"Stand and deliver!" repeated Beau Brocade, in as gruff a voice as he could command.
Jock Miggs was trying to collect his scattered wits.
"B ... b ... but ... kind sir!" he murmured, "y ... y ... you wouldn't harm Jock Miggs, the shepherd ... would you?"
"Quick's the word! Now then..."
"But, good sir ... Oi ... Oi ... Oi've got nowt to deliver..."
Jock Miggs was pitiful to behold: at any other moment of his life Bathurst would have felt very sorry for the poor, scared creature, but that yelping hound was drawing desperately near and he had only a few minutes at his command.
"Naught to deliver?" he said with a great show of roughness, and seizing poor Jock by the collar.
"Look at your smock!"
"My smock, kind sir?..."
"Aye! I've a fancy for your smock ... so off with it ... quick!"