She had gone the wrong way about making him yield; threats had always acted like a goad upon Jack's anger, just as they do upon most of us.
Teresita looked at him in silence for a minute.

And Jack, his head upon his arm in a position that would give him a fair view of her from the brim of his sombrero while he seemed to be taking no notice of her, wondered how soon she would change her mood to coaxing, and so melt that lump of obstinacy in his throat that would not let him so much as answer her vixenish upbraidings.

A very little coaxing would have freed the bull then, and he would have kissed the red mouth that had reviled him, and would have called her "dulce corazon," as she loved to have him do.
Such a very little coaxing would have been enough! "Dios! How I hate a gringo!" she cried passionately, just when Jack believed she was going to cry "Senor Jack ?" in that pretty, cooing tone she had that could make the words as tender as a kiss.

"Jose is right.
Gringos are savages and worse than savages.

Stay and torture your bull, then! I hate you! Never have I known hate, till now! I shall be glad when Jose drags you from your horse to-morrow.