The bull was now angry and excited. The capadors had great game with him. He was very quick, and sometimes he turned with such sharpness that his hind legs lost their footing and he plowed the sand with his quarter. But he charged always the flung capes and committed no harm.
He has no chance, said John Harned. He is fighting wind.
He thinks the cape is his enemy, explained Maria Valenzuela. See how cleverly the capador deceives him.
It is his nature to be deceived, said John Harned. Wherefore he is doomed to fight wind. The toreadors know it, you know it, I know it we all know from the first that he will fight wind. He only does not know it. It is his stupid beast-nature. He has no chance.
It is very simple, said Luis Cervallos. The bull shuts his eyes when he charges. Therefore
The man steps, out of the way and the bull rushes by, Harned interrupted.
Yes, said Luis Cervallos; that is it. The bull shuts his eyes, and the man knows it.
But cows do not shut their eyes, said John Harned. I know a cow at home that is a Jersey and gives milk, that would whip the whole gang of them.
But the toreadors do not fight cows, said I.
They are afraid to fight cows, said John Harned.
Yes, said Luis Cervallos, they are afraid to fight cows. 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 ring.
And 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 Gods sake let me out of this; I dont 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. Ordonez stepped in front of the bull and lowered his scarlet cloth to the ground. The bull would not charge. He stood still and smelled the cloth, lowering his head to do so. Ordonez stabbed between the horns at the spot in the neck. The bull jerked his head up. The stab had missed. Then the bull watched the sword. When Ordonez moved the cloth on the ground, the bull forgot the sword and lowered his head to smell the cloth. Again Ordonez stabbed, and again he failed. He tried many times. It was stupid. And John Harned said nothing. At last a stab went home, and the bull fell to the sand, dead immediately, and the mules were made fast and he was dragged out.
The Gringos say it is a cruel sport no? said Luis Cervallos. That it is not humane. That it is bad for the bull. No?
No, said John Harned. The bull does not count for much. It is bad for those that look on. It is degrading to those that look on. It teaches them to delight in animal suffering. It is cowardly for five men to fight one stupid bull. Therefore those that look on learn to be cowards. The bull dies, but those that look on live and the lesson is learned. The bravery of men is not nourished by scenes of cowardice.
The Gringos say it is a cruel sport no? said Luis Cervallos. That it is not humane. That it is bad for the bull. No?
No, said John Harned. The bull does not count for much. It is bad for those that look on. It is degrading to those that look on. It teaches them to delight in animal suffering. It is cowardly for five men to fight one stupid bull. Therefore those that look on learn to be cowards. The bull dies, but those that look on live and the lesson is learned. The bravery of men is not nourished by scenes of cowardice.
Maria Valenzuela said nothing. Neither did she look at him. But she heard every word and her cheeks were white with anger. She looked out across the ring and fanned herself, but I saw that her hand trembled. Nor did John Harned look at her. He went on as though she were not there. He, too, was angry, coldly angry.
It is the cowardly sport of a cowardly people, he said.
Ah, said Luis Cervallos softly, you think you understand us.
I understand now the Spanish Inquisition, said John Harned. It must have been more delightful than bull-fighting.
Luis Cervallos smiled but said nothing. He glanced at Maria Valenzuela, and knew that the bull-fight in the box was won. Never would she have further to do with the Gringo who spoke such words. But neither Luis Cervallos nor I was prepared for the outcome of the day. I fear we do not understand the Gringos. How were we to know that John Harned, who was so coldly angry, should go suddenly mad! But mad he did go, as you shall see. The bull did not count for much he said so himself. Then why should the horse count for so much? That I cannot understand. The mind of John Harned lacked logic. That is the only explanation.
It is not usual to have horses in the bull-ring at Quito, said Luis Cervallos, looking up from the program. In Spain they always have them. But to-day, by special permission we shall have them. When the next bull comes on there will be horses and picadors-you know, the men who carry lances and ride the horses.
The bull is doomed from the first, said John Harned. Are the horses then likewise doomed!
They are blindfolded so that they may not see the bull, said Luis Cervallos. I have seen many horses killed. It is a brave sight.
I have seen the bull slaughtered, said John Harned I will now see the horse slaughtered, so that I may understand more fully the fine points of this noble sport.
They are old horses, said Luis Cervallos, that are not good for anything else.
I see, said John Harned.
The third bull came on, and soon against it were both capadors and picadors. One picador took his stand directly below us. I agree, it was a thin and aged horse he rode, a bag of bones covered with mangy hide.
It is a marvel that the poor brute can hold up the weight of the rider, said John Harned. And now that the horse fights the bull, what weapons has it?
