Part 7

"It's mine." Quartel's bellow came from somewhere in the crowd, and then he appeared, running in that stiff, saddle-bound stride of his toward the horses. "Aforismo, let that blue out. He ought to give us a good run."

* * * * *

Used to working the wild, savage cattle of the brushland, the Mexicans trained their horses to spin away from the side on which a man mounted as soon as he lifted a foot to the stirrup. Though this saved many a _vaquero_ from being gored by a ringy bull which he had just released after throwing and branding the beast, it took a good man to get on one of these horses. Each rider had a string of animals, and from his bunch Quartel had saddled a brown horse they called a _trigueño_. He knocked the reins loose of the corral post and snapped them over the _trigueño's_ head. Then he checked the animal, pulling the nigh rein in till it twisted the _trigueño's_ head down toward its shoulder so that the horse's action would be inhibited long enough for him to mount. As soon as Quartel raised his left foot, the _trigueño_ tried to whirl, but that checking action held him long enough for Quartel to jam his foot in the stirrup and swing aboard in one violent movement. Then he released the tight rein and allowed the animal to spin toward the right.

From outside the cedar-post corral, Aforismo and several other _vaqueros_ had goaded and prodded a blue bull until it was separated from the other bulls within the enclosure. As it neared the gate, Aforismo let down the drop bar.

In their natural state, running the brush, these cows were among the wildest animals of the world, and the several days this cut of bulls had spent penned up had put them in a frenzied rage. The blue stood there a moment, glaring suspiciously at the opening, pawing the ground. His great long curving horns had been scored and ripped and punched by the brush until it looked as if someone had hacked them over with a knife, and a pattern of scars formed a network across the gleaming lathered hide of his forequarters. From the side, he looked deceptively heavy, his length so extended that his back swayed, but as he lashed his tail and shifted around to display a rear view, his narrow hips and cat hams and ridgepole back became apparent. Abruptly, with a hoarse bellow, he lowered his head, and swinging it from side to side, galloped out of the gate.

Quartel yelled something, dug in with his Chihuahuas and whacked his quirt against the _trigueño's_ rump at the same time. The brown horse burst into a headlong run, followed by most of the other _vaqueros_, shouting and yelling and snapping their quirts against leather _chivarras_ and fancy _charro_ pants. The blue bull had spotted an opening in the brush across the compound, and he shook the ground tearing for it. But the horsemen swiftly closed up on the animal. Quartel and another _vaquero_ were bunched together in the lead. Quartel raked his _trigueño_ with those huge Chihuahua guthooks, and the horse spurted ahead, drawing up beside the bull. Quartel leaned out of the saddle and made a grab for that lashing tail. But the blue bull jammed its forefeet into the ground and came to a jarring halt, plowing twin furrows in the earth. Quartel was several lengths on by before he could swing back in the saddle and pull his horse around; by that time the bull had turned in a half circle and cut for the brush.

The other _vaquero_ had pulled up shorter than Quartel, and was in a position to run down the bull on its quarter. He was a tall, supple youth on a short-coupled horse they called a _bayo coyote_, its coat a buckskin color with a black line running down the spine, with a black mane and tail. Quartel spurred and quirted his _trigueño_ in a last desperate effort to reach the bull first, but just at the edge of brush, the other _vaquero_ pulled up beside the blue and leaned out to grab for that tail.

He caught its hairy end, and dallied it around his saddle horn, clapping the guthooks to his _bayo coyote_ at the same time. The buckskin gave a spurt that pulled it ahead of the blue bull, and just as the horse smashed into the first thicket, the tail of the bull snapped taut, yanking its hind feet from beneath it. The _vaquero_ tore the tail off his horn and hunched forward with his arm before his face all at the same time, and as he disappeared into the thicket the ground shook with the bull's falling. Huerta had come down from the house, and he moved in behind Crawford.

"I understand a good man can break the bull's neck every time," he said. "Why don't you try it, Crawford?"

Crawford's hands closed tightly, and he did not look at Huerta. The inside of his mouth was dry and cottony as he watched the _vaquero_ come back through the mesquite into the open, prancing his _bayo coyote_ proudly.

