“Dare not!” The horseman flourished his sword before the lad’s face and swore he would kill him instantly.
“You dare not!” said Edmund firmly; “and I will report you to your master for this.”
The fierce and defiant look really awed the trooper, and he mounted his horse, although he still told the boy he would “cut him into inch pieces.”
Edmund knew that such things were actually done by the soldiers, and he appreciated the man’s terrible rage. He coolly walked across the barn-floor, and armed himself with a huge pitchfork.
“You cowardly rascal!”—the boy’s words came fierce and sharp. “Now take one step towards this floor, and I stab you with my pitchfork.”
The gentle Mrs. Pattison expected to see her boy at once shot down like a dog. She ran to the house, and, meeting her husband, sent him to the rescue.
Friend Pattison rode hastily up, and said calmly to the trooper:
“You have no right to lay a finger upon that boy, who is a non-combatant.”
The man did not move.
Then Farmer Pattison turned toward the road, saying he would ride and call Col. Wurms, who commanded the troops.