The Bear and the Bull

by Harvey Mendez

  Ramon awakened after a night of searching for his pet bull. He had driven his pony all over the range. Even in the dark, he would know his Toro. Why could he not find him? Had a grizzly killed him? Was he bitten by a rattler? Did someone steal him? The questions buzzed through Ramon’s brain, gave him a headache. He had not slept much. His eyes ached. Sweat poured off his worried face. He had to find Toro before the vaqueros did.

  Toro and a young cow trotted out from a hidden arroyo and headed for the grazing herd. Ramon saw him at the same time he saw the approaching vaqueros. “Toro!”

  Toro raised his head but the horsemen rode up before he saw Ramon. The bull trotted into a group of cows. The cows scattered. Toro backed away from the riders.

  “There he is.” Pedro pointed to the large bull standing alone.

  Toro dropped his head, pawed the earth. Pedro signaled the men. They lowered their lances and approached the bull.

  “Easy now,” Pedro said, “he may charge.”

  One of the lancers moved in too fast. Toro bolted at him. The vaquero’s horse was too slow. The bull jabbed a horn into its side. The rider jumped off the horse while the other lazadores spurred their horses to distract the bull.

  “Use your lances,” Pedro said. “Keep him away.”

  Toro whirled around, attacked again but ran into the sharp spears.

  “Don’t hurt him—don’t hurt him!” Ramon leaped off his pony.

  Pedro pivoted his horse. “Ramon—stay back! You will get hurt.”

  “But, Toro...”

  “He does not look like your pet anymore.”

  Ramon stopped in his tracks. “He is still mine.”

  Backing away from the lances, the big bull trotted in a circle, watched the horsemen poke their sticks at his flanks. Each time he charged a rider, a spike cut him, drew blood.

  “He is bleeding!” Ramon waved his hands at the vaqueros.

  Toro kicked up dust, grunted, charged every movement. When he snorted, his wet nostrils gleamed in the early-morning sun.

  “We will never get him this way.” Pedro pulled up his horse. “Juan, take three men, round up some of the herd. Maybe that will calm him down.”

  Ramon stared at the bloody spots on Toro’s flanks and haunches. “Please, Pedro, do not cut him anymore.”

  Juan and his men prodded the more docile cows and older bulls into a pack while Pedro and the others held their positions in the stand-off with the wild Toro.

  At Pedro’s signal, the combined force of the vaqueros and their lances drove the stomping, kicking bull into the herd.

  “Ramon,” Pedro said, “you ride back—tell the Señor we are coming.”

  “Yes, Pedro. Toro will be fine. Just do not hurt him more.” Ramon rode out of the clearing.

  Toro, engulfed by the herd, attacked the other bulls, scattered the cows. The vaqueros closed in with their lances.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Toro still bucked, charged man and horse when the riders and cattle reached Rancho Ortega. He snorted, sprayed dust and dirt, bellowed at every movement. Foamy saliva ran from his mouth like a choppy river.

  Señor Francisco Ortega waited at the gate watching Toro fighting the lances and storming about. “That is the right bull.”

  “He is the meanest bull I have ever seen.” Pedro swung his horse to the side, stopped at the gate. “Not even Ramon can control him now.”

  “Ramon said his Toro was fine when he rode in,” Señor Ortega said, “but I see that was a young boy’s view. Toro will need that bad temper for the fight. The grizzly is most powerful.”

  “Toro is full-grown,” Pedro said. “The winter has produced a prize specimen.”

  “Yes,” Ortega said, “Toro has developed well since Ramon found him. He certainly is from the finest Spanish stock.”

  Pedro watched the lazadores struggle with the rampaging bull.

  “Get a couple oxen in the corral with him,” Ortega said. “He could knock off a horn—really hurt himself. If they do not calm him, nothing will.”

  “Yes, Padrone.”

  The commotion mounted as the procession moved toward the corral. Toro arched his back, dropped his head, and butted at every shadow. Puffing and snorting, the black bull attacked each lance shoved at him. Everyone in the villa climbed on fences, posts, and rooftops for a better view of the raging bull.