"You better go back to herding dogies, Quartel," the _vaquero_ grinned, "and leave the grown ones to men."

"If you're a man, let's see your _reata_," roared Quartel, wheeling his _trigueño_ toward the man and unlashing his 40-foot rope from his saddle.

The rider fought his excited buckskin around in a circle as he tore his own rope from the saddle, and when he had completed the circle, the rope was free and the two riders were facing each other about a hundred yards apart.

"_Vamanos, Indita_," shouted Quartel, his huge cart-wheel spurs gouging the brown into a headlong run toward the other man.

"Are they crazy?" said Huerta.

"Stay around the border much and you'll get used to it," Merida told him. "The _vaqueros_ used to do the same thing on the rancho where I was born. They'd rather rope than eat."

"Duello," said Crawford.

"With ropes?" It caused Huerta distinct effort to evince even the dim incredulity.

"Lot of 'em would rather fight with ropes than guns," Crawford told him. "More than one lawman has been dragged to death here in the brush."

It had taken that long for the two riders to meet, passing one another not 10 feet apart. At the last moment Quartel made a pass with his rope arm. Indita's own throw caused him a hoarse exhalation that turned into a shout of triumph as he saw his loop settling over Quartel's head. Then it happened. As much as he had handled horses, Crawford did not think he had ever seen one turn so fast. One instant the _trigueño_ was racing past the _bayo coyote_, the next it was facing in the opposite direction, Quartel's own involuntary grunt still hanging in the air to tell what a vicious effort he had put into the reining. The motion had carried Quartel from beneath Indita's loop in that last moment, and now he sat the _trigueño_ perfectly still, facing after Indita's retreating buckskin.

Quartel's first pass had been a feint, and he still retained his rope. It was so slight a flirt of his hand that Crawford barely caught it. He did not spin the loop above his head. He tossed it underhand, the way he had thrown it with Africano in the corral. It was a hooley-ann, spinning flatly out above Indita, seeming to hover above him an instant, no bigger than the brim of his sombrero; then it was taut about his shoulders, and he was pulled over the back of his horse with a resounding thump.

"I ought to drag you for your presumption," said Quartel, shifting his horse forward so he could get enough slack in his rope to flirt it off Indita as the man rose. Then, pulling the rawhide clothesline in with a series of quick, skillful snaps, he turned the _trigueño_ to prance it over toward them, grinning at Merida. "How do you like that, _señorita_?"

"I have seen it done before," said Merida.

Quartel's face darkened. "You don't think I am any good?"

"I didn't say that."

"Listen," he shouted, thumping his chest, "I am the best goddam roper in the world. I am the best goddam rider in the world. I am--"

"Don't be a boor," said Huerta, in faint disgust.

"A what?" Quartel wheeled the horse around in a growing rage, the sweat greasing his coarse face. "I'll show you." He started pounding his chest again. "I'll show you who's good. I'll make you a bet. I'll bet you a _talega_ full of gold pesos that I can, blindfolded, with one end of the _reata_ tied to my own neck and not to be touched by my hands, riding a bareback horse of your own choosing, forefoot each of any ten bulls we got in a pen, and break their necks."

Huerta shrugged, smiling in a faint, vague dismissal. Quartel reined the _trigueño_ in closer. "I mean it," he bellowed. "Are you afraid to make the bet? Could anybody where you come from do it?"

"Frankly, I don't think anyone can do it," said Huerta, disinterestedly.

"I can," yelled Quartel. "I'm the best--"

"Don't be a fool, Quartel," the woman told him.

"You'll kill yourself. One mistake with that rope around your neck and you'll be dead."

That was the final impetus. "_Hijo de la chingada_," shouted Quartel, whirling his _trigueño_ away from them. "How many bulls you got in that corral, Aforismo? Seven? Get me three more. Get me three more from that holding pen across the arroyo. I'll show you what roping really is, Merida. You're going to see a performance tonight you'll never forget!"

_Chapter Eight_

BEST ROPER IN THE WORLD

The throng about the large cedar-post corral was oddly subdued. Some of the _vaqueros_ had dragged the blue bull over to the cooking fire for Jacinto to spit, but the gross cook had left the carcass lying on the ground. He stood with the middle bar of the fence making a deep indentation in the incredible protuberance of his stomach as the crowding _vaqueros_ pressed in from behind.

