P a g e 7 G h o s t T o w n s a n d H i s t o r y o f M o n t a n a N e w s l e t t e r off at about that time. “All hands come in,” said the colonel; and he looked especially for the bishop. "Just a little fun in the manly art,” he added; but the bishop pleaded an engagement, and, with a kind farewell, he left us. The legislature had adjourned and the hall of the house had been converted into a regular ring; the floor was covered with several inches of sawdust, a circle of rude board seats had been thrown around the ring, and what I supposed to be a sparring-match was to be exhibited at the moderate price of one dollar a head. "It’s to be a square fight, and there will be fun,” said Beidler; but still I did not comprehend the entertainment to which we were Invited. After the Orem and Dwyer fight, the legislature had passed a law forbidding public exhibitions of the manly art, unless the contestants wore gloves—intending, of course, that the heavily-padded boxing gloves should be used. Upon entering the hall there was every indication of serious business on hand. A ring some fifteen feet in diameter was formed and in it were four men. In one corner was Con Orem, stripped to his undershirt, with an assortment of bottles, sponges, etc.; and by his side was sitting a little, smooth-faced fellow, Photo: Richard O. Hickman General Merchandise building and the Pony Saloon, Virginia City, Montana, 1885. Photographer unidentified, courtesy of MHS Legacy Photograph Collection, www.mtmemory.org wrapped in a blanket, looking like anything else than a hero of the prize-ring. He answered to the name of “Teddy,” although Englishborn, and weighed one hundred and twenty-four pounds. In the opposite corner was a sluggish-looking Hibernian, probably ten pounds heavier than Teddy, but evidently lacking the action of his opponent. With him was also his second. He was placarded as "The Michigan Chick.” and they had met to have a square battle, according to the rules of the ring, for one hundred dollars a side. Both had thin, close-fitting gloves on and they were to fight in that way to bring themselves within the letter of the law. Packed in the hall were over one hundred of the roughs of the mines, and I confess that I did not feel comfortable as I surveyed the desperate countenances and the glistening revolvers with which I was surrounded. Regarding discretion as the better part of valor, I suggested to Colonel Beidler that we had better retire, but he would not entertain the proposition at all. “Stay close by me, and there’s no danger,” was his reply. I had seen almost every phase of mountain-life but a fight, and I concluded that I would see it out and take the chances of getting away alive. My old friend, Con Orem, who was to second Teddy, gave me a comfortable seat close by his corner, and reminded me that I was about to witness a most artistic exhibition of the manly art. A distinguished military gentleman was chosen umpire, and in a few minutes he called “time.” Instantly Teddy and Chick flung off their blankets and stood up in fighting trim—naked to the waist and clad only in woolen drawers and light shoes. Teddy stripped as delicately as a woman. His skin was soft and fair, and his waist was exceedingly slender, but he had a full chest, and when he threw out his arms on guard he displayed a degree of muscle that indicated no easy victory for his opponent. "Chick” was leaner, but had superfluous flesh, and was evidently quite young, as manifest when he put himself in position for action. He betrayed evident timidity, and was heavy in his movements, but he seemed to have the physical pow
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