with me to yell encouragement to him?"

Manuel shook his head. "No . . . no, I can't. I suffer with the bull, I suffer for Juanito..."

"Suffer?"

"Yes, I do. I will encourage him in my own special way with prayers for his safety. A prayer is stronger than a bravo. I will go across the way to the chapel." Juanito faced the bull with his cape. When it charged, he turned quickly about and thrust the cape behind his back in a suerte. The bull galloped beneath the cape, his heaving sides brushing against the torero's buttock. 'Olé' the crowd screamed with one voice. As long as these stunts were dangerous and risk-filled, they would provoke applause and admiration. 'Olé again as Juanito performed a revolera, rotating his cape about his body and making the bull dash a mad circle about him. A third suerte was given to the glee of the spectators as Juanito fell to his knees and awaited the oncoming bull who charged right through the cape he held cut. The crowd yelled at this thrilling molinete. This torero knew his business.

Things have been known to go wrong at the last minute, Lorenzo thought, as he watched with envy. He knew there were two more stages to go, and something might happen.

Lorenzo saw Juanito wipe the perspiration from his face and hands and then the valet gave the torero the banderillas. The second and shortest of the three periods of the bull fight commenced, and this job was usually given to the banderilleros. But this time Juanito was going to do it himself. Lorenzo watched his brother stand directly in front of the bull and a little to one side. When the animal charged, he would thrust the banderillas, one in each hand, directly into the shoulder muscles of the bull to take some of the fight out of the beast. Four more banderillas would be thrust into the bull.

Manuel heard the band start to play again. This is probably the short break before the next tercio, he thought. I will go now to the chapel and pray . . .

Lorenzo raised the sombrero from his forehead and stretched his neck to see above the heads of the crowd. He saw Manuel leave the tent and head toward the ruined chapel. Lorenzo removed the cigarillo from his lips, tossed it to the ground and forced his way through the crowd. He must know where Manuel was going and why.

Manuel Rodriguez saw one of the large wooden chapel doors hanging by a single wooden hinge. It looks so pathetic, he thought, why doesn't someone fix it? He went through the doors, the other one standing partly open. As he entered the quiet sanctuary of the chapel, the sounds of revelry outside were muffled. Manuel looked about in disgust. People were no better than animals to leave such a place of worship fall into ruin.

From large holes in the ceiling, shafts of golden sunlight slanted down and the rough, irregular stone-work of the floor was spotted and stained where the rains had poured in. There were several hand-hewn pews to sit on, the rest were falling away in rot and some were turned over backward. Flakes of whitewash were peeling away from the wall, revealing strange and fascinating Indian designs underneath. Manuel noted how differently the walls were built, thick at the bottom to give them added strength and thinning out toward the roof, giving them the appearance of leaning outward. Along the north wall the windows were all blocked in for they could not stand up to the strong desert winds.

Manuel Rodriguez shook his head in despair as he followed one brilliant