A short vicious thunderstorm lashed Bays Mountain on the afternoon of
July 3. As the storm passed, a blood-red butterflier, with a pusher
propeller in the tail and a plastic bull head on the nose, descended in
the young Sudan grass. Stonecypher dropped the saw--he had been clearing
away a beech limb the storm left in the abandoned paddock--and strolled
to greet Ringmaster A. Oswell.
"Stonecypher!" the ringmaster announced. "That storm almost caught us!"
Oswell's stainless steel teeth clacked, and the breezes trailing the
thunderclouds ballooned his orange silk kimono. "I never liked these
butterfliers. They're too slow, and that swooping motion! Five hundred
miles per hour may seem fast to a man your age; but in my day, back
before petroleum was classified as armament, we had jets! Real speed!"
"Come on up to the house, ringmaster," Stonecypher invited. "I'll mix up
some dextrose and citric acid."
"No, no time," the fat man panted. "Only time to see you about that bull
you sold me. The storm took a limb of your beech tree! Almost the only
one left, I suppose. About that bull, Stonecypher, you know I was a bit
hesitant when I bought him, but my driver talked me into it. I'm so
disappointed I had him drafted immediately!"
"But, what--" Stonecypher attempted to ask.
"The young woman there in the butterflier is a much better driver and
pilot," Oswell babbled. "I wouldn't have believed it of a woman! She
weighs a good ninety-eight pounds, too! That bull--he has changed
completely since we put him under the stands. He eats well, but he shows
no spirit at all. Tomorrow is the big day, Stonecypher! I can't
disappoint the crowd! I thought he might be sick, but the vet says not.
That bull let the vet come into the cage and made absolutely no attempt
to kill him!"
"But does Fergus--"
"Fergus's manager saw the bull! He's all for it. Fergus made an
extremely poor showing on Memorial Day, and the manager thinks this odd
bull would provide a real comeback! I advised against it. This heat is
terrible! The storm didn't cool the air at all."
Stonecypher maneuvered the perspiring ringmaster into the shade of the
beech. He said, "I wanta do the fair thing with you, ringmaster, so I'll
give you a guarantee, in writing if you want. If that bull's not the
bravest ever fought in Highland Bullring, I give you double-money-back."
Oswell's face wobbled in a tentative smile. He counted his stubby
fingers. "Double-money-back?"
"Yeah. I wanta get into the business. My grandfather used to sell bulls.
Then my father came along, and he wouldn't sell a one."
"Yes. Yes, I once tried to reason with him, but--"
"He had funny ideas," Stonecypher pressed his advantage. "I never did
understand the old man myself. He used to lecture me on something he
called the Man-Animal War. He said one of the worst things in the war
was the thousands of bulls that had been tortured to death."
"Peculiar idea. Of course--"
"He claimed bullfights slipped up on this country. Back when it wasn't
legal, they spaded up the ground real good. There were movies, and
books, and magazines, and foreign broadcasts, all ravin' about how brave
and noble it was for a bunch of men to worry and torture a stupid animal
like a bull, till he couldn't hardly hold his head up, and then run a
sword in 'im."
"Naturally, you--"
"I don't know how many times he told me a bull had more brains than a
horse, but less then a jackass. He said bullfightin' wasn't a sport,
even if the bull got a man sometimes: and he had the idea the worst
thing was the four or five horses, that ever' bull killed, took with
'im. They had some bloodless bullfights in California, and the nut
colonies out there like it so good, first thing you know, we really had
it. It came to East Tennessee 'cause this was one of the biggest
cattle-raisin' sections, before the Lakes took the grazin' land."
"Surely, Stonecypher, you--"
"My father always claimed if the bullfighters were near as brave as they
said, they'd take on a really intelligent animal sometimes, like a
man-eatin' tiger. He even thought a man was mentalill to fight a bull in
the first place." Stonecypher grinned. "No, you don't need to worry
about me, ringmaster. I hate to admit it, but the old man is the one who
was mentalill."
Oswell revealed all of his steel teeth in a broad smile. "You had me
worried!" he wheezed. "Now, your offer."
"I'll go even better," Stonecypher said, "just to show how set I am on
gettin' back in the business. If Moe's not brave, I got two yearlin's
you can have for free."
"How generous! You've reassured me, Stonecypher. I have confidence, now,
that the show will be a great success! I must go! You have no conception
of the life a ringmaster leads before a fight. I won't require a written
guarantee. I trust you, Stonecypher! See you tomorrow, I hope! I never
liked July. If the Government would only make more Lakes, it might cool
off! I hope--"
The whir of the red butterflier's wings terminated Oswell's discourse.
With a face like a gored bullkiller, Stonecypher watched the
ringmaster's departure. Another butterflier hovered above the mountain.
This one was green and gold with the canopy pushed back and a glint of
twin lenses in the cockpit.
Will appeared at Stonecypher's side. He spat in a long arc and said,
"That's a new one, ain't it, peepin' from a butterfly? I reckon L. Dan
never got kilt in that other duel like I hoped he would. You want us to
git you outa this, Stonecypher?"
"No, Will."
"We can see you git to the Smokies. The Givernment'll never find you
down in there."
"I'll be all right, Will. If he does kill me, take care of Catriona. And
look after the calf records."
"Sure thang."
Stonecypher walked slowly toward Catriona's open-topped sunbathing tent.