His silk coat and breeches are sky blue; his hair is tied in a net, in his left hand he carries a small scarlet cloak, and in his right a diamond-shaped blade of sharp Toledo steel, four feet in length. It is necessary to drive this into the neck of the bull at a very definite point, for if it hits him elsewhere he can shake it off and break it into splinters. In order to hit the right spot the man must let the bull pass him at a distance of only two or at best three inches. Everything is based on the assumption that the bull will attack the red cloth rather than the man, and will continue his course in an absolutely straight line. There are exceptions, and then the matador is lost.
Very deliberately the caballero walked up to his black antagonist and shook his red cloth at him. Twice he let him pass under his arm. At the third attempt he thrust his blade up to the hilt into the neck of the beast. For another minute perhaps the bull rages, then he begins to bleed from his mouth, he totters and then collapses. Immediately a kind of hangman's assistant sneaks up from behind and plunges a dagger into the neck of the bull, who expires on the spot.
At this juncture five mules decorated with ribbons and tinkling bells came trotting into the arena; they were hitched up to the horses and then to the bull, and at a fast clip carried the corpses away. Some sand was then sprinkled on the puddles of blood, and a new bull brought out. In this way eight bulls were driven to death. Twenty horses fell dead, while several more were led away mortally wounded. A single bull killed eight horses. No men were seriously hurt.
The horses, it is true, are of such a quality that, if they are not killed today, they will be taken to the horse-butcher tomorrow. Good horses would not only be too expensive, but they would also refuse to await the attack of the bull without shying or offering resistance, even if their right eyes were bandaged. The more horses the bull has killed and the more dangerous to the men he has become, the
