“Come and get it.”
“Scalawag!”
“By George, do you know if you get too personal I will come over there.” Randolph Shaw advanced with a threatening scowl.
“Ha, ha!” laughed his lordship shrilly; “I dare you!” He turned his horse's head for home and moved off a yard or more. “Whoa! Curse you! This is the demdest horse to manage I ever owned. Stand still, confound you! Whoa!”
“He 'll stand if you stop kicking him.”
“Halloa! Hey, Bazelhurst!” came a far distant voice. The adversaries glanced down the road and beheld two horsemen approaching from Bazelhurst Villa—the duke and the count.
“By Jove!” muttered his lordship, suddenly deciding that it would not be convenient for them to appear on the scene at its present stage. “My friends are calling me. Her ladyship doubtless is near at hand. She rides, you know—I mean dem you! Would n't have her see you for a fortune. Not another word, sir! You have my orders. Stay off or I'll—throw you off!” This last threat was almost shrieked and was plainly heard by the two horsemen.
“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 lord-ship 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 cut for the dirt road which led up to his house.