"_Madre de Dios_, Crawford, why do you let him do this thing?" wailed the cook, running his fat hands nervously up and down the rail. "I don't want to see a man die."

"Then why watch?" said Crawford.

"Please, Crawford, you take such a brutal attitude. Don't you know this is the way Oro Peso died down in Mexico? He was the greatest roper in the world, Quartel's boasting to the contrary. Oro Peso used to go around making this same bet. Then somebody took him up on it. The third bull pulled him from his horse. His neck was broken like you'd snap a switch of mesquite. Please--"

"Hola, _compadres_!" shouted Quartel, from outside the corral, and they saw that he had stripped his _trigueño_ of its saddle. Indita dropped the bar and Quartel trotted the animal in, laughing as the bulls bunched up on the other side, bawling. "You see, already they are afraid of me. Who is going to put the blindfold on? Merida, will you honor me?"

"Why not?" The woman's voice held a savage undertone that surprised Crawford. She caught his eyes on her and turned toward Crawford. When she saw the look on his face, she threw her head back that way, to laugh. It held a rich, wild mockery. "What's the matter, Crawford? Don't you like that in a woman? Maybe you haven't known the right women."

Still laughing, she reached through the bars to tie the bandanna behind Quartet's head as the man slipped off the _trigueño_ and turned his back to her. Then he swung aboard again, and tied one end of the rope he was carrying about his thick neck in a noose, too small to slip over his head. Merida's face was flushed excitedly as she watched him prance the _trigueño_ away, and her eyes flashed in frank anticipation. Huerta pulled out his cigarette case and put a smoke into his jade holder. His motions were as languid as ever, but Crawford thought his fingers pinched the holder more tightly than was necessary.

"Hola!" shouted Quartel, wheeling his _trigueño_ in the middle of the corral and kicking its flanks with his heels. The horse charged toward the bulls, and the animals strung out along the fence. Quartel was an uncanny judge of distance; when his horse was but half a length from the fence, he made a quarter turn and raced along the bars after the last bull in the running bunch.

"_Andale!_" yelled the man, and made his toss.

The loop snaked about the forefeet of that last bull as it turned at the corner of the corral, and as Quartel felt the rope snap taut, he let go completely with his hands, pulling his thick neck down into his shoulders to set it and jerking back with his torso at the last moment. The bull turned a flip, its shoulder striking the rump of the running animal in front, and as the falling bull struck, Quartel shoved his reins hard against the _trigueño's_ neck to wheel inward and give himself slack on the rope. He clutched for the slackening rawhide and sent a flirt down the rope that lifted the loop off the bull's forelegs, and when he turned away, he was pulling the line in.

"_Viva Quartel, viva!_" shouted the _vaqueros_, shoving Crawford up against the fence with their shifting press and deafening him with their cheers. Grinning, Quartel kicked the _trigueño_ after the bulls again. It started them off once more, bawling and running. Quartel's hearing was as uncanny as his judgment of distance; he rode with his head lifted, and when a scarred brindle bull broke from the others, running along the fence and cutting across the middle of the corral, Crawford could see Quartel's head turn after the animal. The Mexican reined his _trigueño_ over that way, kicking it into a dead run that closed the space between himself and the bull in a swift instant.

