The rider, expecting the attack, was prepared for it, and leaped with great agility from the saddle just as the two animals came in contact. There was very little left of the horse. There was not much of him when he was dragged into the ring, but the long horns of the bull penetrated his bowels and tore them out. The bull jams the horse against the planks, two, three, four times, and then withdraws. The horse lies a bleeding, disembowelled mass, and the crowd cheers the dreadful spectacle. The bull having given up all idea of escape, plunges at everything he sees, and the second horse is ridden up before him. No attempt is made to get the animal out of the way. He was brought there to be slaughtered, and took his turn. Both horses having been disposed of, and the bull being completely exhausted, the bugle gives the signal, the matadors enter the arena, and tease him with their scarlet cloaks. At frequent intervals around the ring are placed heavy planks, behind which the matadors run for protection when they were pursued. The bull had no chance at all; he was there simply to be teased and killed by slow degrees. One matador more agile than the rest baits the animal with his lance, and when the bull turns upon him, vaults over the down-turned horns by resting his lance upon the ground. Then they bring out the ornamented darts, and thrust them into the bull’s hide. The animal jumps and plunges with pain, and tries to shake them off, but the barbs cling to the hide, and the more he struggles the farther they penetrate the flesh. His shoulders are covered with them, and the crimson blood trickles down his sides. He stands panting with distress, his tongue hanging out, and is thoroughly exhausted. [Illustration: MEXICAN BEGGAR.] The Governor’s trumpet sounds the bull’s death-warrant. It means that the cruel sport has lasted long enough, and the chief matador comes forward with a red blanket and a sword. He approaches the bull, and flaps the blanket in his eyes; the animal plunges at him, and with great dexterity the matador whirls and thrusts the sword into the animal’s heart. The bull plunges with pain, and throws the sword out of his body into the air. He staggers and falls upon the ground, the chief matador runs up, pierces his brain with a poniard, and the mules are brought in to drag the dead animals out. The band plays, the crowd cheers, and the first act is over. The matadors bow to the Governor, bow to the crowd, and rest, while a clown dances in the ring to amuse the people in the interim. Pretty soon the trumpet blows again, two more old crow-baits are ridden in, and another bull is brought from the corral. The same scenes recur; the horses are always killed, but the men are seldom injured. Four bulls are usually disposed of each Sunday afternoon before the appetite for blood is satiated.