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Updated: June 4, 2025
But the fact is," he went on to explain, "nobody knows I'm coming home, and I have a childish desire to sneak in the back way and surprise them. Were I to appear in El Toro, I'd have to shake hands with everybody in town and relate a history of my exploits and " "I understand perfectly. You just want to get home, don't you?"
"That's not our brand," says George; "they're strange stock," and he points to what my scientific eye recognizes as the astrological sign of Venus deeply seared in the brown flanks of the bull he is chasing. But the herd are closing round us with low mutterings, and George has again recourse to the authoritative "TORO," and with swinging riata divides the "bossy bucklers" on either side.
"Naturally," he continued, "that man Pablo has ways and means of making even a stubborn Jap tell everything he knows. Now listen, O child of Nippon, to the white man's words of wisdom. You're going to depart from El Toro in a general northerly direction and you're going to do it immediately if not sooner. And you're never coming back.
I follow, or rather Chu Chu darts after the roan, and in a few moments we are in the midst of apparently inextricable horns and hoofs. "TORO!" shouts George, with vaquero enthusiasm, and the band opens a way for the swinging riata. I can feel their steaming breaths, and their spume is cast on Chu Chu's quivering flank.
Summerfield was a very great engineering swell when he was at home in London. Jimmy couldn't help feeling rather awed by him. In Don Ferdinando's case, it was generally impatience. His time was worth pounds a minute or so. "All right," said Toro. "And my throat ain't drier than your back now, Don Jimmy; so you can put your clothes on and listen.
They'd run lots of from ten to twenty fat steers off the range at a time, slaughter them in El Toro, and bury the hides to conceal the identity of the animals the brands, you understand. The meat they would peddle to butchers in towns along the railroad line. The ringleader owned a slaughter-house in El Toro, and, for a long time, nobody suspected him the cattle were driven in at night.
With the rear legs of our chairs sinking deep into the hardpacked loam, each of us reposed against an elm pillar of the structure and smoked El Toro tobacco, while we wrangled amicably concerning the affairs of the rest of the world. As for conveying adequate conception of the engaging charm of that prairie evening, despair waits upon it.
This small reserve embraces the whole eastern shore and hinterland of Lake Albert Nyanza, and is shaped like a new moon. Toro Reserve. This small reserve lies between Lakes Albert Nyanza and Albert Edward Nyanza, touching both. Elephant Marsh Preserve. A small area in the extreme southern end of the Protectorate, on both sides of the Shire River, chiefly for buffalo. Angoniland Reserve.
"A trifling peccadillo, sir; nothing more, I assure you merely a few pounds and a paltry bit of jewellery belonging to an Englishwoman of the name of Harkaway." They all pricked up their ears at this name. "Hullo, hullo!" exclaimed Toro; "what is this? Stand forward, man. Do you know Harkaway?" "I do to my sorrow," replied the man; "he was my master."
I'm motoring in to El Toro this afternoon, and I'll want to mail them." "'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof'," Don Miguel assured him lightly. "Whenever you feel the urge for further information about yourself and your Japanese friends, I am at your service.
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