and black rosette attached
thereto that from time immemorial Andalusian _toreadores_ have sported.

_El Tigre_ headed the squad, followed by two junior _matadores_, three
_banderilleros_, three _capadores_, and two mounted _picadores_, while at
the rear of the column came two teams of little, half-wild, prancing,
dancing Spanish mules, one team black, the other white, each composed of
three mules harnessed abreast as for a chariot race, but dragging behind
them nothing but a heavy double tree, to which the dead of the day's
fight might be attached and dragged out of the arena.

Each of the footmen was wrapped in a large black cloak passed over the
left shoulder and beneath the right, the loose end of the cloak draped
gracefully over the left shoulder, the right arm swinging free. The
_picadores_ were mounted (as usual) on old crowbaits of horses, mere bags
of skin and bones, so poor and thin that neither could even raise a trot;
a broad leather blindfold fastened to their head-stalls. Each rider was
seated in a saddle high of cantle and ancient of form as those Knights
Templar jousted in. The breast of each horse was guarded by a great side
of sole leather falling nearly to the knees, while the right leg of each
rider was incased in such a stiff and heavy leather leg-guard as to
render him afoot almost helpless; and he was further guarded by still
another side of sole leather swung from the saddle horn and covering his
left leg and much of his horse's barrel. On the right stirrup of each
_picador_ rested the butt of his lance, a stout eight-foot shaft tipped
with a sharp steel prod, barely long enough to catch and hold in the
bull's hide.

As the _cuadrilla_ entered, a regimental band played _El Hymno Nacional_,
the National Anthem, while the vast audience roared and shrieked a
welcome to the gladiators.

Marching to the time of the music in long tragic strides, heads proudly
erect, right arms swinging and shoulders slightly swaying in the
challenging swagger which _toreadores affect_, the _cuadrilla_ crossed
the arena and halted, close to the barrier, in front of the
_Presidente's_ box, bared their heads, gracefully saluted the
_Presidente_, and received the key to the bull pen and his permission to
begin the fight. And as _El Tigre's_ eyes fell from the salute to the
_Presidente_ they rested upon Sofia, doubtless from some subtle
telepathic message, for it was a veritable hill of faces he confronted.
There s