“Your arms round his neck!” gasped Dick. “A fighting bull! You're joking. Say you mean an Irish bull, and put me out of misery.”
“He's a true Spanish grandee of a bull, and my arms have been round his neck often,” said Pilarcita.
“Then he can't be very fierce.”
[pg 200] “He can be terrible. He has nearly killed two men—strangers who teased him, so he meant no harm, poor darling! and they daren't let any except black horses come near him. No Muira bull is more savage than he if he's roused. You know, the Duke of Carmona's bulls are as celebrated as the Muiras themselves. But Vivillo has always loved me, and one or two others—me best, though—and he'll eat out of my hand, the great brown velvet beast, like a kitten.”
“How long since he's seen you?” asked Dick.
“Six weeks.”
“I wouldn't trust his memory.”
“I trust it as I would my brother's. You shall see me petting him.”
“Great Scott! you won't let her risk her life with this wild beast, will you, Colonel O'Donnel?” Dick cried out.
But the Cherub smiled his placid smile.