heels, galloped into the plaza, driving a large aggressive bull.
They chased him about in a circle, swinging their reatas, dodging
his onslaughts, then rode out, and four others entered, dragging an
unwilling bear by a reata tied to each of its legs. By means of a long
chain and much dexterity they fastened the two beasts together, freed
the legs of the bear, then retired to the entrance to await events.
But the bull and the bear would not fight. The latter arose on his
haunches and regarded his enemy warily; the bull appeared to disdain
the bear as too small game; he but lowered his horns and pawed the
ground. The spectators grew impatient. The brave caballeros and dainty
doñas wanted blood. They tapped their feet and murmured ominously. As
for the populace, it howled for slaughter. Governor Alvarado made a
sign to one of the vaqueros; the man rushed abruptly upon the bull and
hit him a sharp blow across the nose with the cruel quirto. The
bull's dignity vanished. With the quadrupedian capacity for measuring
distance, he inferred that the blow had been inflicted by the bear,
who sat some twenty feet away, mildly licking his paws. He made a
savage onset. The bear, with the dexterity of a vaquero, leaped
aside and sprang upon the assailant's neck, his teeth meeting
argumentatively in the rope-like tendons. The bull roared with pain
and rage and attempted to shake him off, but he hung on; both lost
their footing and rolled over and over amidst clouds of dust, a mighty
noise, and enough blood to satisfy the early thirst of the beholders.
Then the bull wrenched himself free; before the mountain visitor could
scramble to his feet, he fixed him with his horns and tossed him on
high. As the bear came down on his back with a thud and a snap which
would have satisfied a bull less anxious to show what a bull could do,
the victor rushed upon the corpse, kicked and stamped and bit
until the blood spouted into his eyes, and pulp and dust were
indistinguishable. Then how the delighted spectators clapped their