THE UNDEFEATED
“I got him that time,” Zurito said. “Look at him now.”
At the conclusion of a closely turned pass of the cape the bull slid to his knees. He was up at once, but far out across the sand Manuel and Zurito saw the shine of the pumping flow of blood, smooth against the black of the bull’s shoulder.
“I got him that time,” Zurito said.
“He’s a good bull,” Manuel said.
“If they gave me another shot at him, I’d kill him,” Zurito said.
“They’ll change the thirds on us,” Manuel said.
“Look at him now,” Zurito said.
“I got to go over there,” Manuel said, and started on a run for the other side of the ring, where the monos were leading a horse out by the bridle toward the bull, whacking him on the legs with rods and all, in a procession, trying to get him toward the bull, who stood, dropping his head, pawing, unable to make up his mind to charge.
Zurito, sitting his horse, walking him toward the scene, not missing any detail, scowled.
Finally the bull charged, the horse leaders
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