The second morning of the hunt, Tiburcio and I singled out a big black
bull about a mile from the river. I had not yet been convinced that
I could not make an effective shot from in front, and, dismounting,
attracted the bull's attention and fired. The shot did not even stagger
him and he charged us; our horses avoided his rush, and he started for
the river. Sheathing my carbine, I took down my rope and caught him
before he had gone a hundred yards. As I threw my horse on his haunches
to receive the shock, the weight and momentum of the bull dragged my
double-cinched saddle over my horse's head and sent me sprawling on the
ground. In wrapping the loose end of the rope around the pommel of the
saddle, I had given it a half hitch, and as I came to my feet my saddle
and carbine were bumping merrily along after Toro. Regaining my horse, I
soon overtook Tiburcio, who was attempting to turn the animal back from
the river, and urged him to "tie on," but he hesitated, offering me his
horse instead. As there was no time to waste, we changed horses like
relay riders. I soon overtook the animal and made a successful cast,
catching the bull by the front feet. I threw Tiburcio's horse, like a
wheeler, back on his haunches, and, on bringing the rope taut, fetched
Toro to his knees; but with the strain the half-inch manila rope snapped
at the pommel like a twine string.
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