  Pedro called in more men to help separate Toro from the rest of the herd. It took all the vaqueros to force the bull into the empty corral. Toro trotted around the pen, kicked up dirt, rammed into the fence and gate.

  “Run those oxen in.” Pedro backed his horse away from the gate.

  The men opened the gate and a lone rider herded the oxen inside. The bull charged the horse full speed before the rider could back out the corral. The force of the blow tossed man and horse over the fence. Then Toro chased the oxen out of the corral.

  “Close that gate!” Pedro ran to the fallen vaquero and his horse.

  Both of the man’s legs were broken. Pedro looked at the horse, drew his revolver, and shot the animal.

  Toro stood panting in the center of the pen, pawing the dusty ground.

  Pedro raised his gun, pointed it toward the bull.

  “No!” Ramon threw down his wide-brimmed charro and bolted into the corral.

  The crowd gasped when Ramon ran toward the bull. They shouted, waved their sombreros to distract the bull. “He’ll be killed! He’ll be killed!”

  The majestic Spanish bull, still wearing his winter’s coat, looked up, snorted at the boy.

  “Toro, Toro.” Ramon stretched his arms to the bull.

  The near-sighted animal pawed the earth hard a few moments, dropped his head, hunched his back. Ramon walked toward Toro. The bull saw him, relaxed, and trotted to Ramon.

  “You are hurt.” He kissed the bull’s nose.

  Luis, hearing the noise from his room, limped to the corral. When he saw Ramon standing with Toro, he disregarded his bad arm and leg and jumped into the corral. “Ramon, be careful. He is no longer a little pet.”

  “He remembers me, Papa. He remembers.” Ramon tugged playfully at the bull’s full-grown horns.

  Luis stood beside his son. “It seems that way, but nonetheless, you must respect what he was bred for.”

  Toro stirred, shook his head slowly, but Ramon hung on and patted Toro’s neck.

  The crowd watched Ramon stand in the corral hugging the two thousand-pound bull. Their chatter grew louder. Their eyes fixed on the boy and bull.

  Señor Ortega, equally astounded by Ramon’s control over the animal, summoned Luis to the fence. “Your son knows his bull well.”

  “Yes, but I was not so sure the bull would know Ramon.”

  “He is a brave boy.”

  “Until last winter, he spent many hours with his Toro.” Luis kept his eyes focused on the boy and bull.

  Ortega pointed to Luis’s bad arm tucked in a sling. “It looks like your arm is feeling better.”

  Luis looked at his bandaged arm. “When I saw Ramon with Toro, I did not think how much it hurt.”

  “Good, then we can get on to the business at hand.”

  “Señor, I know what must be done, but I cannot, yet, bring myself to order Ramon to let Toro be slaughtered by the grizzly.”

  “Luis, our whole existence is at stake. If I cannot pay Mr. Crowley, I will lose all our land and the herd. We must promote this fight. Toro would gain much fame . . . whether he wins or not.”

  “Yes, Padrone, but Toro seems so tame now. He will be no match for the grizzly.”

  “Nonsense, he was bred to kill or be killed. He will fight.”

  “As you say.” Luis looked at his son, still playing with the bull. “But, what about Ramon? He will give not up his bull so easily.”

  “He must.”

  “You can make that decision, but Ramon’s love for Toro goes deep.”

  “I know it will be hard for him,” Ortega said, “but he has to learn that as he grows older, cer
tain things have to be done.”

  “I have already told him he will be a matador like I was.”

  “That is good. He cannot be great without sacrifices.”

  “In five years, he will be ready.”

  “Then it is settled.” Ortega walked away.

  Ramon saw the seriousness on his father’s face. His narrow lips closed tight and he released his strong, lean fingers from Toro’s horns.

  “The Señor will not change his mind,” Luis said. “Toro must fight the grizzly.”

  “No—he cannot!” Ramon’s face saddened. “What chance will he have?” He stared deep into his father’s eyes.

  Luis put a hand on Toro’s back. “He won the prize cows. I have taught you, you have taught your bull. You must now be the man you will be.”

