'It is most simple,' explained Ferrero, as he left Cogan to do his
part--'only--surely--we must not make mistake.' And Cogan could not help
thinking that bull-fighting was like a thousand other games, a man
mustn't make mistakes.
"Ferrero, who was rated the best banderillero in Peru, first faced the
bull. He held his stakes up near the end furthest from the bull, to get
as much distance at the start as possible, though it wasn't that alone
which saved him from the bull's rush. That helped, but the bull stopping
up short when he felt the spikes going into his neck, was what Ferrero
reckoned on, when it wasn't done too late. An instant after the stakes
were planted in his neck, the bull continued his charge, but by then
Ferrero was out of the way.
"Cogan, watching Ferrero and his companions from his retreat, began to
get the bull-fighting fever. He thought he would like to try the
banderillero's game--that is, after he'd had a few weeks' training at
it. These were fine athletes--and something more. They were risking
their lives every minute.
"They leaped like panthers. The jabbing in of the stakes and the
wiggling aside to escape the bull's plunge, it was like one movement.
Soon the bull was going round the ring, with five or six pairs of
banderillas decorating his neck. Of these Ferrero had planted the first
and last pair. When he came back to his place in the refuge beside
Cogan, the air was quivering with buenos.
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