But Pete shook his head, and began to gather up the loose end of the rope into a little coil in his left hand.
"That ain't the 'boss's order, sir. 'Fetch her, Pete,' sez he, 'an' let nuthin' stop ye. If they hev the money to pay, don't take it. The cow's of more value to me than money.' Them's his very orders."
"Oh, I see, I see," Mr. Westmore remarked, as a stern look crossed his face, and his eyes flashed with indignation. "It's not the money your master wants, but only the pound of flesh."
"Boss didn't say nuthin' 'bout any pound of flesh. He only said 'the cow,' an' the cow he'll git if Pete Davis knows anything."
Quick as a flash Parson John's hand dove deep into his capacious pocket. He whipped out a clasp-knife, opened it, and with one vigorous stroke severed the rope about one foot from the cow's head.
"There!" he cried to the staring, gaping Pete. "Take that rope to your master, and tell him what I have done. Leave the matter to me. I alone will be responsible for this deed."
The appearance of Mr. Westmore at this moment was enough to awe even the most careless. His gigantic form was drawn to its fullest height. His flashing eyes, turned full upon Pete's face, caused that obsequious menial to fall back a step or two. Even a blow from the parson's clenched fist just then would not have been a surprise. His spirit at this moment was that of the prophets of old, and even of the Great Master Himself, upholding justice and defending the cause of the poor and down-trodden.
For an instant only they faced each other. Then, Pete's eyes dropped as the eyes of an abashed dog before his master. He stooped for the rope, which had fallen to the ground, and slowly gathered it into a little coil. But still he maintained his ground.
"Are you going?" demanded the parson.
"Yes," came the surly response. "I'm goin', but remember you hev interfered with Si Farrington's lawful bizness, so beware! I'll go an' tell 'im what ye say. Oh, yes, I'll go, but you'll hear from 'im again. Oh, yes, ye'll hear."