Leslie had begun by this time to realize that there existed a
general conspiracy against him; he met it with sullen resentment.
He deeply regretted his ignorance of the Spanish language,
however, for a thousand epithets and insults clamored for
translation.
Now there are cows which an amateur can milk, and there are other
kinds. This particular cow was shy, apprehensive, peevish;
Branch's unpractised fumbling irritated her. Being herself a nomad
of the savannas, she was accustomed to firm, masterful men,
therefore when Leslie attempted courteously, apologetically, to
separate her from her milk she turned and hooked him.
El Demonio's audience, who had been looking on with rapt
attention, applauded this show of spirit. Branch was unwontedly
meek. He acknowledged his total inexperience, and begged his
friends, almost politely, to call for a substitute.
Judson explained, gravely, "These Cubans don't know any more about
cows than you do."
O'Reilly agreed, "They're good bull-fighters, but they can't
milk."
Leslie eyed the speakers, white with rage; he was trembling. "You
think you're damned funny, don't you? You're having a jubilee with
me. Well, I'm game. I'll go through with it. If you'll hold her,
I'll milk her. I'll milk her till she hollers."
Obligingly, O'Reilly took the animal by the horns and Judson laid
hold of her tail.
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