"_Ahora_," he shouted, "now," and tossed. His rope caught the bull's hind feet instead of its forefeet, and as a strange sighing sound rose from the crowd, Quartel must have sensed something was wrong, for he spurred the _trigueño_ brutally, and its frenzied leap into a headlong run gave him slack enough in the rope for that last moment to send a flirt down its length that carried the loop off the bull's hind feet before it could draw closed. The bull stumbled into the other animals as they turned the corner and milled down this side of the corral. By that time Quartel had his rope coiled, and he maneuvered the bawling, excited animals so that they strung out down the fence once more, and then ran his horse up behind the last one. This time it was the forefeet, and he dropped the animal, breaking its neck as before. The end of the rope about Quartel's neck was not a slip noose, but Crawford could see the rawhide dig into the thick brown flesh of Quartel's neck as he jerked back, till the skin showed a white ridge above and below the lasso. He watched in undeniable fascination as the Mexican flirted in the rope and turned his horse after them once more. Shouting, Quartel closed the gap between himself and another bull and made his toss. He released the lasso with his hand as soon as it was in the air. The instant that loop caught on the running bull's forefeet, Quartel reined his _trigueño_ in a quarter turn that wheeled it away from the running bull. The bull's own forward motion would draw the noose tight about its legs, and the turning maneuver of the horse would stretch the rope taut between them as soon as that noose was completely closed. In that instant, with the bull hitting the end of the rope and flipping, Quartel had to wheel his horse back or be pulled off. He had already turned the _trigueño_ away from the bull, and the noose was making its singing sound closing on those churning forefeet, when a big _hosco golondrino_ cut away from the other animals running along the fence and turned out into the corral, directly across the head of the _trigueño_. Quartel's huge neck sank into his shoulders, and he put the reins against the _trigueño's_ neck to swerve it back as he felt the rope snapping taut. But the turn would have run the horse head-on into the _hosco golondrino_. It was the first time Crawford had seen that _trigueño_ fight the bit; its head turned in and its neck arched, it lurched in the opposite direction from Quartel's reining.

"Crawford," screamed Merida, and then the full weight of the falling bull hit the end of that rope with Quartel going in the wrong direction to take the shock. He made a small, choked sound as he was snapped off the _trigueño's_ rump. Crawford was not conscious of going through the bars. He found himself on the inside of the corral, with someone climbing through the rails on his left. He did not realize who it was till he had started running toward Quartel where he was rolling across the ground. Then from the corner of his eye, Crawford caught the white flutter of Merida's fichu.

"Get back, you crazy fool," he screamed at her, diving headlong at her as a couple of crazed bulls charged by. He struck her with his arms around her waist and carried her back against the bars as a third animal crashed past where she had been standing. He rolled to his feet, leaving her there huddled up against the fence, and dodged through another pair of the bawling, frenzied animals, coughing in the dust.

The bull Quartel had thrown was scrambling to its feet, the _reata_ still caught around one foreleg. Crawford saw the slack rope hiss taut as the animal broke into a stumbling gallop, and knew he could never reach it in time. If Quartel's neck were not already broken, his head would be pulled from his body now. Another bull went past behind Crawford, its shoulder sending him spinning, and he threw himself bodily toward the rope where it lay tautening across the ground, in a last desperate effort to try and get it before the bull had stretched it completely.

But even as he did so, he saw Quartel had risen to his hands and knees. Still blindfolded, the man must have heard the sing of the rope and known what was occurring. He gave his head one dazed shake and jumped to his feet, sinking his neck in that way and throwing himself backward. His body was at a three-quarter angle when the rope snapped taut; he would have fallen completely if the line had not caught him. The impetus of his jerking back that way and the weight of his body combined to upset the bull once more. The ground shuddered to the falling animal. Crawford heard the crack of its broken neck.

"How's that, Huerta?" laughed Quartel, running forward to slacken the rope so he could flirt the loop free. "I told you I wouldn't pull on it by hand. Did you see that? I didn't touch it with my hands, did I? I'll bet you never saw a roper could do that down around Mexico City. Even Oro Peso. Did you think I was finished? Not with a neck like that. I could throw ten bulls all at once. Where's my horse? Bring me that _trigueño_. I'm not through yet. Not with a neck like that."

In a daze, Crawford picked himself off the ground, seeing Indita run out to corner the _trigueño_ and lead him over to the sweating, roaring Quartel. Stumbling back to the fence, Crawford watched the whole crazy performance begin once more. It was a nightmare of shouting _vaqueros_ and bawling bulls and singing ropes and clouds of acrid russet dust obscuring the whole pattern every time the animals broke into a run. Quartel took three casts to nail the seventh bull, and it was obvious he was tiring.

