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Willis was too angry to care what happened to Vernon. He'd gone along with him when they were going to jump Hunter together, but he sure as hell didn't want to fight the savage alone. Of the three of them, he might be the tallest and have the longest reach, but that didn't mean he was much of a fighter.
"I never should have let you talk me into this," Willis decried. He stepped over Vernon and started back down the trail toward camp. "Hey, Indian!" he called out.
Hunter glanced over his shoulder.
"I've got no quarrel with you," Willis assured him. "The fight's off, you understand?"
"But why? I'll have to fight three men, and you only one."
Willis shook his head sadly and kept right on walking. "Two men, count me out."
Hunter doubted that he would have to fight anyone. Vernon was right where he had left him, finally on his feet, and simultaneously brushing off his clothes and pushing Hank's hands away. They presented a comical sight, but Hunter didn't discount the danger of anyone that filled with hatred. He now knew Vernon would sneak and hide, hoping to strike back at him from ambush, rather than approaching him directly. If they did fight the French, he was going to make certain he knew where Vernon was, to avoid being shot in the back.
"Hurry up, Vernon," he called to him. "I want this fight over by noon."
A knot of fear-laced anger choked off any response Vernon might have wished to make, and shoving back the last of Hank's attentions he started off down the trail, his fists clenched and his shoulders hunched, as though he were heading into a fierce wind. Muttering curses under his breath to inspire courage, he attempted to convince himself he actually had a chance to beat Hunter in a fair fight.
Willis was the first to emerge from the trail. As he entered the camp, he turned and began to walk backwards, so as not to miss a second of the excitement he was sure was coming. Other soldiers took note, and came forward to surround him. "There's gonna be a fight," he announced with a near-hysteria that some mistook for pride.
Hunter had no sooner set foot in the camp, when men began to shout out their bets. That brought Elliott over, but Hunter had no intention of allowing him to stop what he hoped would be his last confrontation with Vernon. Vernon arrived then, with Hank trailing several paces behind.
"Stay out of this," Hunter asked.
Elliott had already caught the gist of what was about to
occur, but he hadn't decided what ought to be done. A lieutenant with minimal military training, he knew the men weren't supposed to fight amongst themselves, but they appeared to be so eager for the contest, he wondered if he ought not to allow it. He was no more impressed with Vernon than Hunter was. In his view Vernon was a bully, who could use a good whipping. When he looked at it that way, the fight seemed like a damned good idea.
"Clear a space!" he shouted, and the troops immediately moved back to form an irregular ring. The men who'd been cleaning their muskets, or were otherwise occupied, came forward now and crowded in behind the first men on the scene. Soon the entire camp was straining to see who would win. That one of the participants was a bully no one admired, and the other an Indian brave whom no one really knew, didn't hamper the crowd's enthusiasm in the slightest. The bloodier the fight, the better, was their only view.
Hunter removed the quiver and bow he'd had slung across his back, then peeled off his buckskin shirt, and tossed it aside. He heard appreciative murmurs for his well-muscled torso, and nothing but snickers when Vernon removed his coat and shirt. His body was pudgy rather than lean and fit, and while his face, neck, and hands were tan, the skin of his chest and back was as pale as a fish's belly. Hunter shook his head, certain this wasn't going to be much of a fight.
Such blatant disrespect wasn't lost on Vernon, and again abandoning his strategy in favor of a furious rage, he came for Hunter with his hands outstretched, clearly going for his throat. Hunter stood his ground until the last second. He then stepped aside and brought the heel of his hand down on Vernon's left forearm in a brutal blow that shattered both bones with such a sickening crack, it instantly silenced the crowd's cheers.
Vernon slid to a stop, looked down at the unnatural bend in his arm, and let out a pathetic wail. He sank to his knees, cradled his broken arm against his chest, and began to sob. Embarrassed by such an unmanly display, the crowd dispersed into a dozen smaller groups, where the men who had bet on Hunter collected their winnings, while those who had backed Vernon, muttered in disgust.
Hunter picked up his shirt, pulled it on, and slung his quiver and bow over his shoulder. He then turned to Elliott. "He ought to have a splint on his arm."
The fight had been over so quickly, Elliott wasn't certain what he'd seen, but it was clear Vernon was in a bad way. "I shouldn't have let you fight him," he bemoaned aloud. "I didn't realize what you'd do."
Hunter shrugged. "I would have fought him with my fists, but he wanted to throttle me."
Afraid he'd be criticized for allowing the fight, Elliott glanced around anxiously, but all he saw reflected in his troops' faces was admiration for Hunter. Then he noticed his brother, William Trent, and George Washington. They were chuckling amongst themselves, so he knew they'd seen the fight and weren't outraged by the result. He breathed a sigh of relief and then shouted for a couple of men to carry Vernon into the storehouse, where he'd receive what medical attention they could provide. Then he confided in Hunter.
"I doubt you'll hear so much as a cross word after this, but please—don't let it happen again."
"It was a fair fight."
"Not really, not when you were so much better than Vernon."
"He was the one who issued the challenge," Hunter informed him. "He followed me into the woods with Hank and Willis. They didn't mean for me to come out."
"What?"
"You heard me." Hunter stared at his friend.
"I'll court-martial them."
Hunter knew Willis regretted his association with Vernon, and Hank had abandoned him when he'd been injured. He was positive it wasn't their plan anyway. "Willis and Hank don't matter, and Vernon's in enough trouble. Just take care of his arm."
