True. The bull, pausing where the last one had died, was smelling the wet sand and snorting. Again he ran around the ring, with raised head, looking at the faces of the thousands that hissed him, that threw orange-peel at him and called him names. But the smell of blood decided him, and he charged a capador, so without warning that the man just escaped. He dropped his cape and dodged into the shelter. The bull struck the wall of the ring with a crash. And John Harned said, in a quiet voice, as though he talked to himself: “I will give one thousand sucres to the lazar-house of Quito if a bull kills a man this day.” “You like bulls?” said Maria Valenzuela with a smile. “I like such men less,” said John Harned. “A toreador is not a brave man. He surely cannot be a brave man. See, the bull's tongue is already out. He is tired and he has not yet begun.” “It is the water,” said Luis Cervallos. “Yes, it is the water,” said John Harned. “Would it not be safer to hamstring the bull before he comes on?” Maria Valenzuela was made angry by this sneer in John Harned's words. But Luis Cervallos smiled so that only I could see him, and then it broke upon my mind surely the game he was playing. He and I were to be banderilleros. The big American bull was there in the box with us. We were to stick the darts in him till he became angry, and then there might be no marriage with Maria Valenzuela. It was a good sport. And the spirit of bull-fighters was in our blood. The bull was now angry and excited. The capadors had great game with him. He was very quick, and sometimes he turned with such sharpness that his hind legs lost their footing and he plowed the sand with his quarter. But he charged always the flung capes and committed no harm. “He has no chance,” said John Harned. “He is fighting wind.” “He thinks the cape is his enemy,” explained Maria Valenzuela. “See how cleverly the capador deceives him.” “It is his nature to be deceived,” said John Harned. “Wherefore he is doomed to fight wind. The toreadors know it, you know it, I know it--we all know from the first that he will fight wind. He only does not know it. It is his stupid beast-nature. He has no chance.” “It is very simple,” said Luis Cervallos. “The bull shuts his eyes when he charges. Therefore--” “The man steps, out of the way and the bull rushes by,” Harned interrupted. “Yes,” said Luis Cervallos; “that is it. The bull shuts his eyes, and the man knows it.” “But cows do not shut their eyes,” said John Harned. “I know a cow at home that is a Jersey and gives milk, that would whip the whole gang of them.” “But the toreadors do not fight cows,” said I. “They are afraid to fight cows,” said John Harned. “Yes,” said Luis Cervallos, “they are afraid to fight cows. There would be no sport in killing toreadors.”