ordered them to drive the cattle into his yard. The peasants were working in the fields, and, disregarding the screaming of the women, Peter Nikolaevich’s men succeeded in driving in the cattle. When they came home the peasants went in a crowd to the cattle-yard on the estate, and asked for their cattle. Peter Nikolaevich came out to talk to them with a gun slung on his shoulder; he had just returned from a ride of inspection. He told them that he would not let them have their cattle unless they paid a fine of fifty kopecks for each of the horned cattle, and twenty kopecks for each sheep. The peasants loudly declared that the pasture ground was their property, because their fathers and grandfathers had used it, and protested that he had no right whatever to lay hand on their cattle.
“Give back our cattle, or you will regret it,” said an old man coming up to Peter Nikolaevich.
“How shall I regret it?” cried Peter Nikolaevich, turning pale, and coming close to the old man.
“Give them back, you villain, and don’t provoke us.”
“What?” cried Peter Nikolaevich, and slapped the old man in the face.
“You dare to strike me? Come along, you fellows, let us take back our cattle by force.”
The crowd drew close to him. Peter Nikolaevich tried to push his way, through them, but the peasants resisted him. Again he tried force.
His gun, accidentally discharged in the melee, killed one of the peasants. Instantly the fight began. Peter Nikolaevich was trodden down, and five minutes later his mutilated body was dragged into the ravine.
The murderers were tried by martial law, and two of them sentenced to the gallows.