"Three more," Crawford heard Jacinto mumbling beside him. "Three more. Oh, _madre de Dios_, let him get over with this, will you, and I'll never forget to say my rosary again. Three more, three more--"

Two more. One more. "Hola!" shouted the Mexican, "_ahora_," and the rope spun, and caught, and tautened, and the ground shook as the last bull broke its neck. Coiling in the rope, Quartel spurred the _trigueño_ to the gate, ripping off his blindfold. They were all running that way, Aforismo catching the man as he slid off the lathered, quivering horse, pounding him on the back. Even Merida had lifted her skirts to run that way, drawn by the excitement. Quartel came through the crowd, sweating and grinning and pounding himself on the chest with his hairy fist. "I told you. The best roper in the world. What do you think of it, Huerta? Have you ever seen better? Was Oro Peso better?" Then a thought seemed to strike him, and he sobered, looking around at the _vaqueros_. "When I was pulled off the horse. Someone was in the corral. I heard them."

The hubbub sank until there was only the muffled sound of stirring bodies, and Quartel saw the direction their glances had taken, one after another. He stared at Crawford in disbelief.

"You--"

Crawford shrugged, sullenly. "It was automatic, I guess. I didn't think."

"Yes." Huerta allowed twin streamers of gray smoke to escape his nostrils. "I wonder what would have happened if you had stopped to think."

Crawford flushed, turning toward him, but Quartel came forward, clapping his hand on Crawford's shoulder. "Huerta, I'm surprised at you. After all, he saved my life. And how about you. A _talega_ of pesos."

"I made no wager," said Huerta, tapping ash from his cigarette.

The blood swept into Quartel's face, and he stepped forward to grab the lapels of Huerta's coat with one huge hand, jerking the man toward him. "Huerta, I bet you a _talega_ of pesos--"

"I made no wager." Huerta had not moved his hands. One of them still held the cigarette holder at his side; the other rested in the pocket of his coat. But he was looking into Quartel's eyes, and his own eyes had opened wider. The veined dissolution of his heavy bluish lids had lifted until the whole pupil was visible.

"That's right, that's right," said Jacinto nervously. "Huerta didn't take up your bet, Quartel. You was so busy shouting and all you didn't wait to see if he'd made the bet with you."

"If he had, he'd pay me," said Quartel, still looking into Huerta's eyes, an indefinable puzzlement drawing a faint furrow through his brow, and something else. Abruptly he turned around, raising his voice. "_Caramba_, if I ain't going to get a _talega_ of pesos, I should get some kind of reward. You don't see a rodeo like that every day. How about it, Merida? I want a reward--"

He had shoved through the crowd toward her, catching her around the waist. Apparently not divining his intent at first, she had been smiling, her face still flushed with that excitement. But as he caught her and bent his face to hers, the smile twisted into a grimace. She threw her forearm across his neck and tried to lever him away.

"_Vayase con la música a otra parte_," she cried, anger causing her to break into Spanish. "_Tu barrachon, largo de aqui, tu chile, no puedo sufrir su insolencia--_"

"My insolence?" laughed Quartel, grasping her wrist and tearing it from between them. The force of it drew a gasp of pain from Merida; she began writhing more violently in his embrace, and tried to scratch his face with the other hand. But he caught that too, and forced both her hands behind her until he had her wrists crossed with his arms about her waist. In that last moment, he quit grinning. Crawford had seen the same expression in the man's face before, when he looked at Merida, but never so palpable, never so clearly recognizable. His voice came from deep in his throat, husky and sensual and demanding.

"_Besame, querida_," he said, and lowered his sweating face to hers.

"Let her go, Quartel!"

The Mexican stopped, with his lips not quite touching Merida. The woman's body ceased to writhe; she stood there in his arms, bent backward like a bow, looking up at him. Without releasing her, Quartel raised his head and turned it over his shoulder till he could see Crawford. It had taken Crawford that long to get through the laughing, shouting crowd; they were no longer making any noise, and they had spread away from him. He stood there with his boots spread a little on the hard-packed dirt and the weight of his shoulders thrown forward, the bitter intensity of his face only accentuating its gauntness.

"Oh." The word came out softly, slyly on Quartel's breath. "Maybe you'd rather be the one to kiss her. First he saves my life, then he wants to take my woman away."

"Your woman?" gasped Merida.

"Take your hands off, damn you--"

"Don't swear at me, Crawford." The hurt tone of Quartel's voice held that pawky mockery. "I thought we were _amigos_. I thought you saved my life in the corrals."

"Quartel--"