wild bull in conflict. And he kills with a sword, a slender
sword, with one thrust, so, to the heart of the great beast. It
is delicious. It makes the heart beat to behold--the small man,
the great beast, the wide level sand, the thousands that look
on without breath; the great beast rushes to the attack, the
small man stands like a statue; he does not move, he is
unafraid, and in his hand is the slender sword flashing like
silver in the sun; nearer and nearer rushes the great beast
with its sharp horns, the man does not move, and then--so--the
sword flashes, the thrust is made, to the heart, to the hilt,
the bull falls to the sand and is dead, and the man is unhurt.
It is brave. It is magnificent! Ah!--I could love the toreador.
But the man of the prize-fight--he is the brute, the human
beast, the savage primitive, the maniac that receives many
blows in his stupid face and rejoices. Come to Quito and I will
show you the brave sport of men, the toreador and the bull."

But John Harned did not go to Quito for the bull-fight. He went
because of Maria Valenzuela. He was a large man, more broad of
shoulder than we Ecuadorianos, more tall, more heavy of limb
and bone. True, he was larger of his own race. His eyes were
blue, though I have seen them gray, and, sometimes, like cold
steel. His features were large, too--not delicate like ours,
and his jaw was very strong to look at. Also, his face was
smooth-shaven like a priest's. Why should a man feel shame for
the hair on his face? Did not God put it there? Yes, I believe
in God--I am not a pagan like many of you English. God is good.
He made me an Ecuadoriano with ten thousand slaves. And when I
die I shall go to God. Yes, the priests are right.