Awareness that he had been taken struck the chief with shocking clarity. This was no fight. There were merely Rubys struggling and squirming together on the ground. Stunned, he whirled away and saw that he was already too late. Ben Troop had left the auditorium and pacing toward him were two, no three, dim figures. From their hands swung long clubs and they moved with relentless determination that struck a chill into Morrison's heart. He began to run, shouting "Halt!," gaining no response and knowing he was too slow and already out of it.
Troop talked with Boden and Campbell. He had worked his way toward the school exit and had marked Chief Morrison's first departure from the hall. His sudden return and dash for a telephone told him much.
Casually he broke off the conversation and when Morrison again hurried from the building, he was in position to look into the night. He saw the police chief heading for the distant brawlers and smiled grimly to himself. He recovered his section of broom handle from near the entrance and stepped boldly through the door.
Perhaps subconsciously, the thoughts of most at the board meeting were on Ben Troop, for when he strode from the building, there ensued a sudden rush to follow.
Roebuck and Boden were the first to reach the exit with David Campbell crowding close behind. Roebuck's heart executed a flip-flop as he saw three burly figures swinging what appeared to be pick handles closing determinedly in on Ben Troop, who stood alone some ten yards from the school entrance. For the watchers, the tableau seemed frozen in time. Boden immediately recognized Pap Ruby, Eberson in the middle, and hulking Ralph gripping their clubs and moving with deadly stillness toward the seemingly slight figure of Ben Troop.
To David Campbell, the three Rubys seemed like creatures from another time. Their arms hung unnaturally long and their heads bobbed above ape-like bodies that the dim lighting further distorted.
Like the rest, Campbell stood rooted. He saw the small stick in Troop's hand and knew with awful certainty that a scene of primeval violence was about to unfold before him. He wanted to shout, to hurl himself forward, to somehow gain Troop's side to warn him of the terrible danger into which he had marched but he could only stand frozen with the rest, too late to intercede, fearful that the slightest move would instigate a mindless, destroying attack by the three specters stalking Ben Troop.
+++++
Ben Troop never felt himself a fool. When he stepped from the safety of the school into the heavy dusk of the street, he knew roughly what to expect.
Rubys were predictable enough in this kind of situation. Their answer was always the same. Get a pick or ax handle, choose enough of them to do the job thoroughly, and beat the hell out of their enemy. It was the way they had evened the score with Square's opponents not too long before and Troop felt certain they would attempt the same tactics with him.
He left the step of the building behind him and saw three men move into the open. He struggled momentarily against a monstrous desire to turn tail and dart back into the security of the hall. He had hoped for and expected two Ruby men. Three constituted difficult odds.
To the watchers, Troop seemed to drift off to the right, making a hopeless attempt to escape. With a whoop, Pap Ruby, holding down that end of the line, swept in, his club hoisted like a baseball bat to lash out as the distance closed.
Suddenly Troop was darting straight at the old man and the jagged broom handle was stabbing directly for Ruby's face. With a startled quack, the old man jerked to a stop and instinctively raised an arm to ward off the daggerish thrust. Weight on his heels, his own club still hauled back for a home run, Pap Ruby was far off balance when Troop whipped the end of his light club in a continuing arc over the top so that it flashed downward with terrifying velocity. The club seemed to whistle with speed as it descended, striking with a terrible crushing smash along Ruby's neck and shoulder. Troop's whole body appeared to rise from the ground as he drove his entire weight behind the blow. Air gusted from Ruby's lungs in a tortured shriek, his tool handle fell from nerveless fingers, and the onlookers suffered the soul-searing crack of a breaking collarbone, and that quickly Troop was stepping across Pap Ruby's collapsing form and driving straight at Eberson, who had half halted his own advance in utter astonishment.
Boden had seen the action in almost slow motion. Troop seemed to float off to the right before slashing back, his stick jabbing and thrusting. Pap Ruby cringed for an eternity as Troop's point threatened his throat, and then the weapon reversed and began its swift arc with Troop shifting to a two-handed ax swinging grip. The length of broom handle touched Ruby's clothing and sank in and in until the old man's form began to fold around the club, burying itself in his flesh.
