“There’s no danger of their getting into the ring?”

The big man smiled. “Of course not, Alec, or I wouldn’t have brought you here. Come, let us turn your horse loose.”

The Black backed out from the trailer into the long slanting afternoon light. He snorted again, his nostrils widening as he smelled the bulls.

Henry said, “Maybe we should spread out so we can wave him down if he works up too much speed.”

Alec shook his head. “Let’s leave him alone. The smell of the bulls will keep his speed down.” He spoke to the stallion and unsnapped the lead shank.

At once the Black moved across the sand, slowly and cautiously. He was alert to every sound the bulls made. He went over to the high wall of the ring and encircled it until he’d reached the trailer again. He flicked a glance at Alec but that was all. His eyes followed the wall and he went on again until he came to the wide red door on the opposite side of the ring. There he stopped and snorted. From within came the loud bellows of the penned bulls.

“He is all horse,” González said, “or he would not be so interested in my bulls!” The man turned to Alec. “You see, I value courage more highly than speed.”

Alec said nothing. He wanted to turn away but couldn’t. He was held by the man’s piercing black eyes.

“Did you know that the Arabian horse is the only breed with the courage to face a lion?” González asked.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Or to face a fighting bull, an opponent every bit as fierce as a lion?”

Alec shook his head, and González went on. “History reports many incidents of wild bulls killing lions and tigers in combat. And seven hundred years before the birth of Christ men were riding the Arabian horse in the hunt of the wild bull for food.”

Henry broke the spell González had cast over Alec by saying, “You sound like you’re sorry you were born too late for it.”

“In a way I am,” the big man answered quietly. “That’s why I have mastered the lost art of the mounted hunter. In this ring my horse and I face the fighting bull.”

“That’s not sport, that’s suicide,” Henry said.

“Oh, no, Henry,” González answered, his eyes more alive than ever. “It’s art when done properly. Actually, too, it’s practiced every day in a more simple form by my mounted herders. They must use their lances in moving the bulls and cows from one pasture to another. It’s very often necessary to bowl over bulls to protect horse and rider.”

Alec said, “Except that in this ring you meet the fighting bull separated from his herd.”

“Yes, then he is at his fiercest and bravest.” González smiled. “It is here that I, too, must have great courage.”

“And your horse?” Henry asked. “How does he feel about it?”

“No differently. He must have courage as well. He has been bred and trained for this. He has no fear of the bull unless I should become afraid and then he would sense it quickly. But if that were the case I should not be in here at all.”

“Do you have time to change your mind?” Henry asked.

González laughed wildly. “It’s plain to see, Henry, that you don’t think much of my modern version of wild bull hunting.