The White Chief | Page 7

cibolero!" cried a voice, loud enough to satisfy all at once.
Some evidently knew who "Carlos the cibolero" was, though by far the

greater number on the ground did not. Of the former, one was heard
inquiring--
"Why hasn't he come up before?--He could have done so if he had
wished."
"Carrambo! yes," added another. "He might have done so. He only
hung back to give the others a trial. He knew none of them could throw
that bull. Mira!"
The speaker's conjecture was, no doubt, correct.
It was plain, at first sight, that this rider could easily overtake the bull.
His horse was still in a gentle gallop, and, though his ears were set and
his red nostrils staring open, it was only through the excitement of the
chase, and chafing at being hitherto checked. The bridle-rein was, in
fact, still tightly drawn.
As the speaker uttered the cautionary phrase "Mira!" a change was
suddenly observed in the manner of the horseman. He was about
twenty paces from the chase and directly in the rear. All at once his
horse sprang forward at double his former speed, and in a few stretches
laid himself alongside the bull. The rider was observed to grasp the
long outstretched tail, and then lean forward and downward. The next
moment he raised himself with a sudden jerk, and the huge horned
creature turned sprawling upon his back. The whole thing seemed to
cost him no more effort than if the bull had been a tom-cat. Loud
"vivas!" broke from the spectators, and the victorious horseman rode
back in front of the stand, modestly bowed his thanks, and then retired
into the depth of the crowd.
There were not wanting those who fancied that in bowing the eyes of
the cibolero were directed on the fair Catalina de Cruces; and some
went so far as to assert that she smiled and looked content; but that
could not be. The heiress of the rich Don Ambrosio smile to a
compliment from a cibolero!
There was one, however, who did smile. That was a fair-haired,

fair-skinned girl, who stood upon one of the carretas, by the side of
which the victor had placed himself. Side by side those two faces
seemed one. They were of one blood,--one colour,--one race: were they
not brother and sister? Yes,--the fair girl was the sister of the cibolero.
She was smiling from happiness at the thought of her brother's triumph.
A strange-looking woman was seated in the bottom of the carreta--an
old woman, with long flowing hair, white as flax. She was silent, but
her sharp eyes were bent upon the cibolero with a triumphant
expression. Some regarded her with curiosity, but most with fear, akin
to awe. These knew something of her, and whispered strange tales to
one another.
"Esta una bruxa!--una hechicera!" (She is a witch! a charmer!) said
they.
This they muttered in low tones lest they might be heard by Carlos or
the girl. She was their mother!
CHAPTER FOUR.
The sports continue. The bull thrown by the cibolero, now cowed,
walks moodily across the plain. He would not serve for a second run,
so he is lazoed and led off,--to be delivered to the victor as his prize.
A second is brought forth and started, with a fresh dozen of horsemen
at his heels.
These seem to be better matched, or rather the bull has not run off so
well, as all overtake him at once, riding past him in their headlong
speed. Most unexpectedly the animal turns in his tracks, and runs back,
heading directly for the stand!
Loud screams are heard from the poblanas in the carretas--from the
senoras and senoritas. No wonder. In ten seconds the enraged brute will
be in their midst!
The pursuing horsemen are still far behind him. The sudden turning in

their headlong race threw them out of distance. Even the foremost of
them cannot come up in time.
The other horsemen are all dismounted. No man on foot will dare to
check the onward rush of a goaded bull!
Confusion and loud shouting among the men, terror and screaming
among the women, are the characteristics of the scene. Lives will be
lost-- perhaps many. None know but that they themselves may be the
victims!
The strings of carretas filled with their terrified occupants flank the
stand on each side; but, running farther out into the plain, form with it a
sort of semicircle. The bull enters this semicircle, and guided by the
carretas rushes down, heading directly for the benches, as though
determined to break through in that direction. The ladies have risen to
their feet, and, half-frantic, seem as though they would leap down upon
the very horns of the monster they dread! It is a fearful crisis for