González laughed and the sound of it filled the room, the house. He kicked a booted foot high in the air, pretending to dance. “My herdsmen would laugh to hear you call it so. Every day they ride with the bulls and return safely at night.” He reached for her but she flung his hand away.
“Is it not different,” she asked softly, “that you are alone with a raging, fighting bull in a small cage?”
“I have my horse and lance,” he answered, smiling.
She turned to him, her eyes wet with tears. “You are afraid and yet you go,” she said simply.
He shrugged his big shoulders. “Perhaps a little afraid, María, but it will pass quickly. In the ring there is no time for fear.” His voice was as soft as hers. “I see I cannot even pretend to be a hero to you, ever.”
“You risk your life for nothing.”
His arms swept gently around her. “It is not for nothing, María. I wish you would come just once to see how beautiful it is. Please come.”
She shook her head. “You cannot always win. The bull must have his day, too.” She burst out crying and his big arms pressed her close.
“Now, now, María,” he said. But she turned tearfully from him and went toward a large crucifix on the far wall. There she knelt before it.
For a moment González watched her, then he turned to Alec and Henry and smiled. “Come, the longer we make the bull wait the angrier he becomes.”
Henry couldn’t help saying, “Perhaps you’re looking forward to all this but what about your horse? How do you think he feels?”
The big man smiled at Henry’s obvious sarcasm. “Come,” he said, “I’ll be glad to show you.”
Alec stared at the man’s back. At the other end of the room María would remain at the foot of the crucifix until González returned safely from the ring. Alec looked at her and then followed the two men out the door.
BLACK DANCE
6
As they left the house Henry asked González, “Is the object of this to kill the bull before he kills you?”
“No one gets killed, Henry,” the big man answered patiently. “Not the bull or my horse or I.” He shoved his round hat far back on his head, straining the red chin strap which cleaved deeply into his chin. “You must think of this as Art and not Sport. The beauty of it lies in the skill and agility with which my horse avoids the bull’s charge. I use my lance only when necessary as is done in the fields.”
“And your horse enjoys this?” Henry snorted.
The smile on González’ face disappeared. “You do not believe me?” he asked coldly. “As a trainer don’t you know it’s impossible to train a horse to love cruelty? You will see for yourself how willingly El Dorado faces the bull. He has no fear, having spent most of his life within the shadow of the herd. It is his life just as your horse has been trained to race.” He turned from Henry saying, “But you will see all this for yourself. There is no need to discuss it any further.”
The sky had clouded and a fresh wind rippled the grass between the house and stableyard. From the private ring came the mutterings of the penned bulls. González cocked his head and eyes in its direction and then glanced skyward—nervously, Alec thought.
The boy’s attention quickly left González, however, for silhouetted against the whitewashed wall of the bull ring was El Dorado! A herdsman stood at the head of the black horse holding a long wooden lance over his shoulder.
Henry had seen the horse too for he glanced at Alec and each knew what the other was thinking. They were several hundred yards from El Dorado and closing the gap quickly. There was no question in their minds that this was not the sire of the yearlings they had seen in America. They would have staked their professional careers upon it.
“Is that El Dorado?” Henry asked suspiciously.
“Of course. There is no other like him in Spain. He is all horse.”
They neared the stallion. There was no doubt that his midnight-black body carried a strain of Arabian blood from the highlands of Central Nejd. Alec and Henry had seen enough such horses in Arabia to know. And they knew he would have the courage to stand his ground before lions and tigers as well as bulls. But El Dorado was no race horse and could have sired none! His quarters were too huge and his hocks too let down and too far under him. They could picture him crouching upon his heavy muscled hindquarters, ready to leap into the air upon an unsuspecting enemy or performing some intricate movement of a finished dressage horse. They knew he could turn on a dime with the agility and grace of a fine dancer, that every movement would be as quick and sure and wily as a jungle cat’s. He had been bred to accomplish such feats and he would have stamped his colts as his in one way or another regardless of what mares he was bred to. But to be asked to believe that he could have sired race horses such as the yearlings they had seen was ridiculous! Why was González lying? And if El Dorado hadn’t sired the Sales yearlings, what stallion had?
Neither Alec nor Henry asked these questions of the big man. They knew they wouldn’t get the truth. They stopped before El Dorado, noting the Arabian head with the enormous purple-brown eyes. His neck was short and bulging with muscle. Quality and courage stood out all over him.
González placed a hand on the heavily muscled hindquarters. “See how eager he is to go, my friends! It is more than a week since he has worked the bulls, and he knows what is at hand.” The man’s face flushed with the pride he felt in the horse who danced so lightly beneath his hand. Then he mounted.
Alec and Henry stepped back, watching González take the long lance and sling it gracefully over his right shoulder. They could think only of a knight going off in search of a dragon or a Roman gladiator about to enter the Circus Maximus to amuse Julius Caesar.
The big man sat with easy grace in the deep herder’s saddle that was strapped snugly over a red-and-yellow blanket. The line made by his back and shoulders reminded Alec of pictures he had seen of centaurs. González oozed confidence, leaving no doubt that he would be bold and persistent in attack.
