Next he bore the infant to Judson and O’Reilly in turn; but both gruffly refused to assume the least responsibility for it.  In the matter of advice concerning its welfare, however, they were more obliging.  They were willing to discuss the theory of child-rearing with him as long as he would listen, but their advice merely caused him to glare balefully and to curse them.  Nor did he regard it as a mark of friendship on their part when they collected an audience that evening to watch him milk the cow—­a procedure, by the way, not devoid of excitement and hazard, inasmuch as Branch’s knowledge of cows was even more theoretical than his knowledge of babies.

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.

“Stretch her tight,” Leslie commanded.  “Don’t give her an inch of slack, or I’ll quit.”  When his friends had braced themselves he moved toward the cow once more, but this time from the opposite quarter.  Noting the direction of his approach, the onlookers gave vent to a low murmur of expectancy.  They drew closer.  Strangely enough, the animal stood quiet for a time—­lost in amazement, perhaps—­and Leslie managed to cover the bottom of his big tin cup with milk.  But at last the outrage proved too much for her; she slowly lifted one hind foot and poised it jerkily.  She seemed to consider the next move for a moment; then she kicked forward and sent Branch flying.

“Can you beat that?” O’Reilly exclaimed in apparent wonderment.  “Why, she walloped you with the back of her hand.”

Judson, too, affected great amazement.  “Most cows are left-handed,” he declared.  “Try her on the other side.”