hide
inflamed, rushed at the bear, furious from captivity, with such a roar
that the Indian women screamed and even the men shuffled their feet
uneasily. But neither combatant was interested in aught but the other.
The one sought to gore, his enemy to strike or hug. The vaqueros
teased them with arrows and cries, the dust flew; for a few moments
there was but a heaving, panting, lashing bulk in the middle of the
arena, and then the bull, his tongue torn out, rolled on his back, and
another was driven in before the victor could wreak his unsated
vengeance among the spectators. The bear, dragging the dead bull,
rushed at the living, who, unmartial at first, stiffened to the
defensive as he saw a bulk of wiry fur set with eyes of fire, almost
upon him. He sprang aside, lowered his horn and caught the bear in the
chest. But the victor was a compact mass of battle and momentum. His
onslaught flung the bear over backward, and quickly disengaging himself
he made another leap at his equally agile enemy. This time the battle
was longer and more various, for the bull was smaller, more active and
dexterous. Twice he almost had the bear on his horns, but was rolled,
only saving his neck and back from the fury of the mountain beast by
such kicking and leaping that both combatants were indistinguishable
from the whirlwind of dust. Out of this they would emerge to stand
panting in front of each other with tongues pendant and red eyes
rolling. Finally the bear, nearly exhausted, made a sudden charge, the
bull leaped aside, backed again with incredible swiftness, caught the
bear in the belly, tossed him so high that he met the hard earth with a
loud cracking of bone. The vaqueros circled about the maddened bull,
set his hide thick with arrows, tripped him with the lasso. A wiry
little Mexican in yellow, galloping in on his mustang, administered the
coup de grace amidst the wild applause of the spectators, whose
shouting and clapping and stamping might have been heard by the envious
guard at the Presidio and Yerba Buena.

As the party on the corridor broke, Rezanov found no difficulty in
reaching Concha's side, for even Dona Ignacia was chattering wildly
with several other good dames who renewed their youth briefly at the
bull-fight.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked curiously.

"I did not look at it. I never do. But I know that you were not
affronted. You never took your eyes from those dreadful beasts."

"I am exhilar