He burst out laughing at the sight of their sober faces and pushed his round hat forward to a jaunty angle. “You look so worried, my friends,” he said, shifting the lance beneath his right arm and letting the blunt end extend several feet in front of El Dorado. “Let me cheer you up!” His heavy stockinged legs bulged beneath the leather of his zahones as he sent his mount forward and rode into the ring.
Alec wondered how a person so big could sit so lightly in the saddle. He waited for González to give the signal for the toril door to be opened. The big man reached inside his shirt pocket for another cigarette, delaying the moment of decision.
“Do you think he’s afraid?” Henry asked.
“No. It would be the end of him if he was,” Alec answered.
“Then what’s he waiting for?”
“The right moment, I guess. See how he’s talking to that black stud with his legs, Henry? He has him right up to the bridle, to the tips of his fingers. You’ve never seen a horse collected like that!”
“No, I haven’t,” Henry admitted. “It’s not my business to—any more than it is to see a rider sit like he does. It’s as if he had an iron rod sewn up the back of his jacket.”
They could hear horns scraping now, rattling the wood behind the closed red door. Any second now the bull would come out into this cloudy, overcast day searching for his herd and finding instead a mounted herdsman. They were glad they stood behind the barrera, a wooden fence that encircled the ring. They could just see over it.
El Dorado was the picture of restrained energy. He was ready to go, and impatient that the command hadn’t come. He began dancing in place, his knees coming up high while his hind legs remained still. He snorted constantly.
Alec thought, “The final moments are always the longest and hardest.” He felt that his own mouth must be as dry as González’ and he wished that he had some water to rinse it out. He smelled the horse manure in the sand and the tobacco smoke from the burning cigarette which González
had cast near him. He could smell the bull, too. Wrapping his fingers about the top of the barrera, he waited.
The red door swung open and a big black bull rushed into the arena, coming to a stop in the center of the ring. He did not bellow or paw the dust. Slowly he looked around, his great neck muscle swelling and bulging. It was as if he had all the contempt in the world for those who would try his patience by keeping him confined.
Alec took his eyes off the bull to glance at González. The man had not moved a muscle. Was he pondering the wide horn-spread of this bull? The quietness of the ring was filled with peril.
Suddenly the bull bellowed and pawed the sand, flaying it in the air. He turned his wide horns toward the man and horse. Again he became still; then without a snort, gasp or warning of any kind he swept into action. He raced across the sand, his wide, branching horns reaching for their target. When they found nothing he skidded to a stop, his horns crashing into the wooden barrera. He turned away from the fence, surprised and baffled. Once more he lowered his head and followed the twisting run of the horse.
González had his long herder’s lance under his right arm and was ready to use it if necessary. So far the bull hadn’t come close enough. He touched El Dorado with his legs and the horse moved forward, his bright eyes upon the black bull who was attacking again.
González touched rein and El Dorado went into a long, loping run, leading the bull to the left. The big man sat very still in his saddle, judging the distance between his horse and the bull and bracing himself in his right stirrup. To avoid the bull’s charge by a touch of rein and leg was an art, while resorting to a lance was the work of a herdsman.
He brought El Dorado to a dead stop as the bull lowered his head and charged straight at him. The black horse pivoted swiftly on rigid hind legs as the bull passed a few inches away from him. Riding to the middle of the ring, González stopped El Dorado directly in the heart of the enemy’s stronghold. Now more than ever his horse must be alert, for the bull was tricky and had plenty of room in which to maneuver.
The big man’s heart pounded a little faster. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come to the middle of the ring so soon, he thought. But before he had time to change his mind the black bull charged again. El Dorado jumped as the ivory-smooth horns reached for his underbelly. González used his lance, toppling over the bull.
The big man rode El Dorado to the barrera, breathing hard. He was angry, not with the bull or his horse, but with himself. He’d been caught unprepared. He had had to use the pole like a common herder to protect himself and his horse. He must do better!
He took a long, deep breath as the bull charged again. This was a master bull, a toro de bandera, one of the best he’d ever raised! Eagerly González swung his horse around, leading the bull in a crazy, twisting run that brought the beast closer and closer to rider and horse. As the bull tired, González let him come only a hair’s-breadth away before avoiding his charge.
Satisfied as he now was with his work, González had another worry on his mind—the weather. He glanced nervously up at the sky, which was still overcast and held the promise of rain. It was not a good omen. Neither was the wind, which began whipping the Spanish flag on the pole at the northern end of the ring. Even as these thoughts ran through his mind several drops of rain struck his hands and trickled off. The wind ruffled the sand around his mount’s hoofs. Soon the footing would be wet and slippery. He’d better not work as close to the bull as before. He called to the bull across the ring, “Whuh-hey! Whuh-hey!”
Yet despite his shrill challenge, the big man nervously unbuttoned the top button of his jacket to touch the gold chain and cross about his neck. He pulled down his old leather hat with the red chin strap as the drops turned into a thinly driving sheet of rain. Then, tightening his legs about El Dorado, he rode forward to meet the bull.
