Mr. SHAW was a tall young man of thirty or thereabouts, smooth-faced,
good-looking and athletic. It was quite true that he wore a red
coat when tramping through his woods and vales, not because it was
fashionable, but because he had a vague horror of being shot at by some
near-sighted nimrod from Manhattan. A crowd of old college friends had
just left him alone in the hills after spending several weeks at his
place, and his sole occupation these days, aside from directing the
affairs about the house and grounds, lay in the efforts to commune
with nature by means of a shotgun and a fishing-rod. His most constant
companion was a pipe, his most loyal follower a dog.
As he sauntered slowly down the river road that afternoon, smiling
retrospectively from time to time as he looked into the swift, narrow
stream that had welcomed his adversaries of the morning, he little
thought of the encounter in store for him. The little mountain stream
was called a river by courtesy because it was yards wider than the
brooks that struggled impotently to surpass it during the rainy season.
But it was deep and turbulent in places and it had a roar at times that
commanded the respect of the foolhardy.
“The poor devils might have drowned, eh, Bonaparte?” he mused,
addressing the dog at his side. “Confounded nuisance, getting wet after
all, though. Lord Bazelhurst wants war, does he? That log down there is
the dividing line in our river, eh? And I have to stay on this side of
it. By George, he's a mean-spirited person. And it's his wife's land,
too. I wonder what she's like. It's a pity a fellow can't have a quiet,
decent summer up here in the hills. Still”--lighting his pipe--“I
daresay I can give as well as I take. If I stay off his land, they'll
have to keep off of mine. Hullo, who's that? A man, by George, but he
looks like a partridge. As I live, Bonaparte is pointing. Ha, ha, that's
one on you, Bony.” Mr. Shaw stepped into the brush at the side of the
path and watched the movements of the man at the “log,” now less than
one hundred yards away.
Lord Bazelhurst, attired in his brown corduroys and his tan waistcoat,
certainly suggested the partridge as he hopped nimbly about in the
distant foreground, cocking his ears from time to time with all the
aloofness of that wily bird. He was, strange to relate, some little
distance from Bazelhurst territory, an actual if not a confident
trespasser upon Shaw's domain. His horse, however, was tethered to a
sapling on the safe side of the log, comfortably browsing on Bazelhurst
grass. Randolph Shaw, an unseen observer, was considerably mystified by
the actions of his unusual visitor.
His lordship paced back and forth with a stride that grew firmer as
time brought forth no hostile impediments. His monocle ever and anon was
directed both high and low in search of Shaw or his henchmen, while his
face was rapidly resolving itself into a bloom of rage.
“Confound him,” his lordship was muttering, looking at his timepiece
with stern disapproval; “he can't expect me to wait here all day. I'm
on his land and I 'll stay here as long as I like.” (At this juncture
he involuntarily measured the distance between himself and the log.) “I
knew it was all a bluff, his threat to put me off. Hang it all, where is
the fellow? I won't go up to his beastly house. I won't gratify him by
going up there even to give him his orders. Demmed cad, blowhard! Five
o'clock, confound him! I daresay he's seen me and has crawled off into
the underbrush. He's afraid of me; he's a coward. It is as I feared. I
can't see the rascal. There's only one thing left for me to do. I'll
pin a note to this tree. Confound him, he shall hear from me; he 'll
have to read it.”
Whereupon his lordship drew forth a large envelope from his pocket and
proceeded to fasten it to the trunk of a big tree which grew in the
middle of the road, an act of premeditation which showed strange powers
of prophecy. How could he, except by means of clairvoyance, have known
before leaving home that he was not to meet his enemy face to face?
As Mr. Shaw afterwards read the note and tossed it into the river, it is
only fair that the world should know its contents while it hung unfolded
to the bark of the tall tree. It said, in a very scrawling hand:
“Mr. Shaw, I have looked all over this end of your land for you this
afternoon. You doubtless choose to avoid me. So be it. Let me state,
once and for all, that your conduct is despicable. I came here
personally to tell you to keep off my land, henceforth and for ever.
I will not repeat this warning, but will instead, if you persist, take
such summary measures as would befit a person of your instincts. I
trust you will feel the importance of keeping off.” To this his lordship
bravely signed himself.
“There,” he muttered, again holding his watch and fob up for close
inspection. “He'll not soon overlook what I've said in that letter,
confound him.”
He had not observed the approach of Randolph Shaw, who now stood, pipe
in hand, some twenty paces behind him in the road.
“What the devil are you doing?” demanded a strong bass voice. It had the
effect of a cannon shot.
