"Lasso him!" cried others.
"Válgame Dios!" the women murmured, crossing themselves. "It is the demon himself."
But everyone, instead of stopping him, got out of his way as quickly as he could; the bold boy continued his rapid course, with a jeering smile upon his lips, his face inflamed, his eye sparkling, and distributing, right and left, smart blows with his chicote on all who ventured too near him, or whose unfortunate destiny prevented them from getting out of his way as fast as they would have wished.
"Eh! eh! Caspita!" (said, as the boy jostled him in passing, a vaquero with a stupid countenance and athletic limbs,) "Devil take the madman, he nearly knocked me down! Eh! but," he added, after having cast a glance at the young man, "if I mistake not, that is Rafaël, my neighbour's son! Wait a moment, picaro!"
While speaking this aside between his teeth, the vaquero unrolled the lasso which he wore fastened to his belt, and set off running in the direction of the horseman.
The crowd, who understood his intention, applauded with enthusiasm.
"Bravo, bravo!" they cried.
"Don't miss him, Cornejo!" some vaqueros encouragingly shouted, clapping their hands.
Cornejo, since we know the name of this interesting personage, gained insensibly upon the boy, before whom obstacles multiplied more and more.
Warned of the perils which threatened him, by the cries of the spectators, the horseman turned his head.