  Ramon looked into the bull’s soft, brown eyes, then turned to his father. “You and the Señor have not kept your promises. I must act for myself—and for Toro.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Luis put a hand on Ramon’s shoulder; they walked toward the corral gate. Toro followed them, nudged Ramon in the back.

  Toro turned, trotted around the corral, bobbed his head, kicked up dirt. The spectators on fences and surrounding buildings still stared at the powerful bull. When the sun lowered in the sky, they left the area.

  The wind shifted. Toro sniffed the familiar scent of the dreaded bear. He stopped trotting, pawed the earth, became enraged again, and attacked every shadow, charged the fence and gate. Some of the workers heard the noise and rushed back to the corral.

  “The bull is on a rampage again.”

  “A killer...”

  “But, so calm when Ramon was there.”

  Again, the wind shifted. The grizzly picked up the bull’s scent. The bear ripped apart some of the deer meat left for food and sprang the length of his chain. The bear’s mouth salivated like he knew a good meal was but a few yards over the adobe wall. Each time he roared and lunged out, the post vibrated, loosening earth around its base.

  Vaqueros in the bunkhouse listened to sounds of the bear and bull.

  “It will be a ferocious battle.”

  “Ramon’s Toro will be like deer meat.”

  “The grizzly is a monster.”

  “Bet on the bear.”

  Just after dusk, Luis and Ramon walked toward the main house. The grizzly’s growls echoed in the air. Toro’s hooves pounded the ground.

  Ramon looked up at his father. “Toro has no chance. He is too tame.”

  “He is only tame for you. He will fight a matador to the death. A lion will run away, never a bull.”

  “But Papa, a giant bear is not a man. Toro will stand still beside me. He is my friend.”

  “He may seem docile around you, but remember, when you found him, the baby bull charged anything moving. He learns to fight very early.”

  “But he has never charged a bear,” Ramon said. “I have seen these fights before. The first three bulls are slaughtered. It takes four or five bulls to kill a grizzly.”

  “They are natural enemies. Toro is at his prime. He will never be this strong again.”

  “I understand, but Toro is so beautiful. I must save him.”

  “Enough talk,” Luis said, “we must clean up for supper.”

  “No, I am not hungry. I will stay with my Toro tonight.”

  “First you eat.”

  At supper, Ramon sat at the opposite end of the table from Señor Ortega and Luis.

  Ortega eyed the boy. “Ramon does not sit with us.”

  “He is upset,” Luis said.

  “You have a good boy. He is loyal to his bull, but he must also be loyal to me.”

  “He thinks of you as a grandfather, Padrone, but Toro is like his brother.”

  “I understand,” Ortega said, “but Toro is only an animal, bred for our purposes. You must make Ramon realize if we do not survive, there will be no more Toros.”

  “Without the bulls, our champion lines will be gone forever.”

  “One sacrifice may save us.”

  “If enough money is made on the fight.” Luis dropped his chin.

  “That is right. We did not capture this grizzly just for sport. The bear was killing our cattle. You have almost as big a stake as I do in this. Mr. Crowley is adamant.”

  “I value my land,” Luis said. “And I will never again be able to fight in the ring as a matador, but I would fight the bear myself if it would save Toro.”

  “You were a great matador, Luis, but no man can fight a grizzly.”

  Luis sighed. “I know. I only want to keep Toro and save our land.” He cast his eyes downward. “How did Mr. Crowley get so powerful?”

  Ortega sat back in his chair. “As I understand it, he came from Ireland seeking his fortune during the Gold Rush.”

  “So, gold made him rich.”

  “No, he quit mining, opened a butcher shop in San Francisco. Became a success and took a bride from Ireland. The saloon girls would not do.”

  Luis looked up. “But, he owns all this land down here.”

  “Well, he decided he wanted to raise his own cattle. He bought all the land around here at a devalued price. Because he knew beef, he prospered and became rich.”

  Luis found Ortega’s eyes. “We will find a way to pay him.”

  Ramon, at the other end of the table, finished the beans and corn on his plate and saw the grim look on his father’s face. He waited a few minutes while Luis and Señor Ortega resumed their conversation, then slipped away from the large table and stole out the door.

  Ramon ran to the corral and climbed on the fence. The white-horned bull stood in the center, pawing the earth.

