And one after the other, five, ten, or a dozen paces away,
they waved a red cape in front of the bull, at which he glared and
lowered his head and charged; but always he charged in one way, head
down and eyes only for the red cape, and there was the way the man beat
the brute. The bull had his speed, strength, endurance, but nothing
else. Once he put his head down he had eyes only for the red cape, and
so long as the capeador handled his cape and himself with speed and
skill, and no accident happened, he might count on getting safe away.
"Cogan only tried to repeat in the ring this day what he had been doing
for weeks in practice. As the bull came charging, he used the cape to
lead him to one side, allowing just room enough for the horns to pass.
If he waited too long before he turned the bull, of course it would mean
trouble; but if he turned the bull too soon, it would be clumsy.
Whatever else he did the bull-fighter must not be clumsy. The first time
he tried it, Cogan didn't do a good job--the bull was faster than he
realized, and he had to run for one of the little places of refuge with
the bull after him. Then the crowd roared, or they yelled 'Malo, malo,'
which is the same as if a crowd of baseball fans yelled 'Rotten,
rotten!' Next time Cogan did better, and then it was 'Bueno, bueno!'
from everybody. Possibly the applause was all the louder because by this
time the rumor had spread that he was not only a new-comer, a stranger,
an American, but also a sailor, and these four thousand American sailors
were this day the guests of the nation.
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