And now he was close in and
his forearm was across the bull's forehead. It was hard to follow, the
action was so fast, but Cogan saw that Torellas was already between his
horns. Cogan looked for the flash of the heavy blade, but already
Torellas' right arm had gone forward, that eye of his had marked the
little vital spot, and, as the bull lowered his head and lunged to gore
him, the blade was driven forward, and onto the point of it rushed the
bull. The blade went home--clear to the hilt--eighteen inches or so.
Before the people could clear their choked-up throats to applaud, before
many could realize what had happened, the bull was stumbling to his
knees and Torellas was unwrapping the cape from his left forearm. One
long, thundering in-and-out breath and they were mobbing Torellas with
applause.
"The bull rolled from side to side on his knees, tried to balance
himself there for four, five, six seconds, and then rolled over. He half
lifted his head from the sand, he kicked, once, twice, again, and then
the head fell back, a quiver, and he lay limp. It was sad in a way.
"A bugle rang out. Two Peruvian boys came galloping in on horses. The
bugle sounded again, they took a bridle hitch on the bull and went
galloping out of the ring, bugles going and the bull dragging behind.
The noise and whirl of it made Cogan think of a fire-engine coming down
the middle of a street up home.
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