Digger weighed in at 43 pounds even, a good catch weight At chain-weight, pet status, he'd have gone another 10 to 12 pounds.
Stokes stood by while Gene Murphy, the Red Dragon's owner, and the referee washed Digger with clear water from a big bucket-to remove any poison, tranquilizer or caustic that might have been applied to the dog's coat to enter its opponent's mouth. Dragon turned the scale at 43 pounds, 8 ounces. He was a brindle Staff. The cartilage of one ear had been ravaged in a previous fight and the ear lay aslant across his head. Stokes and the referee washed him with the same water used on Digger.
Stokes took Digger into the pit. Murphy and Dragon entered from the other side. The dogs fixed each other with steady eyes and strained forward in silence, ears pricked, brows furrowed.
Murphy nodded. Stokes nodded. "Pit 'em!" the referee said.
Digger and Dragon lunged across the pit and met with an audible clacking of teeth, going for muzzle holds. They locked and stood stiffiegged, used their necks and shoulders to try to throw each other down.
They wavered tensely, like arm wrestlers.
Stokes was down on one knee by Digger's shoulders. "Pull," he said,
"pull, baby. Take him to the side. You got him. That's the way. Good boy. Twist it, baby. Get him, get him."
Murphy was close to Dragon giving encouragement.
The spectators jammed shoulder to shoulder and egged on their favorites.
The dogs hauled and jerked at each other several minutes, shifting their footing to balance or to throw sudden leverage into the struggle.
Blood welled around their jaws. Dragon bowed low, forelegs extended nearly parallel to the ground, pulling Digger's head down, and used his powerful thighs to plow backward, trying to drag Digger to his belly.
Stokes and Murphy moved with the animals, voices urgent.
Digger missed a step and stumbled forward. Dragon jerked. Digger released suddenly, twisted free of the brindle's hold and came in over it to seize an ear. Dragon couldn't find a hold of his own and Digger forced him down and over on his side. Dragon writhed there, then heaved up, but couldn't break the ear-clamp. Digger bul led the brindle around the pit.
Dragon tried for a leg hold, ripped flesh but didn't lock. He threw his shoulder into Digger's chest, and simultaneously pulled his head in the opposite direction. His ear was shredded and partly ripped from the base, leaving a bloody stump from which an edge of white gristle showed. He spun in a circle and came in low, his favorite direction, while Digger came high again. Dragon went solidly into Digger's chest.
Digger caught Dragon's flank, and a piece of thigh meat too. Bent into a rough circle, the dogs turned, seeking leverage with which to dump each other.
Stokes and Murphy turned with them, crouched, whispering into their ears.
The audience grew louder. The fight was getting serious now.
Digger yanked Dragon's thigh up, unbalancing him, and threw him over.
Dragon's teeth were spiked into Digger's chest. He dragged the fawn down with him. They lay twisted awkwardly around each other, straining without sound. Muscles corded, blood flowed around their jaws. They chewed each other long minutes. The crowd leaned to see precisely what damage was being done. Then there was a sudden flurry of paws, quick contortions and savage jerks of the head, and both dogs were up, free, and they went muzzle to muzzle again.
The crowd cheered.
Digger had the top hold. He worked Dragon's nose and bone. Dragon came down on Digger's tongue and up through the bottom of his jaw.
Their sides heaved. Carefully, they stepped round and around.
Digger's chest had an area of raw red meat the size of a man's hand.
Blood ran down to his belly. Dragon's thigh was bloody and he favored that leg, but only slightly. The dogs sprang apart and Dragon whirled, slamming his hard rump into Digger's shoulder, staggering him to the side.
"That's a turnl" the referee yelled. "Hold your dogsl"
Murphy and Stokes grabbed their animals in both arms before they could engage again. A turn was a bid for respite, like a boxer wrapping an opponent up or pushing him away. The referee brought a bucket with a single sponge. Murphy and Stokes washed their animals' wounds, cleansed the thick saliva and blood from their mouths.
The bucket was removed, the dogs were set against each other again.
Digger got into Dragon's side and chewed a rib apart. Dragon worked Digger's foreleg. He broke it above the dewclaw. Digger's foot flopped. He maneuvered on a bone stump. They went back to muzzles and drew cheers and whistles from the crowd: the nose was the most sensitive target, an animal badly ripped there often cur red and most were careful about their snouts.
They punished each other's muzzles without flinching, then Digger trapped Dragon's nose with a side bite, between the rear molars, and ground away.
Dragon had trouble pulling loose. When he did, his nose was split and mashed and he was exhaling blood through it in bubbles. But he didn't turn.
He ripped a fist-sized piece of meat from Digger's shoulder. Digger wrecked muscle on Dragon's hip, hobbling him and felling his tail. It was an hour into the fight. The crowd was high. The dogs were tiring, sides heaving and breathing hoarsely, Dragon sucking air mostly through his mouth, with difficulty when he was on a bite, losing his holds more quickly than Digger. The pace slowed. Both dogs became more cautious and deliberate, but their quiet brutality didn't waver. Stokes and Murphy hung near them, sweating, voices rough with strain. Dragon was weakening. There was a ripple of new betting, with Digger's people offering three-to-two odds.
Then Dragon threw Digger and straddled him with teeth sunk into his withers. Digger couldn't find a bite. He couldn't break loose. The brindle bored in, and his money cheered. Digger bellied backward, at the expense of ripping flesh. He pulled himself and Dragon up against the wall, then squirmed along it until Dragon was partly caught in the corner. He worked to tear loose from Dragon's teeth. Dragon's bite pulled away from muscle and meat, finally held only skin. Slowly, he peeled the skin up over Digger's shoulders, exposing raw beef-flesh and overlays of quivering gray muscle. Digger went into shock. He lay with his legs splayed out, shuddering. Dragon skinned him halfway up his skull, then the hide split apart. Dragon shook the big bloodied piece. He spat it out and went back to Digger. Stokes was shouting at his dog. Digger sighed. Dragon's teeth pierced him, going deep to some nerve. Digger spasmed. He exploded up, throwing Dragon over backward.
"Go baby! Get him, get him!" Stokes screamed.
Digger went to the belly. Dragon curled and locked onto the naked flesh of Digger's neck. When they broke, they went head to head, and a rope of intestine bulged from a hole in Dragon's abdomen, a flap of meat hung down Digger's neck exposing a trembling half-severed tendon. They chewed at each other's faces. One of Dragon's eyes was ruptured. Digger went deep into Dragon's throat and ground his jaws. Dragon lay on his side. His bleeding tongue lolled out. He lifted his head feebly, scratched at the dirt. Digger stood over him, chewing. Dark blood swelled. Dragon convulsed.
The referee said, "Mr. Murphy?"
Murphy looked down at the dogs without answering.
"Tear him up," Stokes urged Digger. "Good boy, good boy. Finish him!"
Dragon's spurting blood soddened the earth. His eyes were closed, his paws twitched. He trembled, then lay still. Digger went on chewing.
He released Dragon in a few minutes and sat back to lick at the stump of his own foreleg. He returned to Dragon's throat, stopped to lick himself again.
The referee said, "Hold your dog, Mr. Stokes." He knelt beside Dragon, wetted his palm and held it before the dog's mouth and ruined nose feeling for breath. He plugged a stethoscope into his ears and pressed the bell to Dragon's chest. He got up and announced, "Mr. Murphy's Red Dragon is dead. The match goes to Mr. Stokes' Digger."