She received a round of applause.
Some of the picadores retired to await their turn, and then every eye was fastened on the door through which the bull must enter.
Despite himself, Frank felt his heart thumping in his bosom as it had never thumped before. A choking sensation came upon him, and he gasped for breath.
“Great Scott!” he muttered, in dismay. “What is the matter with me! Is it possible that I am going to lose my nerve?”
The roaring of the bull made the horses of the picadores tremble, and the picadores themselves, experienced bull fighters, turned pale.
Then came another fanfare of trumpets, and the door burst open, admitting an enormous bull, which dashed into the arena with blazing eyes, uttering a terrible bellow.
That bellow was echoed by a tremendous shout from the throats of the thousands of spectators. It was their greeting to the bull.
As the animal shot into the ring, a manderillo flung a barb, to which was attached a rosette, into his shoulder. The bull shook his head, but seemed to pass his first tormentor in a sort of blind rage.
Pausing a single moment, the bull gave another roar, and then charged at the nearest picadore. The fellow was unable to withstand the fury of that first rush. He tried to ward the animal off with his lance, but he failed to plant it properly, and then man and horse went down, the horse ripped open in a twinkling by those terrible horns.
The first blood had been spilled, and the spectators yelled with mad delight. The picadore was down, and the crowd shrieked in a joyful way: