task imposed. Obeying the beckoning finger of his
host, Constans advanced to the edge of the platform overhanging the
enclosure.

An excited murmur rose from the crowd below, and even the dignitaries
upon the gallery jostled one another to obtain a favorable
vantage-point. Alexa stood immediately behind Constans, her eyes bright
with excitement, and her slim hand hidden in her father's huge fist.
Without attempting to take aim, Constans raised the revolver and fired.

The bullet struck the ground in front of the bull and threw up a
spiteful puff of dust, at which the animal pawed disdainfully. But if
the shot had missed its mark, the report of the explosion did full
execution among the spectators. The women shrieked, and the men nearest
the enclosure pushed back hastily among the crowd. For a moment a panic
was imminent, but Constans quieted it with a word.

"It is only the bark of the dog," he said, smilingly, and his hearers
somewhat shamefacedly resumed their places, but this time leaving a dear
space in which he might stand and handle his weapon.

Constans took steady aim, and, to his surprise, missed again, the bullet
flying wide. The failure nettled him. He made his preparations for the
third essay with care, raising and lowering the pistol several times,
until he was sure that he could not miss the mark. A third failure--the
bullet clipping a splinter from a fence-post on the opposite side of the
ring. A mist rose before Constans's eyes; what did it mean? Could he
have deceived himself in thinking that he had mastered this secret of
the ancients? Was it to fail him now, when all depended upon success?
His hand trembled so that he could hardly draw the trigger. The hammer
fell for the fourth time, but no explosion followed, the cartridge
having missed fire. He had now but one shot left, and the whispers of
disapproval and disappointment among the crowd were plainly audible.

Without stopping to reflect, Constans leaped over the rail of the
gallery to the arena below. As he jumped, the girl, Alexa, started, and
a cry escaped her parted lips; it was a sigh rather than an exclamation,
the voice of a crushed flower suspiring its last vital breath. And
Constans did not hear.

For perhaps half a dozen seconds man and beast stood motionless, waiting
upon each other. The bull tossed his head savagely, his tail twitching,
and a cloud of dust and gravel rising under his impatient hoof.
Constans, with finger on trigger