Truly, that
did not look as if the senorita had prayed for Jose! The Senor Allen had
kept the rose. Look you! It was a token, and he would doubtless wear it
upon his breast in the fight, where he hoped later to wear the medalla
oro--but where the hands would be folded instead while the padres said
mass for him; if indeed mass could be said over a dead gringo! There was
laughter to follow that conceit. And so they talked, and made the
tedious time of waiting seem shorter than it was.
Late comers looked for seats, found none, and were forced to content
themselves with such perches as neighboring trees and the roofs of the
outbuildings might afford. Peons who had early scrambled to the insecure
vantage-point of the nearest stable roof, were hustled off to make room
for a group of Salinas caballeros who arrived late. This was merely the
bull-fighting coming now; but bull-fighting never palls, even though
bigger things are yet in store. For there is always the chance that a
horse may be gored to death--even that a man may die horribly. Such
things have been and may be again; so the tardy ones climbed and
scurried and attained breathlessness and a final resting-place together.
Came a season of frenzied yelling, breathless moments of suspense, and
stamping that threatened disaster to the seats. Two bulls in succession
had been let into the corral, bellowed under the shower of be-ribboned
barbs and went down, fighting valiantly to the last.
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