He watched his opponent come to his feet, wait while his gloves were cleaned, and then bring the fists up to position; then Armando moved in. He slashed at the little man, praying he would go down and stay down; the blow caught Barney on the cheek, staggering him, but he maintained his balance. Armando frowned in surprise to see the little man still erect. What did it take to put him down and keep him down? Unless he was losing his strength, which Armando doubted, that last blow should have ended the fight. He glanced over to his corner for some idea from his second, his boss, as to how to eliminate this tenacious little tsetse fly that seemed intent upon buzzing around his ears forever. His boss was screaming something over the noise of the crowd; Armando tilted his head a bit to hear better. It was a mistake. Barney, putting all his effort, all his strength, and with the full weight of his body behind the blow and not even thinking about it, hit the big man flush on the chin with all the force he had. It was the hardest punch he had ever thrown in his life, and he felt the bones of his hand give way with the crushing power of the blow; but he also saw Armando, a look of total surprise frozen on his face, collapse as if struck by a runaway ox, and lie unconscious on the floor while Charles Rudd counted him out.
The crowd was standing, screaming, cheering, yelling, whistling, even those whose lost bets at that moment reposed in the Paris Hotel safe. Barney stood swaying on his feet while Rudd completed his count over the large Angolan and raised Barney’s arm in victory; then he staggered to his corner and fainted at Harry’s feet.
He came to consciousness slowly, with the swaying of the Scotch cart lulling him gently, his eyes remaining closed as he tried to understand where he was and how he had gotten there. Then the pain in his right hand reminded him of the events of the afternoon and he allowed himself to drift off again under the sedative the doctor had injected into his arm. Dr. Mathews had managed a crude splint to support the hand on the trip to his office in town, where he had the materials for a plaster cast.
Barney was aware he was lying down, his back protected by cloth of some sort, his head resting on something soft. For a frightening moment he forgot his victory, wondering if he had imagined it after having been knocked out, but then he remembered that last blow and looking down, stupefied, to see Armando stretched out, cold. No, he had won. But he would never forget that fight, and he would never tackle anyone that big again. He was lucky Armando hadn’t broken his neck.
He awoke a second time and attempted to sit up, only to have his head pressed down gently. He opened his eyes, looking up. Fay was looking down at him, a worried look on her face, and he became aware that his head was in her lap. Barney turned his head; it ached with the effort. Harry, with Jack Joel and Solly Loeb seated next to him at the front of the cart, was handling the reins of old Rhodes: their jackets, it was obvious, had been used to make him as comfortable as possible on the hard boards of the cart. He turned back to Fay.
“Fay—”
“Shhh,” she said softly, but relieved that he was awake.
“Fay — how did you get here?”
“I’ll tell you about it later, darling.”
Barney tried to sit up again; again she pressed him down. He was staring at her unbelievingly. “Darling? Did you call me darling?”
“Darling,” she said firmly. She smiled at him, but it was a nervous smile. If she were wrong, she would never see him again, and she knew it. But she had to chance it; it was now or never. “Barney,” she said, “tomorrow we’re going to get married.”
Barney’s disbelief grew. “Married?”
“Unless you don’t want to.”
“Fay! I never thought—”
“I think I know what you thought, darling. I thought the same thing. And then I thought how foolish we both were, if we were in love with each other and never said anything…”
Barney closed his eyes. He had to be dreaming; out of his mind. That big Armando had hit him harder than he had thought. His brains were scrambled. What would Fay be doing at a fight? And saying she loved him! It was a dream he had often had, imagining a scene just exactly like that one, with her saying she loved him. But it would never happen. He apparently had gotten a concussion. He only hoped Dr. Mathews knew how to fix him up; with the money he had won he had too much to do without wasting time recovering.
But when he opened his eyes again, there was Fay, still looking down at him with an odd combination of worry and pride. Barney swallowed and pressed his broken hand against the floorboards of the cart; the pain made him realize he wasn’t dreaming. He swallowed. “Did you say you loved me?”
“I think I have since I first met you on the trail,” she said simply.
“Oh, Fay!” He felt tears sting his eyes. “Don’t make fun of me!”
“Oh, Barney,” she said, “you’re such a fool! I love you.”
He reached for her hand with his good hand, squeezing it. “I’ve loved you so long, Fay!” He suddenly realized that Harry and the boys were keeping their eyes rigidly to the front, although they obviously were listening. “Harry!”
Harry turned, a big grin on his face. “What?”
“We’re getting married tomorrow!” Barney couldn’t keep the pride from his voice, or his total surprise and absolute joy.
“I knew you two would one day,” Harry said, still grinning. “As soon as you got some sense.”
Barney turned back. A problem had just occurred to him. “Fay…”
“Yes, darling?”
“Would you mind — becoming Jewish?”
“No, darling. I’ve already spoken to the rabbi about getting instruction.”
Barney stared. “I didn’t even know we had a rabbi in town!”
“There’s even a synagogue. Which you should attend.”
Barney grinned. “You’re not even a convert yet, and already you’re a better Jew than I am.” He thought a moment. “Someday,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand all the more tightly, “we’ll go to London and get married again, just for my folks. Would you mind?”
“I’ll marry you as often as you like, wherever you like,” she said, smiling. “Now try to get some rest.”
He closed his eyes, still holding tightly to Fay’s hand as if to hold on to the good fortune that had come to him, marveling that Fay could possibly love him. He could almost thank Armando, the Angolan Giant, for giving him the beating he had taken, since it seemed to have triggered Fay’s action. Bless the big man! A thought came; he opened his eyes again and turned his head.
“Harry!”
Harry’s head came around. “Yes, Barney?”
“That big man, that Armando—”
“What about him?”
“He’d make quite a diamond miner, don’t you think?”
Harry smiled. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I think he would. I’ll go talk to him after we get you taken care of at the doctor’s.”
“It might keep him from killing somebody someday,” Barney said with a smile, and kept his eyes open, staring up at Fay’s lovely face, still trying to believe that everything he had ever wanted had come to him in that single day…
6
January 1878
“He bought the Kerr brothers’ four claims. Practically right in the center of the Kimberley mine, right next to Kimberley Central’s prime claims,” Rudd said easily. He and Rhodes were drinking whiskey, sitting in the bar of the Kimberley Club. He glanced across the table at his companion, pleased with the bombshell he knew he was about to explode.