step and there would be a hideous heap at the foot of the hill.

The little mustang appeared scarcely to touch the uneven surface of the
descent. He looked as if galloping in air, and tossed his head fiercely
as though to shake the rising sun out of his eyes. The bull seemed
continually gathering himself for a great leap, his clumsy bulk heaving
from side to side. But a quarter of the distance had been traversed when
the great curves of the lasso sprang forward, and, amidst a hoarse
murmur from the boys, caught the bull below the horns. But that was all.
The bull would not down! There would be no coliar! He merely ran on--the
brute! the beast!--jerking his horns defiantly, putting down his head,
nearly dragging Rafael from the saddle. But no! but no! Rafael has risen
in his saddle, he has forced his mustang the harder, he is almost level
with the bull--he has passed! He gives a great jerk, dragging the bull
to his knees, then another, and the bull is on his side and rolling over
and over down the hill, Rafael following fast, slackening his lariat.
The boys now cheer wildly, although danger is not over--yes, in another
moment it is, and Rafael, smiling complacently, is at the foot of the
hill, disengaging the humbled bull.

"Bravo!" said a voice from behind the horses. All turned with a start.
It was the priest. "Coliar was never better done," he added graciously;
and Rafael felt that the day was his.

The priest had ridden up unnoted in the tense excitement of the last few
moments. He sat a big powerful horse, and his bearing was as military as
that of the two great generals of the Californias, Castro and Vallejo.

As the boys, congratulations and modest acknowledgement over, were
making for home and breakfast, the priest pressed his horse close to