t the one about to get his head knocked off.”
“I reckon you’re right.”
“How long’s this fight gonna last?” Nate asked, as they headed for the center of the camp.
“Hard to say. Until one of you is knocked out or quits, or the captain stops it. Only advice I can give you is do your best. This won’t be as bad as a saloon fight, or even one with some renegade you’re tryin’ to bring in. In those, everything’s fair. A man’ll try to poke you in the eyes, mebbe even gouge ’em out, or throw dirt in your face to blind you. He’ll scratch and claw, do anythin’ he needs to win. He’ll kick you in the shins, or put a knee in your belly or groin. Whatever he has to do to take the fight out of you. You understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. This’ll be a straight up fight. Punches only. It’s just a way to find out if you can take a punch… and give one. Just remember one thing. That’s not your pard Hoot Harrison you’ll be fightin’, but an hombre who’s a wanted man, and who’s tryin’ his best to keep outta jail. Hoot’ll be thinkin’ the same way. I’d suggest you think back to when he put that snake in your boot and get good and mad about that. Comprende?”
“Comprende?”
“Means ‘do you understand?’”
“Yeah, I understand. I’m still not happy about it, but I understand.”
“Good. Just keep thinkin’ about that snake.”
“I will. Only problem is will Hoot keep thinkin’ about the manure I filled his boot with?”
“You filled Hoot’s boot with horse manure?”
“I sure did. Figured it was a good way to get even for the snake.”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered. Sounds like this might be a grudge match after all,” Jeb said. He chuckled.
***
The rest of the men were already gathered around a sandy patch of ground in front of Captain Quincy’s tent, forming a makeshift ring. Bets were quietly being made as to who would win this fight. They parted to allow Nate inside, then closed ranks. Hoot, stripped to the waist, was already in the ring, along with Captain Quincy, who would act as referee.
“Good to see you here, Nate,” Quincy said. “I’ve had more than one man wash out by refusin’ to fight. I knew you wouldn’t be one of ’em. Are you ready for this?”
“I reckon I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Cap’n,” Nate answered. “Just give me one minute.”
He peeled off his shirt, pulled off his hat and bandanna, unbuckled his gunbelt, and handed those to Jeb.
“Now I’m ready.”
“Good. Nate, as the other men already know, since they’ve all been through this, there are only a few rules. No biting, kicking, spitting or throwing dirt in your opponent’s face. No poking or gouging at the eyes. No head-butting. However, any type of punch is allowed, and any part of your opponent’s body is a fair target. There will be no rounds. The fight will continue until one of you is knocked out, one of you quits, or I stop it. Do you have any questions?”
“No, Cap’n.”
“How about you, Hoot?”
“No, Cap’n.”
“Good. Now, shake hands and then come out fightin’.”
Nate and Hoot shook hands, then backed away, glaring at each other. They circled for a few minutes, each looking for an advantage, then Hoot feinted a punch to Nate’s chin. When Nate raised his arm to block the blow, Hoot sank his left fist into Nate’s belly. Nate doubled over slightly, then staggered back, gasping. Hoot aimed another punch at Nate’s chin. Again, Nate raised an arm to parry the blow, and Hoot slammed another punch to his belly. Nate jackknifed and dropped to his knees, holding his middle and fighting for air. Hoot danced around him.
“You got him, Hoot!” Tim yelled. “Finish him off!”
Nate struggled to his feet and weaved toward Hoot. He got in a jab to Hoot’s jaw and hit him in the ribs. Hoot countered with an uppercut to Nate’s chin, this time connecting, knocking him back. He followed up with a right and a left to Nate’s gut. Nate went down and curled up on his side, arms wrapped around his middle. The men hooted and hollered, sensing a quick end to the fight. Captain Quincy stood over the downed youngster.
“You want to quit, son?”
“Not… not yet,” Nate gasped. He rolled onto his stomach, then pushed himself to his hands and knees.
“Get up, Nate!” Jeb shouted. “Get up, kid. You can handle him. You’ve just got to believe that.”
“Just like in our horse race, Nate,” Andy hollered. “You didn’t quit then. Don’t quit now. You’ve got a lot of fight left in you!”
Nate struggled to his feet. Captain Quincy kept the two fighters separated for a moment, then let them close again. Once more, Hoot’s first punch landed smack in the center of Nate’s belly. Nate’s breathing was ragged now, blood dripping from his chin and trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“Protect your belly, Nate!” Jed yelled. “He knows you’re not guardin’ your middle. Protect that belly! Hoot hits you in the gut one more time and you’re finished!”
Nate nodded at Jed. He closed in on Hoot, landing a right to his stomach, then a left to the point of his chin that staggered him. A following punch took Hoot in his left eye, swelling it shut, then he stumbled into another shot to his jaw. Nate moved in for the kill, readying a terrific right to Hoot’s face. He was stopped in his tracks when Hoot ducked the blow and sank his fist wrist-deep into Nate’s belly. Nate folded into a right to his chin, which snapped his head back and drove him halfway across the makeshift ring. He landed on his back, out cold. Captain Quincy grabbed Hoot’s wrist and lifted his arm high.
“We have a winner! Hoot Harrison, by a knockout!”
Most of the men cheered, having placed their money on Hoot to win. Jeb picked up a bucket of water. He, Andy, and Jim walked up to Nate. Jeb dumped the water over his head. Nate spluttered.
“Huh? What?”
“Take it easy, Nate. The fight’s over,” Jeb said.
“I… lost, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, I reckon you did,” Andy said.
“But you put up one heckuva fight,” Jeb added.
“Don’t matter. I lost.”
“Yeah, but you never quit,” Jeb said. “That’s what really counts. That’s what we like to see in a Ranger, a man who never quits.”
“And if you ever learn to keep from gettin’ slugged in the gut you might actually win a fight someday,” Andy said.
“Reckon… I did… let him get me there… few times.”
“A few times! You might as well’ve had a target painted on your belly, Nate,” Jeb said, with a laugh. “Once you’re feelin’ a bit better I’ll show you how to protect your middle.”
“All right. I’d appreciate that.”
“You think you can stand up, Nate?” Jim asked.
“Maybe. With a little help.”
“All right.”
Jim pulled Nate to his feet. Jeb and Andy draped his arms around their shoulders.
“Take him to my tent, just so I can check him over. I don’t think he’s hurt bad, but let’s make sure.”
“All right.”
Hoot came over, along with Captain Quincy.
“Good fight, Nate. You almost had me,” Hoot said. “Next time I’d put my money on you.”
“Yeah. You did a fine job, Nate,” Quincy added.
“Thanks, Hoot, Thanks, Cap’n.”
The other men patted Nate on the back as he was helped toward Jim’s tent, congratulating him on a fight well fought.
“Couple of years and that kid’ll be someone to reckon with,” Shorty said.
“You just said a mouthful,” Joe answered.