  “Toro.” Ramon dropped to the ground, walked toward Toro.

  The bull wagged his tail and lumbered toward Ramon. The boy wrapped his arms around Toro’s head and squeezed its huge neck. Toro moved his head from side to side.

  “I will not let them kill you, Toro.”

  The bull sniffed the breeze, smelled the grizzly. Toro broke Ramon’s grip, snorted and trotted around the boy.

  “Easy, Toro, easy. You cannot fight the bear. He will kill you.”

  Toro picked up his gait, shook his head, kicked up the loose dirt. Ramon lunged at Toro, grabbed him around the neck, and ran with the bull. “Slow down. Slow down.”

  The wind shifted. Toro slowed to a walk. Ramon, breathing hard, patted Toro on the back. “Good boy. Forget that bear.”

  Ramon wiped the sweat off his forehead. Toro nudged his large nose against Ramon’s chest. Ramon laid his head between the bull’s horns.

  “I love you, Toro. You are still my Toro.”

  The big black bull stood still and let Ramon hug and kiss his head.

  After a few minutes, Ramon pulled away, wiped a little moisture from his eyes. “I will save you, Toro. I will save you.”

  He raised his head to the stars for a moment, walked to the fence, and hopped over.

  Toro wagged his tail, dipped his head, and watched Ramon disappear into the night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ramon awakened to the sound of hammers pounding, workers chattering, and horses and livestock trotting. He looked out the window. Banners declaring the coming fight were tacked to the hacienda buildings. Workers and vaqueros herded cattle and horses around the rancho. The grizzly roared from the arena.

  Ramon dressed quickly, ran to the main house. His father and Señor Ortega sat at the table on the veranda.

  “Good morning, Papa, Señor.” Ramon pulled out a chair.

  “Ah, good morning, Ramon,” Señor Ortega said.

  “Ramon, you came to bed late last night,” Luis said. “Where were you?”

  The boy shifted his eyes away from his father. “I went to see Toro—to make sure he was all right.”

  “He is ready,” Ortega said. “The fight will be spectacular.”

  Ramon turned his gaze to the Señor. “I keep telling you. Toro will not fight. He is too gentle. It will be a slaughter
.”

  “I saw how he was brought in from the range,” Ortega said. “He is wild—already he has killed two horses.”

  “He was scared. The vaqueros poked their lances at him.” Ramon made the motion with his arms.

  “You are the only one who can control the bull.” Señor Ortega threw up his hands.

  “He only knows love,” Ramon said.

  The Padrone leaned toward Ramon. “He knows how to fight also. When his mother was a two-year-old, we tested her to see if she was fit to mother a fighting bull. She charged again and again at the picador’s padded horse—buried her horns in its sides despite the picador jabbing her with a long spiked lance.”

  “I do not remember Toro’s mother except when I found her ripped apart by the grizzly.”

  “It is true,” Luis said. “That is how we determine who will be bred and who goes to market to be butchered.”

  “What about Toro’s father?” Ramon asked.

  Luis signaled Señor Ortega that he would speak. “The young bull was chased by lazadores armed with spiked lances on the open range. If bulls charge and fight the lances bravely, they are kept and bred to the cows who pass the tests.”

  “Did Toro’s father fight well?”

  “He was ferocious,” Luis said. “I have not seen a better bull.”

  “Except for Toro,” Ortega said. “He almost killed several horses and picadors last year.”

  “But Toro is so gentle with me,” Ramon said. “I cannot imagine him fighting a man or a bear.”

  “He had better learn very fast,” Señor Ortega said. “In five days, it is Saint Valentine’s Day. The fight will be then.”

  Ramon jumped up. “No, no—you cannot kill Toro like that!”

  Luis yanked on his son’s arm. “Ramon, remember your place.”

  “No, you are both against me.” Ramon pulled away. “You lied to me about Toro.”

  “I have told you why we must do this,” Ortega said.

  Ramon stood defiantly. “I do not believe you.” He stiffened but could not stop tears inching down his cheeks. Wiping them away, he lifted his head, stared at his father and the padrone. “Money—that is all you care about.” He stomped away.