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Updated: May 15, 2025
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.
"As for heaven," declared Brockton, "I don't take much stock in all that. We're here we know that and we'd better make the most of it. For all we know, it's our last chance to have a good time. Better take all that's coming to you here and now, Miss Harned, and not count much on those wings of yours." Millicent smiled mechanically.
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.
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.
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.
"Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their " It was that old practice sentence of typists, which is as old as are typewriting machines, and Joe Harned, seated before the told-style, noisy, but still capable machine in Philip Burton's telegraph office, had rattled it off twenty-five times and was on his twenty-sixth when suddenly, very suddenly, his mind began to work.
"I remember her first fight. She was four years old. She sat with her mother, and just like now she clapped her hands. She is a proper Spanish woman. "You have seen it," said Maria Valenzuela to John Harned, as they fastened the mules to the dead bull and dragged it out. "You have seen the bull-fight and you like it no? What do you think? "I think the bull had no chance," he said.
"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.
"It is a stupid bull," said Maria Valenzuela. "I beg pardon," said John Harned; "but it would seem to me a wise bull. He knows he must not fight man. See! He smells death there in the ring." True. The bull, pausing where the last one had died, was smelling the wet sand and snorting.
John Harned was seeing it for the first time, and he could not escape the excitement the sight of the man, armed only with a piece of cloth, and of the bull rushing upon him across the sand with sharp horns, widespreading. "See!" cried Maria Valenzuela. "Is it not superb?" John Harned nodded, but did not look at her. His eyes were sparkling, and they were only for the bull-ring.
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