CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Memo felt calm enough the late afternoon of the corrida. He studied the first two-year-old bull. He was a beauty. Was he brave? One could not tell by simply looking at him munching contentedly and swatting flies with his tail.
Two garrochistas appeared carrying spiked poles.
"Do you wish to ride the beast down, or will you use the cloak?" one of them asked.
Memo unrolled the dusty cape. "I have more experience with this," he said.
"Good. These two hombres will be your ten-dadores."
The four men studied the bull. One of them poked him with a pole, and he pawed the ground.
"Ay, un toro!" Memo exclaimed.
Memo got into the ring to practice with the bull. It hurled itself at his cape. He led it past him with the cape, and felt the quivering mass brush against his body
