and the espada, the short sword,
with which he was to give the bull the finishing stroke.

"Now, to Cogan's way of thinking, Ferrero and the other banderilleros
took a chance when they placed their beribboned stakes, but they had the
length of their stakes the start of the bull, and they did not have to
linger over doing it. A light touch, the stakes were in, and they were
off. But to drive a knife through twelve or fourteen inches of bull
gristle! Cogan pictured himself walking into a butcher's shop, picking
out twelve or fourteen inches of tough gristle and driving a knife
through it. He could do it, of course he could, or any man, but he would
have to brace legs and back to get enough power in the stroke. But to
stop to brace for that stroke and a rampant seventeen-hundred-pound bull
piling down on top of you, and to pick out a spot on his neck no bigger
than a fifty-cent piece! And if you missed your spot! Or were a little
bit slow! Even in being too soon there was danger, if you could imagine
a man being too quick.

"That was how Cogan looked at it, and he felt himself worrying for
Torellas. He looked toward the Rocas. The mother and Guavera were no
longer talking, and Valera was again drawn back between them, but her
father was leaning well forward with eyes fixed on Torellas.

"There was great shouting when Torellas faced the bull--and then a great
silence. Torellas moved his cape-draped forearm--up, down, coaxingly.
The bull headed for him. Torellas stepped aside. The bull passed on and
wheeled. Torellas took half a dozen dancing steps. The bull followed.
Torellas waved his arm, the bull charged. Torellas leaped easily to one
side. The bull passed on. More light play, a charge, another charge, yet
another, all beautiful athletic play, and Torellas had worked his way
across the ring to near the place of refuge where Cogan and Ferrero
were. This also brought the bull under the seats of the Rocas. Cogan,
studying the matador's face, had a feeling that he had drawn the bull
there purposely. It was as if he had said to her up there on the seats:
'Here--here is the product of my highest skill. To do this well I have
dedicated my abounding youth. I offer them a sacrifice to you.' So Cogan
viewed it. Cogan, to be sure, had a sympathy for Torellas, had liked him
from the first. Torellas--he was one who adventured to give the spirit
play as now; and Cogan would have liked just then to be in the shoes of
Torellas.

"Th