Thus, from the valley came hundreds of horses and cattle to meet the homecomers. They had scented their fellows from afar, and flew madly to the foothills, to do them battle. The vaqueros were miles away, in the rear of the swarming, home-coming herds. In time they would make peace by clubbing the fighting leaders over nose or horn with their heavy whip-stocks.
Zelaya was within half a mile of the Mendoza corral when a drove of fifty or more horses, led by a splendid dapple-gray stallion, came thundering from a deep hollow directly in front of him. The leader disdained battle with a single stranger and rushed by like the wind. Don Pedro turned rein and ran with the drove for safety. Little by little he lessened speed; then, as the way opened, he left the company forced on him and again turned toward the Mendoza corrals.
A hundred paces to the side a herd of cattle, led by an immense bull, was charging in the foothills. The leader saw the horseman and made for him viciously. The Spaniard waved his reata and shouted, "Hoop-la! Hoop-la!" after the manner of the vaquero. The herd paused, snorted; then, with head and tail up, looked on while their protector fought the enemy.
The bull lowered its head and rushed at him, roaring a tremendous bass defiance. The Spaniard swung his horse to one side, and the beast stumbled past him. Again and again was this repeated. Finally, the horse stepped into a hole and fell. The rider came to the ground on his feet, moved quickly aside, in time to avoid a furious rush from the tormentor. As the bull stopped in preparation for another attack Don Pedro sprang on its back.
"I have for myself a merienda," he thought, grimly, remembering the day when he had ridden the bull at the Calaveras picnic ground.
"Come, come, run to the corral, my lordly beast!"
The animal ran around and around in a circle, roaring terrifically.
"Carrajo! Carrajo! 'twill not do," called the rider. "I must make the corral. Go, now, you son of an imp! Run as I direct!"
Climbing out well on the shoulders he managed to reach the beast's nose with his spur. First kicking it on one side of the muzzle, then on the other, he succeeded in getting it started toward the corral.
"Grande! Grande!" he shouted. "You make not badly the mount. Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Pronto! Pronto!"