Hank Cole was forty-seven. He stood five feet, eleven inches tall and weighed two hundred and twenty-one pounds. Unlike Donner, his chest was hairless and smooth, but he wore a full, steel-gray moustache to make up for it. The hair atop his head was also gray, and his weathered face had clearly spent plenty of time exposed to the elements. There was a hard squint to his pale eyes.

Deke Donner was twenty-four. He stood six feet tall and weighed two hundred and fourteen pounds. He had an honest face, clean-shaven with just a light shadow across his broad dimpled jaw. His bright green eyes sparkled in the noon day sun. They shook hands and Donner said in a low voice: "I'm sorry it had tah come tah this, Hank."

Cole replied in the same tone: "So am I, son. But we both know thar jes ain't no other way."

"Right yah are, ol' timer." He gave a nod and their hands parted. They went on staring one another in the eye a moment, and then slowly raised their fists.

Crouching slightly, they circled half way around before the younger man took a swing at his elder's chin. Cole dodged that and came back with a jab of his own that also missed its mark. They continued to circle another quarter turn, and then Donner feinted with a left. He followed immediately with another right aimed at his opponent's head, but Cole wasn't fooled. The older man blocked the swing with his left forearm, while simultaneously launching his own right fist at Donner's head. The younger man enjoyed equal success blocking that attack, hoisting his left forearm into the path of Cole's right cross, but there was nothing Donner could do to stop the lightning-fast left jab that followed a second later. That time, the elder cowboy's knuckles rapped hard upon his young opponent's right cheek.

Donner staggered back a single step, but otherwise shrugged the blow off. He suffered only a momentary lapse in his defenses; his fists came back up almost immediately. Cole was given no opportunity to press his advantage. They began to circle again.

The older cowboy led the next charge, leading with a right cross that was easily ducked. Donner bobbed back up with a left jab that caught Cole square on the chin. The elder man's head snapped back, and his opponent followed up with a right roundhouse that turned the gray-haired cowpoke's head a quarter of the way around on his neck. Cole stumbled two steps sideways, but swung back around with a powerful right cross that caught Donner completely unawares and as the younger man was moving in. The hairy-chested cowboy was staggered; he half turned before going down onto one knee. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cole moving in and about to follow up with another right to the back of the head. Donner twisted around, managing to shield himself with his left and launched his own right at Cole's gut, only to have his fist deflected mid-flight. Cole continued forward, and drove his knee into Donner's tightly muscled belly. The younger man gasped, winded, and found himself once again helpless as Cole's hard knuckles smashed into his face-this time upon his left cheek.

Donner was knocked face first to the ground, and struggled to push himself up. He finally managed to get back to his feet and shook his head roughly to clear it. Cole was waiting with his fists at the ready, clearly pleased with how the fight had gone thus far and even more eager to continue. Donner gathered his resolve and also raised his fists. They squared off, the younger man feeling a thin trail of blood beginning to leak from the corner of his mouth. He didn't risk wiping his chin and giving his opponent an opening.

Donner tried another left feint, but Cole was simply too experienced to fall for it. The gray-haired cowboy barely flinched. Then Cole jerked his left fist, causing Donner to leap back. They locked eyes, and a smile tugged at the older man's lips, making his mustache twitch. His young opponent's face colored with chagrin.

Donner threw his left fist. Whether Cole was surprised or not by the fact that it was no feint this time, he nevertheless managed to duck. However, Donner's right fist was already executing a clean uppercut and the younger man once again tagged his opponent's chin. Cole was jerked up to his full height and rocked back on his boot heels. Donner stepped in and slammed his left fist into the older man's breadbasket. Cole grunted, but his gut otherwise seemed to absorb the blow; he wasn't slowed for an instant. He threw a left, but Donner moved in even closer and trapped Cole's arm under his own. The younger man then aimed another left jab at the older man's belly. Again the hairy-chested cowboy's knuckles sank deep into Cole's smooth gut, but again the elder man merely grunted, seeming to absorb the impact. He swung back, bashing his own right fist against Donner's rippled belly and it was the younger man's turn to grunt, his eyes widening. It was immediately apparent to both men that Cole's single punch had proven more effective than Donner's two blows combined. The older man stepped forward this time, catching his opponent in a clinch. Their naked chests butted; the sides of their heads knocked against each other. They planted their feet as their powerful forms began shoving back and forth.

