Standing still now and spreading the red cloth of the muleta with the sword, pricking the point into the cloth so that the sword, now held in his left hand, spread the red flannel like the jib of a boat, Manuel noticed the points of the bull’s horns. One of them was splintered from banging against the barrera. The other was sharp as a porcupine quill. Manuel noticed while spreading the muleta that the white base of the horn was stained red. While he noticed these things he did not lose sight of the bull’s feet. The bull watched Manuel steadily. He’s on the defensive now, Manuel thought. He’s reserving himself. I’ve got to bring him out of that and get his head down. Always get his head down. Zurito had his head down once, but he’s come back. He’ll bleed when I start him going and that will bring it down. Holding the muleta, with the sword in his left hand widening it in front of him, he called to the bull. The bull looked at him. He leaned back insultingly and shook the wide-spread flannel. The bull saw the muleta. It was a bright scarlet under the arc-light. The bull’s legs tightened. Here he comes. Whoosh! Manuel turned as the bull came and raised the muleta so that it passed over the bull’s horns and swept down his broad back from head to tail. The bull had gone clean up in the air with the charge. Manuel had not moved. At the end of the pass the bull turned like a cat coming around a corner and faced Manuel. He was on the offensive again. His heaviness was gone. Manuel noted the fresh blood shining down the black shoulder and dripping down the bull’s leg. He drew the sword out of the muleta and held it in his right hand. The muleta held low down in his left hand, leaning toward the left, he called to the bull. The bull’s legs tightened, his eyes on the muleta. Here he comes, Manuel thought. Yuh! He swung with the charge, sweeping the muleta ahead of the bull, his feet firm, the sword following the curve, a point of light under the arcs. The bull recharged as the pase natural finished and Manuel raised the muleta for a pase de pecho. Firmly planted, the bull came by his chest under the raised muleta. Manuel leaned his head back to avoid the clattering banderillo shafts. The hot, black bull body touched his chest as it passed. Too damn close, Manuel thought. Zurito, leaning on the barrera, spoke rapidly to the gypsy, who trotted out toward Manuel with a cape. Zurito pulled his hat down low and looked out across the arena at Manuel. Manuel was facing the bull again, the muleta held low and to the left. The bull’s head was down as he watched the muleta. “If it was Belmonte doing that stuff, they’d go crazy,” Retana’s man said. Zurito said nothing. He was watching Manuel out in the centre of the arena. “Where did the boss dig this fellow up?” Retana’s man asked. “Out of the hospital,” Zurito said. “That’s where he’s going damn quick,” Retana’s man said. Zurito turned on him. “Knock on that,” he said, pointing to the barrera.