“Are they finished?” asked a girl about nine in the row in front of where Lew stood.

“Don’t know, baby,” said the mother, who could have been any age from fourteen to thirty.

The crowd was silent again. Lew made his way slowly around the wall of the barn. Borg was handing out cash to a grinning wrinkle-necked old man in slacks, a yellow shirt and a green bow tie.

It took about a minute to pry the dog loose. Red T-shirt lost his cowboy hat in the process. Santana was muzzled the instant his jaws opened. The dog was led out of the ring by the man in the red T-shirt, who paused to pick up his hat, to cheering from the crowd.

The man in the black T-shirt went to the fallen hog and said gently, “Get up, boy. You did just fine.”

“Get up,” urged a woman’s voice from the crowd. Others took up the chant. “Get up.”

The twin in the black T-shirt pulled a bottle of apple cider vinegar from his pocket, opened it and poured it on the panting hog’s wounds.

Lew was now in the rear of the barn, looking down at Borg’s back.

The crowd cheered as the hog wobbled to its feet. The man in the red T-shirt was back now, a muzzle in his hand. He put it over the mouth and head of the dazed hog.

“Children ten and under,” the man in black shouted.

Children rushed out of the stands, about twenty of them. Some had come armed with sticks. Others used their hands and feet. They pummeled the bloodied hog, who unsteadily tried to get away but had no place to go.

“Okay” shouted the man in the black shirt after about a minute. “We want to save him for another day. Let’s all give the hog a big hand.”

The audience, including Borg, applauded the animal.

“This little lady here,” said the man in the black T-shirt, singling out a pretty, smiling blonde who appeared to be about nine.

The audience applauded again.