Boden distinctly heard bone snap and air rushing from collapsing lungs. He saw muscle bulge along Troop's arms and back from the effort of the blow. With academic detachment he watched Troop's fast shift to allow Pap Ruby to fall without entangling himself.
Troop stepped across the falling body and continued what some belatedly realized had never been an attempted escape. He had merely turned the end of the Ruby line. He had chosen to attack a flank where he might deal with one Ruby at a time. With a fighting man's training, he attacked rather than defended, for only by attacking could there be victory. As Boden knew, and others were coming to know, Ben Troop fought to win.
The bellow of mindless fury that tore from Eberson Ruby turned onlookers' knees to butter and the combatants closed with suddenness stunning in itself. Even before Troop came in range, Ruby's pick handle ripped and tore in giant swings. A single blow from such a weapon could pulverize bone and muscle.
Eberson's swinging blows sundered air already torn by his bellows of unbridled fury and Troop's continuing charge appeared to touch the very edge of the deadly arc.
Then Troop's body folded forward, almost parallel with the ground, and the broomstick swept out in its own savage arc, traveling close to the ground and well beneath Eberson's flailing club to again strike home with devastating effect. The hardwood handle smote Eberson's leg between ankle and knee.
Again the spectators suffered the unmistakable crack of breaking bone. They saw Eberson's shin fold backward in an impossible direction, and were themselves tormented by the grunt of anguish torn from Eberson's suddenly toppling form. With almost casual skill, Troop's fearful weapon slashed down on Ruby's exposed arm just above the hand clutching the pick handle. Bones snapped and tore free a second shriek of shocked agony.
To the watchers it seemed an eternity before Troop turned from the grotesquely sprawled Eberson. Ralph Ruby had stopped his own charge in almost mid-stride and stood stunned and confused, his pick handle dangling from arms suddenly gone weak. He beheld the awful figure that had with calculated ease smashed his relatives to the blacktop and terror shot through his soul.
Troop approached Ralph Ruby more slowly. He saw naked fear in the man's face and he said softly, "Run, Ruby!" Ralph held fast, the panic within him growing. Closer, Troop raised his stick, warning again, "Run, Ruby! Run!" With a sudden whimper of fear, Ralph dropped his club and began to move slowly backward. Unrelenting, Troop pressed him, edging ever closer.
Slowly their movement increased, Ralph back pedaling with increasing speed and Troop pursuing him as though the two were tied together with a string.
The tension overwhelmed Ralph Ruby. The destruction facing him became too great to bear and his sob of fear broke the awed stillness. He panicked into a sudden rush away from the terror stalking him. Troop broke with him and his club again swept in its terrible arc. This time it struck with a clear splat across the thickness of Ralph Ruby's laboring rump and propelled the running man faster along his course. Together they sped the length of the parking lot.
They passed Chief Morrison who had come to a halt when the action began and stood with mouth agape as hulking Ralph Ruby stumbled unseeingly past and into the safety of outer darkness.
Troop slid to a halt at the edge of the lighted area as a state police cruiser whipped into the parking lot. Engine
snarling and blue lights twirling, it brought the power of the law to the scene.
His right arm strangely twisted, Pap Ruby lay gasping flat on his back. Eberson sprawled grotesquely. Blood ran freely from a shattered arm and his right foot pointed at an improbable angle. He made no sound but lay face down with eyes unblinking, too shocked to comprehend the extent of his injuries.
Ben Troop moved to Chief Morrison's side as they returned up the parking lot to join the state policemen leaping from their car and facing a growing band of Ruby men and women trying to reach their fallen champions.
Doctor Shanks left the crowd at the school entrance and made his way to the injured. The police moved to hold back the unusually subdued Rubys. They submitted, apparently stunned by the completeness of the destruction that had befallen their leaders.
A few turned sullen faces toward Ben Troop, and a few voices rose in outrage and indignation.
Noise returned to the parking lot as the gathering found their voices and eyes twitched about, undecided whether to gaze on the carnage or on the perpetrator of it all.
