A murmur of applause had greeted the entrance of the bull, and truly he was a magnificent creature, deep chested and of the true checkered marking in black and white. The customary baiting had been omitted, for the ugliness of his temper needed no external stimulus, and the young men were already in the ring when he appeared. The preliminary encounter was a mortifying experience for the sextet of overconfident youth. One by one they launched their weapons and either missed outright or else scored but lightly; successively they had been forced to retreat beyond the barrier by the animal, whose agility in getting around the ring was marvellous. Unfortunately for the contestants, all the knives had fallen on virtually the same spot, and the bull proceeded to mount guard over them as though aware that their possession was the guarantee of his own immunity. The game was now indefinitely blocked, since it was certain death for a player to attempt the recovery of his throwing-knife, and the rules did not permit the substitution of fresh weapons. The crowd laughed ironically as the situation dawned upon them, and the discomfited players were compelled to submit to many a gibe. The bull remained master of the field, and the spectators, grown tired of waiting, began to express their disapproval audibly. Piers Major pushed his way to Constans's side. "A chance for you and your fire-stick," he whispered. "I have been talking to Red Oxenford and the others about it, and they are curious to see for themselves. Think you that you can drop that fellow where he stands?" and he nodded at the bull, who still kept watch over his spoils. "Yes," answered Constans, confidently. Here was the supreme moment at last arrived; the very thought of failure was impossible; he must and would succeed in the task imposed. Obeying the beckoning finger of his host, Constans advanced to the edge of the platform overhanging the enclosure. An excited murmur rose from the crowd below, and even the dignitaries upon the gallery jostled one another to obtain a favorable vantage-point. Alexa stood immediately behind Constans, her eyes bright with excitement, and her slim hand hidden in her father's huge fist. Without attempting to take aim, Constans raised the revolver and fired. The bullet struck the ground in front of the bull and threw up a spiteful puff of dust, at which the animal pawed disdainfully. But if the shot had missed its mark, the report of the explosion did full execution among the spectators. The women shrieked, and the men nearest the enclosure pushed back hastily among the crowd. For a moment a panic was imminent, but Constans quieted it with a word. "It is only the bark of the dog," he said, smilingly, and his hearers somewhat shamefacedly resumed their places, but this time leaving a dear space in which he might stand and handle his weapon.