in, as a mere boy, while traveling with
Professor Scotch, Frank had leaped into the ring at a bullfight in order
to save the life of Zuera, the lady bullfighter of Madrid, and with a
sword dropped by a frightened espada had himself slain the bull.

"Mendoza," he said, "I have seen your Mexican bullfights, and I once
witnessed such a spectacle in Madrid. A Spanish bullfight is bad enough,
but a Mexican bullfight is the most disgusting and brutal thing
imaginable. Usually your bull is frightened and runs around seeking some
avenue of escape from the torturers who pursue him, assailing him with
their banderillos. At last he may be goaded and driven to a sort of
desperate resistance. When he turns on his tormentors they permit him to
gore the wretched old horses which have been provided as a sacrifice to
glut the thirst of the populace for the sight of blood.

"I have seen three or four of those poor beasts dying in a Mexican bull
ring at the same time, some lying on the ground, and feebly trying to
rise, or staggering weakly around with their bodies ripped open. I have
seen the bull at last stand exhausted and cowed while the one chosen to
dispatch him walked up and did the job. I have heard the crowd roar with
delight as the sword was plunged into the neck of the bull and the
creature's blood gushed forth. Don't talk to me about such sport!"

Frank's words and manner seemed to scorch the Mexican for a moment, but
he quickly recovered, snapping his fingers.

"Like most Americans, you quail and grow sick at the sight of a little
blood," he sneered. "We hear about the courage of Americans, and, of
course, some of them are brave; but I doubt the courage of any man who
gets sick over the sight of a little good, red blood."

"Gentlemen," cried Hatch, in dismay, "I hope you are not going to----"

"Don't worry, Arthur," interrupted Frank. "It is plain that Mendoza and
I hold quite different views. It is the difference between two races.
There will be no further discussion."

Mendoza sprang up.

"You are right," he admitted; "it is the difference between my people
and your people. We do not understand each other. If I have been hasty
in anything, forget it. I presume Senor Merriwell is right--from his
standpoint. Let it pass."

Hatch was relieved.

"Let's go out for a little air," he suggested. "I wish to show Merriwell
round the place."

"A lovely place," nodded the Mexican lad. "The home of my good friend
Arthur Hat