Most experienced a sense of awe. Unused to violence other than that seen on a television screen, they were ill prepared to digest the competent savagery that had enabled Ben Troop to reverse what had seemed certain annihilation. First mute, they began to thaw to check with their neighbors and to whistle through lips turned strangely dry.
+++++
The revolving blue lights atop the police cruiser cast and withdrew flickering shadows with metronomic regularity. A surge of Rubys had been halted by the uniformed state police and a huddle of figures stood in the lighted school entrance.
A number of Ruby women were allowed through. They crouched and knelt beside the prostrate forms of Eberson and Pap Ruby. Blankets from the cruiser had been placed across both men. Neither attempted to move. They waited with the dogged patience of the seriously hurt for arrival of the ambulance.
Doctor Shanks knelt beside Pap Ruby, who was experiencing trouble breathing and whose shattered shoulder was already squirting jolts of agony through his body.
Chief Morrison conferred with the senior state trooper, who took notes while shaking his head in amazement.
A second patrolman gathered the Ruby tool handles while the Ruby clan milled uncertainly about, uttering intermittent rumbles of frustration.
Ben Troop waited near the center of things. No one had yet seen fit to request his broom handle. Boden thought how alone he looked . . . how alone he usually looked. He wondered at the fires of experience that had tempered the man that he could so unwaveringly act in the face of violence that made others falter.
Behind him Boden heard John Luther's whining voice, "He's just an animal! A murderous, savage animal!" Shrill accord rose from a covey of female petitioners and Boden turned angrily toward them, he saw sullen defiance clouding Luther's face before the bulk of Sylvester Drum came between them.
The fat plumber's soft tones soothed the exasperation boiling in Boden's breast. "Don't pay 'em no mind, Bob. That crowd's kind of timid about things."
Boden nodded his awareness, not yet trusting himself to speak. Drum continued, "Sure wish I'd a'moved faster. Only caught the end of it where old Troop was moving Ralph off right smartly. Man, he surely paddled that boy's bottom for him!"
Aware of Earl Roebuck's presence on his other side, Boden found his voice. "Sort of proves he's not bloodthirsty at that, Sylvester. He could have laid Ralph right alongside his daddy and granddaddy."
Roebuck chuckled, "Well, he's the damnedest fighting man I ever encountered!"
Sensing Boden's protest he hastily added, "Oh, I'm not finding fault. It simply amazes me." Leaning closer he spoke almost in Boden's ear, "And strictly off the record, Mr. Boden, any probability of a Ruby lawsuit went out the window when those three started swinging pick handles. If they filed on Tom, Troop could file a sure win here. I doubt you'll hear any more from the Rubys for some time."
Boden's thinking had followed the same track and he found reinforcement in Roebuck's words. "I think you're right, Earl." Roebuck caught the use of his given name and appreciated it. He had used some harsh language and was gratified that it had been taken objectively.
The ambulance shot into the parking lot, tires squealing in protest, as Bob Share slid to a halt and Doc Shanks muttered, "Oh, for Christ sake!"
The patrolman taking notes approached Ben Troop and accepted the proffered stick, glancing at it curiously before handing it to his partner. A few Ruby growls and curses rose, but attention was now focused on the two injured men being loaded into the ambulance.
Cries of "Watch out" And "Take it easy, you bastards" came from the crowd, and as the ambulance door slammed and Bob Share leaped into the driver's seat, there was a sudden scuttling of Rubys to their cars. Amid roaring engines, hoots of rage, flashing lights, blowing horns, and vague promises of vengeance, the Ruby entourage convoyed off behind Bob Share's howling siren in a mad race to the Polyclinic.
Only Doc Shanks had anything to say: "Oh, for Christ sake!"
From the highway across the river, Al Gold clearly saw the flashing blue lights of the state police cruiser. The highway rose to some heights along the hills bordering the Juniata before it dropped to meet the approaches of the Newport Bridge.
Gold could look across the intervening water and into the streets of the town only a mile away. He watched the blue lights stop in the school parking lot and knew he had failed Ben Troop. Angrily he smashed his clenched fist on the car top.
