Every one wondered how the barn caught on fire; some thought the watchman had set it on fire, others thought one of the stable boys had been careless about smoking and a spark from his pipe had set fire to the hay; but no one but Stubby really knew about the two tramps whose pipes had done all the mischief.
The Bull-Fight.
TWO days after the fire all was bustle and confusion at the farm, for this was the day of the long anticipated bull-fight that was to occur in Mexico City and for which these especial bulls had been raised and fattened. It was barely sunrise when the little procession started for the city; the object in starting so soon being to avoid the crowd of people anxious to view the bulls before they reached the arena.
Billy Jr. and Stubby went along as a matter of course—they must see everything going—and they had no intentions whatsoever of missing the great fight, particularly as the odds were in favor of their favorite bull. Our Billy knew thoroughbreds when he saw them and could pick the winners. To-day’s favorite was strong of bone, supple of joint, solid of flesh, with a quick eye and a temper like a firecracker. He was handsome to look upon with his fine, short, glossy black coat and beautifully curved horns with tips like needles, that could pierce a horse’s skin and rip him open in the approved Mexican style. His eyes were large and brilliant and his nose with its sensitive nostrils as red as the cactus blossom of his native country. And how he could bellow and paw the ground when mad! Yes, Billy was sure he would win against all odds.
After they reached the city, he could hear the big bull stamping around in his stall and bellowing for his breakfast. His royal highness was not accustomed to be kept waiting, he was always fed on the dot—just at sunrise, and here it was twelve o’clock and not a bite, not even a whisp of hay. Had his master forgotten him? What an outrage after his long walk in from the farm! What in the world could be the meaning of such treatment? He little realized that he was being starved for a purpose.
“I tell you what it is, Billy,” he grumbled, “if that crazy stable boy don’t bring me something to eat soon, I’ll toss him over the barn.”
“Hark! what is that? I hear music. Don’t you? And the rumble of many feet as the crowd of people take their places in the amphitheatre.”
“You are right, Billy, the band is playing; it is almost time to begin. Well, if I don’t get something to eat before very long I’ll give them some sport worthy the name when I get into the arena. Shut up in here, treated so badly, and starved to death—I’ll make somebody pay well for it.”