The Magnificent Seventh

Chapter Two Pugilistic Integrity

I sighed as the bartender walked back to the bar, smiling to himself as he took the payment for last nights' drinks and rooms to his strongbox under the counter. Considering the gallons of liquid we must've drunk last night, I figured the men could go a week or two without their usual Yum ration.

After breakfast, we sailed back to Flotsam Skyway, where we took the Stormgate to Cooper's Roost Skyway. From there, we sailed through Arroyo Grande to reach Buffalo Bill's Traveling Medicine Show, which was performing on a small island across the skyway from Tumbleweed.

We dropped anchor next to the friendly sight of Boochbeard's ship, the Flying Sloth, a pirate galleon with its hull painted a dark red, and after we had paid the admission fee to the performers at the docks, I gave everyone two hours' leave to enjoy the show while Rena and I looked for Buffalo Bill together.

Passing by a rather bored-looking sky snake curled up in its cage at the barnyard zoo, we soon saw the Buffalo himself standing in front of the biggest tent, which was striped red and white, and he held a shotgun in his hand. "Excuse me, sir, but are you Buffalo Bill?"

"You're looking for Buffalo Bill? Look no further! I trust you're enjoying the show?" The Buffalo asked proudly as he spread his arms over the show.

I nodded, smiling falsely. I couldn't really enjoy a second-rate show that made me pay a gold coin per person for admission. Buffalo Bill seemed to be in a good mood, so I decided to tell him why we were here. "We have need of you and the Seven. Are you in?"

Buffalo Bill suddenly glared at me, and he was breathing hard and gripping his shotgun like he was about to charge at us or shoot. "The Seven are reuniting? Impossible! Did Duck Holliday send you?"

"Yes, sir, he did." I said, drawing myself up, not wanting to seem afraid of him. Buffalo Bill snorted as he crossed his arms in front of his chest stubbornly. "Well, you can tell that vile varlet, that no-good traitor that my answer is no, no, NEVER!"

"Well then, do you fancy a flutter?" I asked as I showed him my money pouch, and Buffalo Bill stroked his gray mustache and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You would wager? Very well, my young friend, against my better judgment, I agree."

"Here are my terms: you fight my pugilist, Tyson, in the ring. If you lose, you owe me five gold coins. If you win, I'll come with you. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal, sir." I said, nodding as I shook his gloved hand, and a half hour later, after word had spread throughout the show, I was sitting on a stool in the corner of the ring inside the big top, putting on my fingerless gloves while Jack rubbed my shoulders and quietly advised me on how to beat Tyson.

From outside of the ring, I saw Rena hand a gold coin to the bookmaker sitting on a stool near the ring. "Put me down for Tyson in the first round."

"You're betting against your own best friend?!" I cried indignantly, and Rena turned to look at me. "Well, since honor says that you can't use your weapons or your powers in this match…"

"And here I thought you had faith in me..." I muttered before turning away to face my opponent. He was a heavily-built Chicken, dressed in a blue striped tank top and trousers and he wore maroon fingerless gloves on his meaty fists. He nodded respectfully at me from across the ring, and I returned the gesture.

Soon, it was time to fight, and we stood in the center of the ring with Buffalo Bill, the announcer, his voice booming throughout the tent. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! In the red corner, we have the defending champion, Tyson! And in the blue corner, we have the challenger, Matthew Exeter!"

Buffalo Bill then spoke privately to the two of us. "Now boys, I want this to be a clean fight. No hitting below the belt and the fight ends when someone's knocked out."

We both nodded, and Buffalo Bill straightened up to address the small crowd once again. "Let's get ready to RUMBLE!"

The crowd cheered, and I heard two voices cheer for me in the front row. I glanced to see that it was Boochbeard and Mr. Gandry, who rescued Rena and me from the Armada all those months ago.

Heartened by their support, I brought my fists up and Tyson, who towered over me by a head, smiled confidently as he did the same.

As the bell rung, Tyson went for a front jab with his left fist, and in response, I used my right hand to cross his outstretched left arm and connect with his head. I knew that if his fists connected with any part of my body, I was finished, so I had to be fast.

Tyson stepped backwards from the blow, but recovered quickly, and I hopped backwards to avoid his two punches before moving in for two quick jabs and a devastating right hook to his face.

Tyson recovered and brought his fist up in an uppercut, and it would've knocked me out if I hadn't stepped to the side just in time.

I only managed to catch his shoulder with my right jab, and he swung at me with his left fist. Leaning back to avoid Tyson's attack, I brought my right fist forward into his face, hard.

Tyson was sent reeling, and I rushed forward for the knockout with an uppercut to his jaw. Tyson fell backwards onto the canvas-covered floor of the ring, and I held up my right fist in victory as everyone counted down to ten. "Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One…"

The bell rung again as the unconscious Tyson made no move to get up, and the cheers of Boochbeard and Mr. Gandry and those who had placed their bets on me could be heard amidst the groans of about half my crew, including Rena, and Buffalo Bill put his hand on my shoulder as he took me aside.

"Great Scott, you did it! That, stranger, was a mighty display of pugilistic prowess." Buffalo Bill said as he clapped me on the back. "I can't say I'm pleased, but I am honor bound to return with you now. The Seven will ride again!"