But the herd are closing round us with low mutterings, and George has again recourse to the authoritative "TORO," and with swinging riata divides the "bossy bucklers" on either side.

When we are free, and breathing somewhat more easily, I venture to ask George if they ever attack anyone.
"Never horsemen--sometimes footmen.

Not through rage, you know, but curiosity.

They think a man and his horse are one, and if they meet a chap afoot, they run him down and trample him under hoof, in the pursuit of knowledge.

But," adds George, "here's the lower bench of the foothills, and here's Altascar's corral, and that White building you see yonder is the casa." A whitewashed wall enclosed a court containing another adobe building, baked with the solar beams of many summers.