The horse does not fight the bull, said Luis Cervallos.
Oh, said John Harned, then is the horse there to be gored? That must be why it is blindfolded, so that it shall not see the bull coming to gore it.
Not quite so, said I. The lance of the picador is to keep the bull from goring the horse.
Then are horses rarely gored? asked John Harned.
No, said Luis Cervallos. I have seen, at Seville, eighteen horses killed in one day, and the people clamored for more horses.
Were they blindfolded like this horse? asked John Harned.
Yes, said Luis Cervallos.
After that we talked no more, but watched the fight. And John Harned was going mad all the time, and we did not know. The bull refused to charge the horse. And the horse stood still, and because it could not see it did not know that the capadors were trying to make the bull charge upon it. The capadors teased the bull their capes, and when it charged them they ran toward the horse and into their shelters. At last the bull was angry, and it saw the horse before it.
The horse does not know, the horse does not know, John Harned whispered to himself, unaware that he voiced his thought aloud.
The bull charged, and of course the horse knew nothing till the picador failed and the horse found himself impaled on the bulls horns from beneath. The bull was magnificently strong. The sight of its strength was splendid to see. It lifted the horse clear into the air; and as the horse fell to its side on on the ground the picador landed on his feet and escaped, while the capadors lured the bull away. The horse was emptied of its essential organs. Yet did it rise to its feet screaming. It was the scream of the horse that did it, that made John Harned completely mad; for he, too, started to rise to his feet, I heard him curse low and deep. He never took his eyes from the horse, which, screaming, strove to run, but fell down instead and rolled on its back so that all its four legs were kicking in the air. Then the bull charged it and gored it again and again until it was dead.
John Harned was now on his feet. His eyes were no longer cold like steel. They were blue flames. He looked at Maria Valenzuela, and she looked at him, and in his face was a great loathing. The moment of his madness was upon him. Everybody was looking, now that the horse was dead; and John Harned was a large man and easy to be seen.
Sit down, said Luis Cervallos, or you will make a fool of yourself.
John Harned replied nothing. He struck out his fist. He smote Luis Cervallos in the face so that he fell like a dead man across the chairs and did not rise again. He saw nothing of what followed. But I saw much. Urcisino Castillo, leaning forward from the next box, with his cane struck John Harned full across the face. And John Harned smote him with his fist so that in falling he overthrew General Salazar. John Harned was now in what-you-call Berserker rage no? The beast primitive in him was loose and roaring the beast primitive of the holes and caves of the long ago.
You came for a bull-fight, I heard him say, And by God Ill show you a man-fight!
It was a fight. The soldiers guarding the Presidentes box leaped across, but from one of them he took a rifle and beat them on their heads with it. From the other box Colonel Jacinto Fierro was shooting at him with a revolver. The first shot killed a soldier. This I know for a fact. I saw it. But the second shot struck John Harned in the side. Whereupon he swore, and with a lunge drove the bayonet of his rifle into Colonel Jacinto Fierros body. It was horrible to behold. The Americans and the English are a brutal race. They sneer at our bull-fighting, yet do they delight in the shedding of blood. More men were killed that day because of John Harned than were ever killed in all the history of the bull-ring of Quito, yes, and of Guayaquil and all Ecuador.
It was the scream of the horse that did it, yet why did not John Harned go mad when the bull was killed? A beast is a beast, be it bull or horse. John Harned was mad. There is no other explanation. He was blood-mad, a beast himself. I leave it to your judgment. Which is worse the goring of the horse by the bull, or the goring of Colonel Jacinto Fierro by the bayonet in the hands of John Harned! And John Harned gored others with that bayonet. He was full of devils. He fought with many bullets in him, and he was hard to kill. And Maria Valenzuela was a brave woman. Unlike the other women, she did not cry out nor faint. She sat still in her box, gazing out across the bull-ring. Her face was white and she fanned herself, but she never looked around.
From all sides came the soldiers and officers and the common people bravely to subdue the mad Gringo. It is true the cry went up from the crowd to kill all the Gringos. It is an old cry in Latin-American countries, what of the dislike for the Gringos and their uncouth ways. It is true, the cry went up. But the brave Ecuadorianos killed only John Harned, and first he killed seven of them. Besides, there were many hurt. I have seen many bull-fights, but never have I seen anything so abominable as the scene in the boxes when the fight was over. It was like a field of battle. The dead lay around everywhere, while the wounded sobbed and groaned and some of them died. One man, whom John Harned had thrust through the belly with the bayonet, clutched at himself with both his hands and screamed. I tell you for a fact it was more terrible than the screaming of a thousand horses.