That scared Roxy, and gave Dillon confidence. He began to get a grip on himself. He swung his usual wild left which Roxy was waiting for, and then he sent in a right which caught Roxy. The blow made Roxy sag at the knees. In went Dillon, taking Roxy’s feeble left in his face, but getting two sledge-hammer punches to Roxy’s ribs.
After that Dillon began to get it his way. He kept hitting and Roxy couldn’t back away fast enough. He caught his heel in a tuft of grass and went over backwards. Dillon dropped on him, his great weight pinning Roxy flat.
Neither of them said anything. Roxy reached up and caught Dillon by the neck. He couldn’t quite get under Dillon’s chin. Roxy began to lose his head. His legs kicked wildly as he tried to shift Dillon. He could see the cold merciless face close to him and his strength began to ebb.
Dillon raised his fist and smashed it down on Roxy’s upturned face. The heel of his hand caught Roxy across his nose. Roxy’s hands fell away limply. Dillon shifted a little and had Roxy by the throat. He flung his weight on his hands. Roxy kicked a little. His eyes opened very wide, and his hands plucked futilely at Dillon’s wrists.
Dillon panted, “You were always a smart guy.”
He stayed there until Roxy died.
The two of them remained so still in the clearing that a small bird dropped from a tree and hopped towards them. With bright, suspicious eyes it watched them, its small head a little oh one side. Then, as Dillon got slowly to his feet, the bird hastily took wing.
Dillon stood over Roxy, one of his hands touching his bruised face. Then he turned and stumbled back to the farmhouse. He cautiously approached, but no one seemed to be about.
Lying near the old barn was a pick and shovel. He carefully took them and turned back to the woods again.
The grave he dug for Roxy was a shallow affair, but it was away from the path and it would be difficult to find. He patted the soil flat and covered it with branches of trees. Then he stood up, beads of sweat on his face.