Villasca knew that he must kill the bull, or his bull fighting days would be over. Every paper in Madrid would revile him if he failed, and he made an effort to recover his sword. He tried to do it adroitly, laughing in the face of the bull.
Again he failed. One of those sharp horns cut his leg, leaving a streak of red. He was wounded! Blood was flowing down his leg!
Then the mad mob called down blessings on the bull, imploring him to kill the wretch; and Villasca, who was not seriously wounded, grew confused, dodged, and fell to the ground.
There was a wild cry, and across the arena dashed Señorita Zuera, going to the rescue. She did not hesitate, but rode between the bull and the fallen espada.
Villasca scrambled up and darted away a short distance, where he halted in a manner that showed how confused he was.
Zuera had saved him, but she was in danger. The horse could not get out of the way, and the bull struck the creature.
Down went horse and rider in a heap!
How the crowd shrieked! A great yell of mingled terror and delight went up.
“The coward! He has deserted her! She will be killed!”
She seemed stunned, for she did not attempt to arise. The bull tore the horse, and then turned his attention to the girl.