Rivers West by Louis L’Amour Page A

go inside.”
    Macaire offered her his hand and she stepped down, then went past me as if I didn’t exist. As she passed I caught a whiff of some faint but very pleasant perfume.
    Neely Hall came from his farm in a wagon. I first saw him when he stepped down in front of the inn. He was a big, hulking young man, a few years older than me, and much heavier. His face had a kind of boyish softness in it which mine had lost, and he seemed pleasant enough.
    He scarcely looked at me when he came in, and there were no further preliminaries. We walked out to the grass and peeled off our coats.
    He moved in swiftly, then suddenly ducked and dove at my knees with the idea of upending me, I guess. I sidestepped quickly, pushing the side of his head as I did so, which threw him off balance. He staggered, caught himself, and came at me again.
    He was quick on his feet, although his movements were clumsy and untrained. But I wished to learn how much he knew. Several times we grappled; each time we broke free. The crowd had swelled to at least fifty people, and Neely was performing before his friends. I began to see from his approaches that he knew the rolling hiplock and he also knew how to apply a headlock or stranglehold, for several times he seemed to be trying for them.
    He was strong and active, but I doubted if he’d had twenty serious matches in his life. Suddenly I moved in, but as I reached for him a stone rolled under my foot, throwing me off the least bit, and he dropped an arm around my head and applied pressure. As he did, he tried to work his grip back so his biceps would be at my ear, his forearms across my throat.
    Thrusting an arm through his spread legs, I grabbed him by the buttock with one hand, dropping my left hand to his leg below the knee and bending it sharply back and clear of the ground. Then, with a great heave, I threw him over my shoulder and we both fell…only he lit on his head. Instantly, I spun around, dropped on him as he lay partly stunned, and pinned him to the ground.
    â€œFirst fall to John Daniel!” Macaire shouted.
    Holding him a moment longer to show there was no mistake, I got up.
    Neely followed me, getting to his feet, staggering a little, and peering at me, surprised and shaken.
    Of them all I think only three knew exactly what had happened—Macaire, Simon Tate, and the innkeeper.
    â€œI never saw that done before,” Tate commented, low voiced. “I thought he had you.”
    â€œSo did he,” I commented dryly.
    We rested. I wiped off my face with a wet cloth and stood waiting. Neely was across the small circle of people, getting excited advice that was undoubtedly doing more to confuse him than otherwise.
    Time was called. We circled warily. He was very strong and quick, and now he was more careful. I doubt if he realized what had happened any more than the others, but he didn’t want it to happen again. He feinted a lunge, then lunged and caught me napping. He backheeled me suddenly, and I hit the ground hard on my shoulder blades, but kicked up my feet and turned a complete somersault, coming up fast.
    Knowing how to fall is an art in itself, and the first training I had received as a child. How to fall, how to break one’s fall, and how to rise quickly in a posture of defense.
    When I’d gone down, he was sure he had me and came in fast. So when I turned my somersault and came up, I put my head right into a headlock. This time I was driving hard toward him, so I followed through and knocked him over backward. He took me down with him, and, as I broke free and started to get up, he threw himself against my legs and I fell again. In an instant he was atop me. In the moment he fell upon me, I had attempted to turn, and he had me pinned.
    â€œSecond fall to Neely!”
    I heard the shout and lay still. I had started the move that would have thrown him clear but stopped. The time was too short, and I wanted no arguments. I wanted a decision