Free Spacepaw by Gordon R. Dickson

of promises we can get out of him.”
    “Flat Fingers?” echoed Bill, puzzled. “Blacksmith? What would I be wanting a blacksmith for?”
    The Bluffer chuckled slyly.
    “Why, to make you one of those sissy Lowlander fighting tools they call a sword—and a shield, of course! You didn’t think they had things like that just lying around so you could go pick one up when you needed it? You Shorties take too much for granted.”
    “Sword?” echoed Bill, by this time thoroughly confused. “Shield?”
    “I don’t blame you,” said the Hill Bluffer, but chuckling again. “It’d gall me to the very bone, too, to have to fight with gadgets like that. But there’s no choice.” He paused, peering down at Bill in a way that was almost sly. “After all. you were the one who challenged Bone Breaker, so he’s got choice of place and style—and you can bet he isn’t going to tangle without his blade and buckler. Trust a Lowlander for that.”
    Bill stood, frozen, staring upward at the big furry shape of the Dilbian, looming over him.
    “ I challenged the Bone Breaker to a fight with swords?” he managed to get out, finally.
    The Hill Bluffer released his inner glee in a sudden roar of laughter that shattered the sleeping silence of the darkened village.
    “Thought you’d missed out on the chance, didn’t you?” he sputtered, finally calming down. “I could have told you different as soon as we left the valley, but I thought I’d let you chew on your hard luck for a while first. Didn’t I tell you you were lucky to have me? The minute I heard Bone Breaker say Dirty Teeth was staying there because she wanted to, I saw what was up. She’d got some female notion about not wanting you to tangle with Bone Breaker. That was it, right? So later on after you’d gone out to talk to her, I got Bone Breaker alone in a corner and put in a few good words.”
    “Good words …?” echoed Bill, an uneasy suspicion beginning to form in his mind.
    “You can bet I did,” said the Bluffer. “I said it was a real shame you and he weren’t going to be able to tangle after all—especially as you’d said you’d find it interesting, and I was sure he felt the same way. I pointed out that after all we didn’t have to have a real spelled-out challenge, just as long as folks thought there’d been one. I said he could tell his folks you’d said to me that it was a lucky thing Dirty Teeth didn’t need rescuing, because you could have taken him with one paw tied behind your back.”
    Bill gulped.
    “And he could say,” went on the Bluffer gleefully, “that the minute he’d heard this from me he told me that he’d never believed the story about the Half-Pint-Posted and the Streamside Terror—that he didn’t believe any Shorty could last two seconds with a man like him—and he didn’t mind if I passed the word along to you. And I did, and you challenged him, naturally, right away, swords or anything he wanted.”
    “Swords …” said Bill dazedly.
    “I know how you feel,” said the Bluffer with sudden sympathy. “Kind of sickening, isn’t it, when a man’s still got the teeth and nails he was born with? Anyway, we can get you one made, and the duel’s on. Everybody knows about it by now. That’s why Bone Breaker and I arranged for him to holler after you through the gate to come back in daylight, and I nudged you to holler back you would, meaning you’d be around to tangle as soon as it was convenient, in daylight and in front of witnesses. But I agree with you about those swords. It’s sure a measly way to fight.”
    The Hill Bluffer sighed heavily.
    “Of course, maybe I shouldn’t worry about it,” he said brightening. “Maybe you Shorties like fighting with tools. You seem to use them for just about everything else. Well, grab yourself a good night’s sleep—and I’ll see you at dawn!”

Chapter 8
    Bill awoke from a confused dream of rolling thunder, as in a heavy thunderstorm, in which Kodiak bears had