Gordon Dickson - Wolf and Iron

Jeebee nodded.

“All right,” Nick said to him, “now, you can untie those thongs holding the bowie handle to your leg, pull the knife out, and let me see how you stand with it.”

Jeebee untied the thongs, pulled the knife, and stood up with it, feeling a little foolish with the huge weapon in his hand.

Nick looked at him and nodded. “Just as I thought,” he said, “you don’t even know how to stand, do you?”

“No,” Jeebee answered.

“All right,” said Nick, “we’ll start at the very beginning, then. To begin with, remember this big knife is there mainly for camouflage. Your real weapon is that little revolver down in your boot. But it just might happen that for some reason a revolver won’t do it for you, or isn’t there, or something like that. So you have to use a knife. If that’s the case, here are the rules.”

A knife considerably smaller than Jeebee’s suddenly appeared in Nick’s hand.

“The first rule of knife fighting,” said Nick, “is—don’t. If you think there’s any possibility of somebody pulling a knife on you, get out of there—wherever there is. Best way to avoid something like that is to make sure it doesn’t start in the first place.

“The second rule is,” he went on, “if you see someone standing the way I’m standing, run. Or get out any way you can if you haven’t already. That’s because the man you’ll be looking at knows something about how to use his blade. Look at how I’m standing.”

Jeebee looked. Nick was standing full face on to him with his feet almost parallel. The left foot was a little behind the right and the stance had the feet slightly spread. Nick’s left arm that was not carrying a knife was bent at the elbow up and out in front of him, and almost mimicking its position was his right arm and fist that held the knife, blade up and with the point forward toward Jeebee.

“Now,” said Nick, “if there’s no way you can get away from someone who stands like this or this”—Nick suddenly reversed his grip and held it like an icepick with the blade lying along his wrist—“and is forcing a fight on you, the only advantage you’re likely to have is the length of your knife. Most good knife fighters like the quickness of a short blade, but a long blade gives you reach. Make it work for you. Stand back and make him come to you. Don’t wait for a vital spot; attack whatever part of his body comes into range. If you cut his knife hand, the fight’s half-won, but if he’s standing like I am, chances are he’ll try to draw your attack or tangle up your knife with his empty hand. You can limit his options by circling to his right—that is, the side that’s holding the knife. But if his empty hand gets too close, cut it. Do whatever you have to do to keep him away from you. If a man with a small knife gets in close, range is on his side. He could cut you three, maybe four or five times before you could get that big bowie moving. So use the pommel. It’s not just for decoration and balance. It’s a weapon. Hit him in the face, the temple, even his knife hand.

“If you cut him up enough, he’ll slow down. Cuts kill, but they don’t kill quickly. That’s why a knife has a point. So remember what I told you last night. Go for the belly—but aim low and angle up. If you go straight in and he scoots his hips back, you’ll either miss or catch his breastbone on the upsweep. If you aim low, you’ll be under the breastbone—which is where you want to be. If he’s wearing a lot of clothes, try to go in at a point where the clothes button together, because thick cloth, and especially, thick layers of cloth, can stop a knife blade better than you ever dreamed. So if someone comes at you with a jacket or belt or even a shirt wrapped around his left arm, don’t count on being able to cut it.

“All right. Then there’s a whole list of other don’ts. Even if you figure you’re as good as the man opposite—if you ever get that way, which I hope you don’t, for your sake—don’t fight the people I’m going to tell you about. One, don’t fight anyone my size or smaller, particularly if he’s as young or younger than you are, unless of course he’s a kid. Even then, even if he’s a kid, you could be in trouble. The reason is, if he’s smaller, chances are his reflexes are faster than yours.

“Second, for the same sort of reason, don’t try to take on anyone a lot bigger than you. He just maybe could be enough bigger and heavier so that he can absorb enough punishment to get to you. And if he can get to you, chances are he can either kill you or do real damage to you even if he dies for it. Don’t get into a fight at all if you think the other man’s got friends around. They don’t even have to step in and help him. You could just be backing up and find a chair in your way where there wasn’t a chair before, to say nothing of being actually tripped. Carry the big knife in all kinds of weather, so it looks like you’re used to using it, but try to forget you’ve got it, except for cleaning and sharpening it when you think it needs it. Otherwise, just put it out of your mind. It’s like a life preserver on a luxury liner; it’s there, but ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time you don’t even need to think about it. Just so you shouldn’t never think about using this knife until there’s no other way than that. Remember that forearm knife rig I showed you, your first day at the wagon? Well, this bowie’s just another rig. Remember that.”

“I will,” said Jeebee.

The knife disappeared from Nick’s hand as magically as it had appeared.

“Now,” he said, “if you’ll forget all about the revolver and the Bowie, I’ve got some sticks here; and I’ll run you through just a few things that might help you with real knife trouble. Take one of the longer sticks. We’ll use them like knives.”

The sticks were about as thick and round as broomstick handles. Jeebee picked one that was about sixteen inches long and, standing at a little more than arm’s length from Nick, tried to imitate the other’s stance.

“If you want to make best use of the longer blade,” said Nick, “you probably shouldn’t stand like me. Let your right foot lead. You won’t be able to make much use of your empty hand, but it’ll give you another six inches of reach. All right, that’s better. Come at me, then.”

“No,” Jeebee said cautiously, “you come at me first.”

“Good. You remembered,” said Nick, “let the other man make the first move.” He was still talking when suddenly Jeebee found himself tripped by something hooked behind his right ankle. He fell heavily on his back, and a moment later one of Nick’s boots was pinning down his arm that held the stick, while the other one rested lightly with its boot edge against his Adam’s apple.

“I thought you were going to show me about knife fighting!” Jeebee said.

“That is part of knife fighting,” said Nick. “It’s your ‘third’ hand. I find people remember that part of it better if I simply show them before I tell them about it. Do you remember what I did just now?”

Jeebee had to stop and remember, as if he was rerunning a memory tape in his head. He remembered Nick suddenly dropping toward the ground, then he had been tripped—that was all that came to mind.

He said as much. Nick laughed.

“Watch,” he said, “I’ll do it slowly for you.”

He took the weight of his one boot off Jeebee’s arm and the touch of his other boot off Jeebee’s throat and stood back.

“I did this,” he said.

He dropped vertically suddenly until he was squatting on one leg. The other leg snaked out and swung in an arc at full length before him, the toe of the boot turned inward.

“That tripped you up,” Nick said. “Then it was simply a matter of stepping on your arm and on your throat. If I’d wanted to, I could have crushed your throat and everything would’ve been over right then and there.”