Donner stabbed at Cole's kidney with the knuckles of his left hand. Cole performed reciprocal attacks. Each held the other tightly around the waist with their right arms. The sweat coating their flesh mingled and worked itself into a slick froth. Their boots raised a cloud of dust as they slipped and skidded across the dry earth.

Cole enjoyed more success with the kidney punches too. The younger man whistled between his teeth, and found himself loosing ground. They were both powerful specimens, but the elder man's slight weight advantage, coupled with the toughness of his hide, was tipping the scales. Finally Donner was thrown up against the side of the barn. Rendered momentarily helpless a third time, he suffered another powerful blow to the stomach. This was followed almost immediately by a second, even more powerful and even more expertly aimed fist to the belly. The young cowboy involuntarily spat a spray of blood onto Cole's smooth chest.

The elder man stepped back, rubbing his stained flesh with a palm. An expression of mild disgusted twisted his lips. He squinted back over at Donner who was slowly sagging toward the ground. The younger man's mouth was opening and closing like a landed fish, gulping for air. Blood coated his lips and was flowing steadily over his chin. His green eyes were wide with panic. They met Cole's, and the stares of the two locked. Suddenly the young man launched himself off the wall with a wild left roundhouse. Cole tried to step back, but his opponent's knuckles nevertheless grazed his chin. He stumbled, and suffered Donner's right fist against the side of his head. He went down to his right knee, and took a boot to the belly. As tough as his middle was, this left him winded. His face tasted each of the younger cowboy's fists once more, and then the elder man sprawled out flat on his back.

Cole was slow to rise, but Donner was happy to have the time to catch his breath. He knew he was lucky to have managed to turn the tables so effectively; the elder man had nearly had him in a whole heap of trouble. He was torn between a desire to press his advantage and be a good sport and let the other fellow stand back up. His weariness decided the question for him, helping to keep his honest reputation unblemished.

They squared off again, but didn't circle. They just stared one another down a long while, and then Donner jabbed. He flattened Cole's nose, but that merely served to rekindle the fire in the older man's eyes; when the young cowboy moved to follow up with a right cross, his opponent's left forearm got up in the way. Cole replied with a powerful, angry jab that caught Donner smack in the middle of the face. Both men heard as well as felt the crunch of breaking cartilage as the younger cowboy's nose was busted beneath the older man's hard knuckles.

Donner was propelled once more against the side of the barn, and this time the back of his head hit the wooden wall with a wet crack. He stood frozen there with blood spurting from both nostrils. Cole admired his handiwork a moment and then stepped forward to sink his right fist deep into the younger man's muscular belly. The ripped musculature had turned to jelly, and it felt to the old cowpoke as if his fist went halfway through the hairy-chested man's body. Donner doubled over his attacker's arm, and then dropped to his knees. He choked and gagged a few times, then suddenly vomited a foul mixture of blood and breakfast out onto the dirt. Cole stepped back to spare his boots being splashed, and lowered his fists. He waited for the younger man to stop heaving.

Exhausted, Donner sat up on the backs of his ankles. He glanced over with an expression of weary indifference as the older man came toward him, momentarily eclipsing the sun. The young cowboy saw Cole's fist raised high, then darkness descended on him with a mighty crash. He dove limply down into the dirt.

Cole stood over Donner with his bloody fists hanging at his sides. He used the toe of his right boot to nudge the young cowboy over. Then he settled the boot in the middle of his opponent's chest and waited a bit more.

Donner came around slowly, but finally opened his eyes and looked up. His face was masked in rivulets of blood, dirt and sweat. His arms and legs writhed uselessly. He lifted his head slightly, trying to form words, but unable to push anything up out of his mouth except more bubbling blood. After a moment or two, his head dropped back to the earth and he lay blinking at the sky.