mel like a twine string. Then we were at our wit's end, the
bull lumbering away with the second rope noosed over one fore foot, and
leaving my saddle far in the rear. But after a moment's hesitation my
partner and I doubled on him, to make trial of our guns, Tiburcio having
a favorite old musket while I had only my six-shooter. Tiburcio, on my
stripped horse, overtook the bull first, and attempted to turn him, but
El Toro was not to be stopped. On coming up myself, I tried the same
tactics, firing several shots into the ground in front of him but
without deflecting the enraged bull from his course. Then I unloosed a
Mexican blanket from Tiburcio's saddle, and flaunting it in his face,
led him like a matador inviting a charge. This held his attention until
Tiburcio, gaining courage, dashed past him from the rear and planted a
musket ball behind the base of his ear, and the patriarch succumbed.

After the first few days' work, we found that the most vulnerable
spot was where the spinal cord connects with the base of the brain. A
well-directed shot at this point, even from a six-shooter, never failed
to bring Toro to grass; and some of us became so expert that we could
deliver this favorite shot from a running horse. The trouble was to
get the bull to run evenly. That was one thing he objected to, and yet
unless he did we could not advantageously attack him with a six-shooter.
Many of these old bulls were surly in disposition, and even when they
did run, there was no telling what moment they would sulk, stop without
an instant's notice, and attempt to gore a passing horse.

We usually camped two or three days at a place, taking in both sides of
the river, and after the work was once well under way we kept our wagon
busy hauling the dry hides to a common yard on the river opposite Las
Palomas. Without apology, it can be admitted that we did not confine our
killing to the Las Palomas brand alone, but all cumberers on our range
met the same fate. There were numerous stray bulls belonging to distant
ranches which had taken up their abode on the Nueces, all of which were
fish to our net. We kept a brand tally of every bull thus killed; for
the primary motive was not one of profit, but to rid the range of these
drones.

When we had been at work some two weeks, we had an exciting chase one
afternoon in which Enrique Lopez figured as the hero. In coming in to
dinner that day, Uncle Lance told of the chase after a young _ladino_