There would be no sport in killing toreadors.""There would be some sport," said John Harned, "if a toreador were killed once in a while.When I become an old man, and mayhap a cripple, and should I need to make a living and be unable to do hard work, then would I become a bull-fighter.It is a light vocation for elderly gentlemen and pensioners.""But see!" said Maria Valenzuela, as the bull charged bravely and the capador eluded it with a fling of his cape."It requires skill so to avoid the beast.""True," said John Harned."But believe me, it requires a thousand times more skill to avoid the many and quick punches of a prize-fighter who keeps his eyes open and strikes with intelligence.Furthermore, this bull does not want to fight.
Behold, he runs away."
It was not a good bull, for again it ran around the ring, seeking to find a way out.
"Yet these bulls are sometimes the most dangerous," said Luis Cervallos."It can never be known what they will do next.They are wise.They are half cow.The bull-fighters never like them.--See! He has turned!"Once again, baffled and made angry by the walls of the ring that would not let him out, the bull was attacking his enemies valiantly.
"His tongue is hanging out," said John Harned."First, they fill him with water.Then they tire him out, one man and then another, persuading him to exhaust himself by fighting wind.
While some tire him, others rest.But the bull they never let rest.Afterward, when he is quite tired and no longer quick, the matador sticks the sword into him."The time had now come for the banderillos.Three times one of the fighters endeavored to place the darts, and three times did he fail.He but stung the bull and maddened it.The banderillos must go in, you know, two at a time, into the shoulders, on each side the backbone and close to it.If but one be placed, it is a failure.The crowd hissed and called for Ordonez.And then Ordonez did a great thing.Four times he stood forth, and four times, at the first attempt, he stuck in the banderillos, so that eight of them, well placed, stood out of the back of the bull at one time.The crowd went mad, and a rain of hats and money fell on the sand of the ringAnd just then the bull charged unexpectedly one of the capadors.The man slipped and lost his head.The bull caught him--fortunately, between his wide horns.And while the audience watched, breathless and silent, John Harned stood up and yelled with gladness.Alone, in that hush of all of us, John Harned yelled.And he yelled for the bull.As you see yourself, John Harned wanted the man killed.His was a brutal heart.This bad conduct made those angry that sat in the box of General Salazar, and they cried out against John Harned.And Urcisino Castillo told him to his face that he was a dog of a Gringo and other things.Only it was in Spanish, and John Harned did not understand.He stood and yelled, perhaps for the time of ten seconds, when the bull was enticed into charging the other capadors and the man arose unhurt.
"The bull has no chance," John Harned said with sadness as he sat down."The man was uninjured.They fooled the bull away from him." Then he turned to Maria Valenzuela and said: "I beg your pardon.I was excited."She smiled and in reproof tapped his arm with her fan.
"It is your first bull-fight," she said."After you have seen more you will not cry for the death of the man.You Americans, you see, are more brutal than we.It is because of your prize-fighting.We come only to see the bull killed.""But I would the bull had some chance," he answered.
"Doubtless, in time, I shall cease to be annoyed by the men who take advantage of the bull."The bugles blew for the death of the bull.Ordonez stood forth with the sword and the scarlet cloth.But the bull had changed again, and did not want to fight.Ordonez stamped his foot in the sand, and cried out, and waved the scarlet cloth.Then the bull charged, but without heart.There was no weight to the charge.It was a poor thrust.The sword struck a bone and bent.
Ordonez took a fresh sword.The bull, again stung to fight, charged once more.Five times Ordonez essayed the thrust, and each time the sword went but part way in or struck bone.The sixth time, the sword went in to the hilt.But it was a bad thrust.The sword missed the heart and stuck out half a yard through the ribs on the opposite side.The audience hissed the matador.I glanced at John Harned.He sat silent, without movement; but I could see his teeth were set, and his hands were clenched tight on the railing of the box.
All fight was now out of the bull, and, though it was no vital thrust, he trotted lamely what of the sword that stuck through him, in one side and out the other.He ran away from the matador and the capadors, and circled the edge of the ring, looking up at the many faces.
"He is saying: 'For God's sake let me out of this; I don't want to fight,'" said John Harned.
That was all.He said no more, but sat and watched, though sometimes he looked sideways at Maria Valenzuela to see how she took it.She was angry with the matador.He was awkward, and she had desired a clever exhibition.
The bull was now very tired, and weak from loss of blood, though far from dying.He walked slowly around the wall of the ring, seeking a way out.He would not charge.He had had enough.But he must be killed.There is a place, in the neck of a bull behind the horns, where the cord of the spine is unprotected and where a short stab will immediately kill.
