he _muleta_,
wrapped the crimson cape about his body, and stood alone awaiting the
bull's charge, his malleable sword-blade bent slightly downward,
sufficiently to give a true thrust behind the shoulder, a down-curve into
heart or lungs.

With a bull of such extraordinary activity the act was almost suicidal,
but _El Tigre_ smilingly took the chance. By toreador etiquette, the
_matador_ must receive and dodge the first two charges; not until the
third may he strike. On the first charge _El Tigre_ stood like a rock
until the bull had almost reached him, and then lightly leaped diagonally
across his lowered neck. The second charge, come an instant after the
first, before most men could even turn, he dodged. The third he swiftly
side-stepped, thrust true, and dropped the great Utreran midway of a leap
aimed at his elusive enemy.

It was a deed magnificent, epic, and the plaza rung with plaudits while
hats, fans, and even purses and jewels showered into the arena--all of
which, by _toreador_ etiquette, were tossed back across the barrier to
their owners.

Then the teams entered and quickly dragged the dead from the arena; the
ugly, dangerously slippery red patches were fresh sanded, and the second
bull was admitted. Thus, with more or less like incident, three more
bulls were fought and killed.

The fifth and last, however, proved a disgrace to his race. Bluff he
did, but fight he would not; the noise and crowd unnerved him. At last,
frenzied with fear and seeking escape, he made a mighty leap to mount the
barrier directly in front of the box of the _Presidente_. And mount it
he did, and down it crashed beneath his weight, leaving the bull for a
moment half down and tangled in the wreckage, struggling to regain his
feet.

Directly in front of the bull, not six feet beyond the sharp points of
his deadly horns, sat Sofia. Indeed none about her had risen; all sat as
if frozen in their places. And just as well they might have been, for
escape into or through the dense mass of spectators about them was
utterly impossible. Whatever horror came they must await, helpless.

But at the bull's very start for the barrier, _El Tigre_, realized
Sofia's peril and instantly sprang empty-handed in pursuit; for it was
early in this the last _corrida_ and he did not have his sword,

Leaping the wreckage, _El Tigre_ landed directly in front of the bull,
happily at the instant it regained its feet, where, with his right hand