nor was it till the savage animal had approached
within a few yards of him, that at last he reared up straight, and then,
as if overcome by terror, dashed off at speed, the bull following.

The scene was now one of almost maddening excitement; for, although the
speed of the horse far exceeded that of his pursuer, the bull, by
taking a small circle, was rapidly gaining on him, and, before the third
circuit of the field was made, was actually almost side by side. Roland
saw all his danger; he knew well that the slightest swerve, a "single
mistake," would be fatal; but he had been trained to peril, and this was
not the first time he had played for life and won. It was then, just
at the instant when the bull, narrowing his distance, was ready, by
one bound, to drive his horns into the horse's flank, that the youth
suddenly reined up, and throwing the horse nearly on his haunches,
suffered his pursuer to shoot ahead. The same instant, at least so it
seemed, he rose in his stirrups, and winding the rope three or four
times above his head, hurled it forth. Away went the floating coils
through the air, and with a sharp snap, they caught the animal's
fore-legs in their fast embrace. Maddened by the restraint, he plunged
forward, but ere he gained the ground, a dexterous pull of the lasso
jerked the legs backwards, and the huge beast fell floundering to the
earth. The stunning force seemed enough to have extinguished life, and
he lay, indeed, motionless for a few seconds, when, by a mighty effort,
he strove to burst his bonds. Roland, meanwhile, after a severe struggle
to induce his horse to approach, abandoned the effort, sprang to the
ground, and by three or four adroit turns of the lasso over the head and
between the horns, completely fettered him, and at each fresh struggle
passing new turns of the rope, he so bound him that the creature lay
panting and powerless, his quivering sides and distended nostrils
breathing the deep rage that possessed him.

"Ah, Mosquito mio,"--the Toridor's usual pet name for a young
bull,--"you were an easy victory after all, though I believe with a
little more practice of the game I should only get off second best."

There was, if we must confess it, a certain little bit of boastfulness
in the speech, the truth being that the struggle, though brief, had
been a sharp one, and so Cashel's air and look bespoke it, as he led his
horse out of the paddock.

It would be a somewhat nice point--happil