A hundred paces to the side a herd of cattle, led by an immense bull, was charging in the foothills. The leader saw the horseman and made for him viciously. The Spaniard waved his reata and shouted, "Hoop-la! Hoop-la!" after the manner of the vaquero. The herd paused, snorted; then, with head and tail up, looked on while their protector fought the enemy. The bull lowered its head and rushed at him, roaring a tremendous bass defiance. The Spaniard swung his horse to one side, and the beast stumbled past him. Again and again was this repeated. Finally, the horse stepped into a hole and fell. The rider came to the ground on his feet, moved quickly aside, in time to avoid a furious rush from the tormentor. As the bull stopped in preparation for another attack Don Pedro sprang on its back. "I have for myself a merienda," he thought, grimly, remembering the day when he had ridden the bull at the Calaveras picnic ground. "Come, come, run to the corral, my lordly beast!" The animal ran around and around in a circle, roaring terrifically. "Carrajo! Carrajo! 'twill not do," called the rider. "I must make the corral. Go, now, you son of an imp! Run as I direct!" Climbing out well on the shoulders he managed to reach the beast's nose with his spur. First kicking it on one side of the muzzle, then on the other, he succeeded in getting it started toward the corral. "Grande! Grande!" he shouted. "You make not badly the mount. Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Pronto! Pronto!" The bull ran under some trees, endeavoring to free itself from the incumbrance. Zelaya drew himself up into the branches. "It is again the merienda, as I have said. Now, farewell, toro mio, I go to the corral and stables for a mount superior even to you." The bull hurried back to his bellowing herd, and soon together they were tearing onward to the hills, to fight the myriad homecomers. "A thousand and one devils! A thousand and one devils!" exclaimed Zelaya a few moments later. The corrals and stables were empty. The peon cots were vacant. Evidently, Mendoza had sent all available horses and men to the San Joaquin to bring home his grazing stock. The little man did not hesitate. Off came his embroidered jacket, his outer, as well as his inner, shirt, then his long riding boots. He tossed his sombrero, heavy with gold, to one side. "Behold! 'twould not be so bad, if I only had my running shoes." The morning sun fell on his muscular torso, the runner's flat abdomen and well-sinewed limbs discernible through the knee-pants and leggings. For an instant he pulled his short mustachios savagely. "I may meet more bulls and their families, and I have now no spurs," glancing at his discarded boots. "Well, if a bull chases me toward Mission San José I shall reach my goal all the quicker."