The exhausted Volkswagen had fought him the entire way from Millerstown. Twice it had stalled and the minutes had ticked remorselessly away as he had tinkered and cursed the weary machine into new life.
Finally the engine had lost power, reducing progress to a crawl and at last, amid convulsive choking and vibrating, had died completely.
He saw the ambulance strobe spin across town and knew its destination with dire certainty. He willed it away from the school grounds and tasted sick bile as it joined the blue lights in the parking lot. Together they signaled Ruby revenge on the person of Ben Troop.
Al Gold considered swimming the river. It was mostly shallow and he could make it but he'd be way too late. His eyes searched the dark highway for approaching headlights, but none cut the darkness. He wondered how a major traffic artery could remain so empty.
Even as he vacillated, not knowing which way to turn, the ambulance light moved off through the streets of Newport, obviously headed for the bridge and Harrisburg. If he could reach the intersection he could at least flag it down as it passed and accompany Troop to the hospital. He hoped Bob Share was driving, and judging the speed through town, he was. Share would recognize him and stop, he was sure.
In desperation he jumped behind the wheel and pushed the car down the sloping berm using his left foot. As it rolled he tried to catch the engine in gear. He popped the clutch, and to his amazement, the engine came to life with a surge of power. He cursed the contrary machine and spun onto the pavement.
At the highway intersection he dawdled, allowing the speeding ambulance to close up, then he built his own speed and as the mercy wagon swept by, he floored the accelerator and slipped in behind it. The Volkswagen ran flat out, barely able to keep pace with the ambulance.
Gradually Gold became aware of leading a string of a dozen or more automobiles, all trailing the Newport ambulance. He was surprised that so many would follow Ben Troop to the hospital and thought savage thoughts of how severe his friend's injuries must be. Well, he'd find out at the Polyclinic. That's where everybody always went.
He had been too late to help Ben Troop and he felt he would hate that lateness the rest of his life.
The ambulance bearing the two Rubys, the weary Volkswagen with Al Gold, and a tail of stunned Rubys swept away from Newport and through the night toward the city.
+++++
By the time the state policemen had finished talking with Troop, most of the crowd had dispersed. Boden waited of co
urse, as did David Campbell.
Troop walked to where the superintendent stood. "Well, Mr. Boden, for better or worse, I guess that ends things for tonight." Frowning, he continued. "If I'm not telling the kids how it ought to be in a classroom, I'm showing their parents how it is in the school parking lot!" He smiled grimly and shook his head in mock chagrin. "Good old Ben Troop. Always handing out lessons."
Boden had been solicitous but he and Campbell were still numbed and caught out of step by the swift and brutal action.
Boden said, "My God, Ben, I think you sort of cleared the air, but maybe it's just all gotten worse. Christ, I can't work it out right now."
Campbell had done no better. Except for expressing gratification that Troop had survived the melee without injury, he had little to offer.
On Monday they would thrash it around in the office, but Troop knew it was finished. For the time being, the Rubys were out of it.
For now the town would be content with licking its chops over all that had happened. He figured he'd have little disturbance in his classes and no one would be lying in wait for him outside. Guess he couldn't expect more than that anyway.
A small exultation flowed through him. He knew he had thrilled to the moments of naked violence. The veneer of civilization had ripped easily and he had leaped forth, his mace upraised, combat in his soul.
He felt little compassion for Pap or Eberson Ruby, still sustaining agony, still racing through the night to the sanctuary of a hospital ward. They had instigated, challenged, chosen the field, selected the weapons, and they had lost their own game!
Memories of the year in Germany when he had made regular visits to the fencing halls of Heidelberg University to study the foil and saber freshened in his mind. Herr Christensen, master of the sword, urging, "Attack, attack, always attack!" The old Army military police school at Carlisle barracks: "Never strike at the head. Break bones that disable." And the surging, darting, straining handball that kept spring in legs and body contributed to an array of abilities unsuspected by men such as the Rubys, an arsenal of combative know-how that reduced their clumsy club-swinging to impotent air-churning.
The Didactor Page 21