"Okay," McGowan agreed. "Just cat clawing. I am going to show this rube that one McGowan is worth two of him."
Cliff sighed. "Back off, everybody. Okay- get going!" Crouched, they sashayed around, not touching. Only the preliminaries could use up much time; the textbook used in most high schools and colleges listed twenty-seven ways to destroy or disable a man hand to hand; none of the methods took as long as three seconds once contact was made. They chopped at each other, feinting with their hands, too wary to close.
Rod was confused by the injunction not to let the fight go to conclusion. Bruce grinned at him. "What's the matter? Scared? I've been waiting for this, you loudmouthed pimple- now you're going to get it!" He rushed him.
Rod gave back, ready to turn Bruce's rush into his undoing. But Bruce did not carry it through; it had been a feint and Rod had reacted too strongly. Bruce laughed. "Scared silly, huh? You had better be."
Rod realized that he was scared, more scared than he had ever been. The conviction flooded over him that Bruce intended to kill him... the agreement about bonebreakers meant nothing; this ape meant to finish him.
He backed away, more confused than ever... knowing that he must forget rules if he was to live through it... but knowing, too, that he had to abide by the silly restriction even if it meant the end of him. Panic shook him; he wanted to run.
He did not quite do so. From despair itself he got a cold feeling of nothing to lose and decided to finish it. He exposed his groin to a savate attack.
He saw Bruce's foot come up in the expected kick; with fierce joy he reached in the proper shinobi counter. He showed the merest of hesitation, knowing that a full twist would break Bruce's ankle.
Then he was flying through air; his hands had never touched Bruce. He had time for sick realization that Bruce had seen the gambit, countered with another- when he struck ground and Bruce was on him.
"Can you move your arm, Rod?"
He tried to focus his eyes, and saw Bob Baxter's face floating over him. "I licked him?"
Baxter did not answer. An angry voice answered, "Cripes, no! He almost chewed you to pieces."
Rod stirred and said thickly, "Where is he? I've got to whip him."
Baxter said sharply, "Lie still!" Cliff added, "Don't worry, Rod. We fixed him." Baxter insisted, "Shut up. See if you can move your left arm."
Rod moved the arm, felt pain shoot through it, jerked and felt pain everywhere. "It's not broken," Baxter decided. "Maybe a green-stick break. We'll put it in sling. Can you sit up? I'll help."
"I want to stand." He made it with help, stood swaying. Most of the villagers seemed to be there; they moved jerkily. It made him dizzy and he blinked.
"Take it easy, boy," he heard Jimmy say. "Bruce pretty near ruined you. You were crazy to give him the chance."
"I'm all right," Rod answered and winced. "Where is he?"
"Behind you. Don't worry, we fixed him."
"Yes," agreed Cliff. "We worked him over. Who does he think he is? Trying to shove the Mayor around!" He spat angrily.
Bruce was face down, features hidden in one arm; he was sobbing. "How bad is he hurt?" Rod asked.
"Him?" Jimmy said scornfully. "He's not hurt. I mean, he hurts all right- but he's not hurt. Carol wouldn't let us.
Caroline squatted beside Bruce, guarding him. She got up. "I should have let 'em," she said angrily. "But I knew you would be mad at me if I did." She put hands on hips. "Roddie Walker, when are you going to get sense enough to yell for me when you're in trouble? These four dopes stood around and let it happen."
"Wait a minute, Carol," Cliff protested. "I tried to stop it. We all tried, but-"
"But I wouldn't listen," Rod interrupted. "Never mind, Carol, I flubbed it."
"If you would listen to me-
"Never mind!" Rod went to McGowan, prodded him. "Turn over."
Bruce slowly rolled over. Rod wondered if he himself looked as bad. Bruce's body was dirt and blood and bruises; his face looked as if someone had tried to file the features off. "Stand up.
Bruce started to speak, then got painfully to his feet. Rod said, "I told you to report to Art, Bruce. Get over the wall and get moving."
McGowan looked startled. "Huh?"
"You heard me. I can't waste time playing games. Check in with Art and get to work. Or keep moving and don't come back. Now move!"
Bruce stared, then hobbled toward the wall. Rod turned and said, "Get back to work, folks. The fun is over. Cliff, you were going to show me the animals."
"Huh? Look Rod, it'll keep."
"Yes, Rod," Baxter agreed. "I want to put a sling on that arm. Then you should rest."
Rod moved his arm gingerly. "I'll try to get along without it. Come on, Cliff. Just you and me- we'll skip the stobor hunt."
He had trouble concentrating on what Cliff talked about... something about gelding a pair of fawns and getting them used to harness. What use was harness when they had no wagons? His head ached, his arm hurt and his brain felt fuzzy. What would Grant have done?
He had failed... but what should he have said, or not said? Some days it wasn't worth it.
"-so we've got to. You see, Rod?"
"Huh? Sure, Cliff." He made a great effort to recall what Cliff had been saying. "Maybe wooden axles would do. I'll see if Bill thinks he can build a cart"
"But besides a cart, we need-"
Rod stopped him. "Cliff, if you say so, we'll try it. I think I'll take a shower. Uh, we'll look at the field tomorrow.
A shower made him feel better and much cleaner, although the water spilling milk-warm from the flume seemed too hot, then icy cold. He stumbled back to his hut and lay down. When he woke he found Shorty guarding his door to keep him from being disturbed.
It was three days before he felt up to inspecting the farm. Neilsen reported that McGowan was working, although sullenly. Caroline reported that Theo was obeying sanitary regulations and wearing a black eye. Rod was self-conscious about appearing in public, had even considered one restless night the advisability of resigning and letting someone who had not lost face take over the responsibility. But to his surprise his position seemed firmer than ever. A minority from Teller University, which he had thought of wryly as "loyal opposition," now no longer seemed disposed to be critical. Curt Pulvermacher, their unofficial leader, looked Rod up and offered help. "Bruce is a bad apple, Rod. Don't let him get down wind again. Let me know instead."
"Thanks, Curt."
"I mean it. It's hard enough to get anywhere around here if we all pull together. We can't have him riding roughshod over us. But don't stick your chin out. We'll teach him."
Rod slept well that night. Perhaps he had not handled it as Grant would have, but it had worked out. Cowper-town was safe. Oh, there would be more troubles but the colony would sweat through them. Someday there would be a city here and this would be Cowper Square. Upstream would be the Nielsen Steel Works. There might even be a Walker Avenue...
He felt up to looking over the farm the next day. He told Cliff so and gathered the same party, Jimmy, Kent, and Mick. Spears in hand they climbed the stile at the wall and descended the ladder on the far side. Cliff gathered up a handful of dirt, tasted it. "The soil is all right. A little acid, maybe. We won't know until we can run soil chemistry tests. But the structure is good. If you tell that dumb Swede that the next thing he has to make is a plough...
"Waxie isn't dumb. Give him time. Hell make you ploughs and tractors, too."
"I'll settle for a hand plough, drawn by a team of buck. Rod, my notion is this. We weed and it's an invitation to the buck to eat the crops. If we built another wall, all around and just as high-"