had undergone a change; I was now quite willing that all honors of the afternoon should fall to Enrique.  The beaters approached without giving any warning that the bull had been sighted, and so great was the strain and tension that I could feel the beating of my horse’s heart beneath me.  The suspense was finally broken by one or two shots in rapid succession, and as the sound died away, the voice of Juan Leal rang out distinctly:  “Cuidado por el toro!” and the next moment there was a cracking of brush and a pale dun bull broke cover.

For a moment he halted on the border of the thicket:  then, as the din of the beaters increased, struck boldly across the prairie for the river.  Enrique and I were after him without loss of time.  Enrique made a successful cast for his horns, and reined in his horse; but when the slack of the rope was taken up the rear cinch broke, the saddle was jerked forward on the horse’s withers, and Enrique was compelled to free the rope or have his horse dragged down.  I saw the mishap, and, giving my horse the rowel, rode at the bull and threw my rope.  The loop neatly encircled his front feet, and when the shock came between horse and bull, it fetched the toro a somersault in the air, but unhappily took off the pommel of my saddle.  The bull was on his feet in a jiffy, and before I could recover my rope, Enrique, who had reset his saddle, passed me, followed by the entire squad.  Uncle Lance had been a witness to both mishaps, and on overtaking us urged me to tie on to the bull again.  For answer I could only point to my missing pommel; but every man in the squad had loosened his rope, and it looked as if they would all fasten on to the ladino, for they were all good ropers.  Man after man threw his loop on him; but the dun outlaw snapped the ropes as if they had been cotton strings, dragging down two horses with their riders and leaving them in the rear.  I rode up alongside Enrique and offered him my rope, but he refused it, knowing it would be useless to try again with only a single cinch on his saddle.  The young rascal had a daring idea in mind.  We were within a quarter mile of the river, and escape of the outlaw seemed probable, when Enrique rode down on the bull, took up his tail, and, wrapping the brush on the pommel of his saddle, turned his horse abruptly to the left, rolling the bull over like a hoop, and of course dismounting himself in the act.  Then before the dazed animal could rise, with the agility of a panther the vaquero sprang astride his loins, and as he floundered, others leaped from their horses.  Toro was pinioned, and dispatched with a shot.

Then we loosened cinches to allow our heaving horses to breathe, and threw ourselves on the ground for a moment’s rest.  “That’s the best kill we’ll make on this trip,” said Uncle Lance as we mounted, leaving two vaqueros to take the hide.  “I despise wild cattle, and I’ve been hungering to get a shot at that fellow for the last three years.  Enrique, the day the baby is born, I’ll buy it a new cradle, and Tom shall have a new saddle and we’ll charge it to Las Palomas—­she’s the girl that pays the bills.”