CHAPTER X.
RAMIREZ!
Estramadura was enjoying his triumph to the full. Bowing this way and that, a slender, graceful figure, looking in his red costume like a flash of fire against the sun-drenched yellow sands of the arena and the colorful stands beyond, he showed no disposition to retire so long as the ovation continued. And the hysterically delighted Mexicans apparently did not intend to subside so long as they had breath to cheer.
Minute after minute rolled by while the uproar continued and, if anything, grew in volume. All about and below the little group of Americans on the topmost tier of seats on the shady side of the arena were men and women who apparently had become temporarily insane. At least, so their actions would seem to indicate. They threw their arms about each other in true Latin abandon. They sent straw sombreros sailing out. Some fell in the arena, others on the heads of those below, and when the latter accident occurred it merely tended to heighten the general excitement. Silver pieces of various denominations spouted up and out from the crowded stands to go whirling and sparkling in the sunshine and fall to the floor of the arena where Estramadura’s attendants scurried hither and thither, retrieving this largess of his worshippers.
Doubtless, somewhere in the background waited Juan Salento, champion matador of Mexico. But he was not in evidence. And doubtless he was saying to himself that he would have to produce a sterling performance, indeed, in order to bear comparison with the daring and skill of this invader from Spain. But not a cry was as yet raised for him, not a voice as yet pleaded for a resumption of the program. The populace still thrilled to Estramadura’s deeds.
“Won’t they ever stop?” demanded Mr. Hampton of the army flyer. So tremendous was the tumult that, even though there was none behind them, and they were above the uproar, he had to bend close and raise his voice in order to make himself heard.
Captain Cornell started to make some laughing response, but while he was in the midst of it he felt a sharp tug of his arm. They were all standing up in order to see above the heads of those below them who likewise had risen to their feet and, in many cases had climbed upon the seats.
Turning he saw the tug had been given by Frank, who was staring past him to attract Mr. Hampton’s attention.
“Hey, what’s the matter? The fight got you excited, too?” he demanded, noting the flush of excitement on Frank’s cheeks and the glitter in his eyes.
“Jack wants you two to look. Down there, two rows below us and to the left.”
Frank was shouting, although bending close to the pair on his right.