into him, between left shoulder and spine--in and in, to the hilt.
He crumpled down, dying."

"Ah, Antonio, it IS the noblest sport that ever was. I would give
a year of my life to see it. Is the bull always killed?"

"Yes. Sometimes a bull is timid, finding himself in so strange a
place, and he stands trembling, or tries to retreat. Then
everybody despises him for his cowardice and wants him punished and
made ridiculous; so they hough him from behind, and it is the
funniest thing in the world to see him hobbling around on his
severed legs; the whole vast house goes into hurricanes of laughter
over it; I have laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks to see
it. When he has furnished all the sport he can, he is not any
longer useful, and is killed."

"Well, it is perfectly grand, Antonio, perfectly beautiful.
Burning a nigger don't begin."



CHAPTER XII--MONGREL AND THE OTHER HORSE



"Sage-Brush, you have been listening?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it strange?"