BLACK SAND
7
Behind the barrera Alec’s gaze shifted uneasily from the man and horse to the leaden sky and then back to the bull. The spectacle in the ring was unlike anything he’d ever seen before and he wished that it were over. The rain should have put an end to it, but how could such an encounter be called off? Who was to tell the bull that it was over?
Alec watched the beast standing in the center of the ring. He was breathing hard but he held his head high and his small eyes never left the man and horse. His lust to kill seemed greater than ever.
Alec was glad of the strong wooden barrera that shielded him from the bull. How must González feel? He’d seen the big man glance nervously at the sky and touch the gold cross before riding forward. Was González becoming less confident as the bull became wiser in his ways of attack? If so, couldn’t he have the toril door opened so the bull might leave the ring?
The horse moved toward the bull, his hoofbeats steady and confident. At a touch of rein and leg he jumped nimbly away when the bull charged, turning with the bull as the black beast slid and twisted past him in the sand. Then he kept close to the bull, avoiding the horns by sidestepping and allowing his opponent no distance to charge. Finally he swept around the bull and crossed the arena.
The bull wheeled around after the horse but didn’t follow him. Instead, he stood quietly in the center of the ring for several minutes. Then he came on again, his head low and driving. But before his horns could scoop the horse into the air El Dorado was gone.
The thin rain had turned into a downpour. Once more the bull stood his ground quietly, watching horse and rider with his tail swaying back and forth. When he finally swept into action, he did not charge in a straight line as before. Instead he moved to the left with the horse, the curve of his horns swinging up in a semicircle and missing El Dorado’s hindquarters by inches. He was learning to fight in the ring, to go with his target rather than to lower his head and charge blindly by instinct.
Alec glanced at González and saw immediately that the big man was visibly shaken by his narrow escape. Alec himself was sickened by the whole business. The duel had become almost too terrible to watch and he wanted to leave but these final desperate minutes held a compulsion for him that he couldn’t shake off. He felt nothing but pity for the man in the ring. González needed help. Was that why he was staying? Alec asked himself. To lend a hand if something happened? He stole a quick look at Henry, whose face was ashen. It told more plainly than words how he too felt about the drama that was being enacted.
Rain splattered from González’ hat as he looked down at the sand. There was no point in going on, the big man decided. The bull had learned too fast and too well, and El Dorado was slipping. He glanced past the bull to the red toril door, signaling to have it opened.
The herdsman above the door shouted, “Whuh-hey, Toro! Whuh-hey!”
But the bull did not turn toward the herdsman or the open door. His eyes remained on the horse and rider. After a few seconds he charged again.
González scowled with the coming of the bull and touched his horse nervously. He watched the bull turn with El Dorado and lower his head. Bracing himself in his right stirrup, González took aim with his lance and struck hard at the bull, but he jabbed too soon. The blunt end of the pole struck the bull high on the withers and slid off without stopping him. El Dorado reared just in time to avoid the horns that swept beneath his forelegs. Hooking suddenly to the right with his head held high, the bull whipped the pole out of González’ hand. It fell to the sand as the horse whirled away and the bull turned, renewing the attack.
As González twisted in his saddle his hat flew off and landed in the wet sand. He rode across the ring as if to use the open door himself, but the bull quickly blocked his way. Breathing hard, González brought El Dorado to a stop, his eyes upon the bull—and they were suddenly filled with fear.
Whatever emotion or impulse had driven the big man to fight brave bulls had run dry, and his fear was quickly transferred to his mount. Where only minutes before strength had flowed between horse and rider nothing was left now but sheer terror. Both sought escape from the
ring and the bull.
González rode cautiously along the barrera trying to go around the bull. His seat and hands were those of a careless rider wanting to bend close to the neck of his horse and run away.
Across the ring the black bull bided his time as if he knew he was in complete control. His eyes were afire, brightening more and more as the annoying calls of the herdsman above the open door rang in his small ears. Finally he lowered his wide horns and charged the horse.
An icy terror froze Alec as he watched the bull sweep through pools of rain water. Thunder rolled from the clouds, drowning out the beat of his hoofs. It was the forked lightning streaking the sky that shattered Alec’s immobility. The boy’s hands moved across the top of the barrera. He saw González make a desperate effort to avoid the circle of horns and El Dorado rearing and coming down close to the barrera. The bull slipped in his eagerness to reach the horse and fell to both knees. El Dorado stumbled against him and almost went down. The force of the impact sent González forward in his saddle; frantically the man sought something to hold on to but found himself clutching at the air. As Alec pulled himself over the barrera González was thrown upon the black haunches of the bull and then slid to the ring.
While Henry screamed at him, Alec took several running strides across the wet arena. He picked up the large round hat and thrust it in the bull’s face, shouting at González to jump the fence.
As the bull struggled to his feet in the mud and slime, he butted the leather hat, almost tearing it from Alec’s grasp. By this time El Dorado had already swept through the open toril door and González was waiting for Alec before climbing the barrera.
Just then the sharp horns pierced the hat and tossed it up in the air. It landed between the bull’s black forehoofs. Luckily the bull went for the hat again rather than for the boy. While Alec rushed to the fence the bull lowered his head and slashed at the hat until it lay in shreds.
The Black Stallion Mystery Page 5
