Quote:
The big white gate flew open. The bull came out bucking. The rider flopped
From side to side and the bullfighters held back, letting the bull make his moves until the rider dropped off. Licciardello crouched in a heavily padded barrel, a human target should the bull decide to charge. Hawkins waited near the barrel, holding his big inner tube. A dummy with a George Bush mask stood beside the clown, propped up by a broomstick.
Cowboys in their hats and long-sleeved shirts lined the arena's fences, some sitting on the top rails, some standing right on the sand.
This bull bucked well, needing no prompting from the bullfighters. And when the bull had lost his rider, he made moves toward the fences, sending cowboys scrambling up the fence rails, away from the bull's horns. Each of the first four bulls did about the same, bucking well but choosing not to charge their fallen riders, demanding few of the bullfighters' talents.
The fifth bull was behind the gate ready to go. His rider, O.J. Jones, pumped with adrenalin and, like the other riders, shaking in anticipation, was settling onto the back of Number 117 when, up in the announcer's booth, Dusty Cleveland enunciated the name that demanded respect.
"JA-LA-PE-NO!"
The big white bull with black spots and the foot-long horns came slamming out, looking big as a pickup truck, and Skimmer Walker, his feet spread, his hands out to the side, crouched to make a move.
Jalapeņo dispatched his rider before the mandatory eight seconds. Now he stood tall, his head up, looking for something to charge.
T.J. Hawkins rolled out the big inner tube, and the bull lowered his head, shot forward and launched into the tube, sending it bounding down the center of the arena. The crowd cheered. Then the bull saw the George Bush dummy.
He tore into it, sending the rubber mask flying halfway across the sand as he turned toward the fence, sending cowboys scrambling up the fence rails, hooking one with his horn and tossing him off the fence.
Walker waited.
But it had been a hot day, and bulls, like men, have moods. Jalapeņo, Grant Harris' "excited rascal," called it a night, found the exit gate and, like a locomotive floating on cotton balls, galloped silently over the soft sand and disappeared into the night.
Unchallenged, the brave Jimmy Lee Walker eased through the rest of another rodeo, fit to fight bulls one more night in a career that may never end.
