"By Jove, he's facing the fellow," said the duke to the count.
"Ees eet Shaw? Parbleu!"
"I'll send some one for that watch. Don't you dare to touch it," said
his lordship in tones barely audible. Then he loped off to meet his
friends and turn them back before they came too close for comfort.
Randolph Shaw laughed heartily as he watched the retreat. Seeing the
newcomers halt and then turn abruptly back into their tracks he picked
up the watch and strolled off into the woods, taking a short out for
the dirt road which led up to his house.
"I had him begging for mercy," explained his lordship as he rode
along. "I was on his land for half an hour before he would come within
speaking distance. Come along. I need a drink."
Young Mr. Shaw came to the road in due time and paused, after his
climb, to rest on a stone at the wayside. He was still a mile from
home and in the loneliest part of his domain. The Bazelhurst line was
scarcely a quarter of a mile behind him. Trees and underbrush grew
thick and impenetrable alongside the narrow, winding road; the light
of heaven found it difficult to struggle through to the highway below.
Picturesque but lonely and sombre indeed were his surroundings.
"Some one coming?" he said aloud, as Bonaparte pricked up his ears and
looked up the road. A moment later a horse and rider turned the bend a
hundred yards away and came slowly toward him. He started to his feet
with an exclamation. The rider was a woman and she was making her way
leisurely toward the Bazelhurst lands.
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