Several games were yet carried on upon the plain, but they were without general interest. The splendid feat of the cibolero had eclipsed all lesser exhibitions for the time; besides, a number of the head men were out of humour. Vizcarra was sad, and Roblado savage--jealous of Catalina. The alcalde and his assistant were in a vexed state, as both had bet heavy sums on the red cock. Both the padres had lost at _monte_, and they were no longer in a Christian spirit. The cura alone was in good spirits, and ready to back the "pardo" for another main. The concluding game was at length heralded. It was to be the "_Correr el gallo_" (running the cock). As this is rather an exciting sport, the "_monte_" tables and other minor amusements were once more put aside; and all prepared to watch "el gallo." "Running the cock" is a New Mexican game in all its characteristics. It is easily described. Thus: A cock is suspended by the limbs to a horizontal branch, at just such a height that a mounted man may lay hold of his head and neck hanging downward. The bird is fastened in such a manner that a smart pluck will detach him from the tree; while, to render this the more difficult, both head and neck are well covered with soap. The horseman must be in full gallop while passing under the branch; and he who succeeds in plucking down the cock is pursued by all the others, who endeavour to rob him of the prize. He has a fixed point to run round, and his goal is the tree from which he started. Sometimes he is over, taken before reaching this, the cock snatched from him,--or, as not infrequently happens, torn to pieces in the contest. Should he succeed in getting back--still retaining the bird entire--he is then declared victor. The scene ends by his laying his prize at the feet of his mistress; and she--usually some pretty poblana--appears that same evening at the fandango with the feathered trophy under her arm--thus signifying her appreciation of the compliment paid her, as well as giving to the _fandangueros_ ocular proof of the fact that some skilful horseman is her admirer. It is a cruel sport, for it must be remembered that the poor cock who undergoes all this plucking and mangling is a _living bird_! It is doubtful whether a thought of the _cruelty_ ever entered the mind of a New Mexican. If so, it must have been a New Mexican _woman_; for the humanity of these is in an inverse ratio to that of their lords. For the women it may be urged that the sport is a custom of the country; and what country is without its cruel sports? Is it rational or consistent to weep over the sufferings of Chanticleer, while we ride gaily upon the heels of poor broken Reynard?