His lordship leaped half out of his corduroys, turned with agonizing
abruptness toward the tall young man, and gasped “Oh!” so shrilly that
his horse looked up with a start. The next instant his watch dropped
forgotten from his fingers and his nimble little legs scurried for
territory beyond the log. Nor did he pause upon reaching that supposedly
safe ground. The swift glance he gave the nearby river was significant
as well as apprehensive. It moved him to increased but unpolished haste.
He leaped frantically for the saddle, scorning the stirrups, landing
broadside but with sufficient nervous energy in reserve to scramble on
and upward into the seat. Once there, he kicked the animal in the flanks
with both heels, clutching with his knees and reaching for the bridle
rein in the same motion. The horse plunged obediently, but came to a
stop with a jerk that almost unseated the rider; the sapling swayed; the
good but forgotten rein held firm.
“Ha!” gasped his lordship as the horrid truth became clear to him.
“Charge, Bonaparte!” shouted the man in the road.
“Soldiers?” cried the rider with a wild look among the trees.
“My dog,” called back the other. “He charges at the word.”
“Well, you know, I saw service in the army,” apologized his lordship,
with a pale smile. “Get ep!” to the horse.
“What's your hurry?” asked Shaw, grinning broadly as he came up to the
log.
“Don't--don't you dare to step over that log,” shouted Bazelhurst.
“All right. I see. But, after all, what's the rush?” The other was
puzzled for the moment.
“I'm practising, sir,” he said unsteadily. “How to mount on a run,
demmit. Can't you see?”
“In case of fire, I imagine. Well, you made excellent time. By the way,
what has this envelope to do with it?”
“Who are you, sir?”
“Shaw. And you?”
“You'll learn when you read that document. Take it home with you.”
“Ah, yes, I see it's for me. Why don't you untie that hitch rein? And
what the dickens do you mean by having a hitch rein, anyway? No rider--”
“Confound your impudence, sir, I did not come here to receive
instructions from you, dem you,” cried his lordship defiantly. He had
succeeded at that moment in surreptitiously slashing the hitch rein in
two with his pocketknife. There was nothing to prevent him from giving
the obtrusive young man a defiant farewell. “I am Lord Bazelhurst. Good
day, sir!”
“Just a minute, your lordship,” called Shaw. “No doubt you were timing
yourself a bit ago, but that 's no reason why you should leave your
watch on my land. Of course, I 've nothing against the watch, and, while
I promise you faithfully that any human being from your side of the log
who ventures over on my side shall be ejected in one way or another, it
would seem senseless for me to kick this timepiece into the middle of
next week.”
“Don't you dare kick that watch. It's a hundred years old.”
“Far be it from me to take advantage of anything so old. Don't you want
it any longer?”
“Certainly, sir. I would n't part from it.”
“Then why don't you come over and get it? Do you expect me to break the
rule by coming over on to your land to hand it to you?”
“I should n't call _that_ trespassing don't you know,” began his
lordship.
“Ah? Nevertheless, if you want this watch you 'll have to come over and
get it.”
“By Jove, now, that's a demmed mean trick. I'm mounted. Beastly
annoying. I say, would you mind _tossing_ it up to me?”
“I wouldn't touch it for ten dollars. By the way, I'll just read this
note of yours.” Lord Bazelhurst nervously watched him as he read; his
heart lightened perceptibly as he saw a good-humoured smile struggle to
the tall young man's face. It was, however, with some misgiving that he
studied the broad shoulders and powerful frame of the erstwhile poacher.
“Very good of you, I'm sure, to warn me.”
“Good of me? It was imperative, let me tell you, sir. No man can abuse
my servants and trample all over my land and disturb my fish--”
“Excuse me, but I have n't time to listen to all that. The note's
sufficient. You've been practising the running mount until it looks
well nigh perfect to me, so I'll tell you what I 'll do. I'll step back
thirty paces and then you come over and get the watch if you 're not
afrain of me--and I promise--”
“Afrain? Demmit, sir, didn't I say I was Lord Bazelhurst? Of the Guards,
sir, and the Seventy-first? Conf--”
“You come over and get the watch and then see if you can get back to the
horse and mount before I get to the log. If I beat you there, you lose.
How's that?”
“I decline to make a fool of myself. Either you will restore my watch
to me, or I shall instantly go before the authorities and take out a
warrant. I came to see you on business, sir, not folly. Lady Bazelhurst
herself would have come had I been otherwise occupied, and I want to
assure you of her contempt. You are a disgrace to her countrymen. If
you ever put foot on our land I shall have you thrown into the river.
Demmit, sir, it 's no laughing matter. My watch, sir.”
“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.
“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.
“Lady Bazelhurst, I'll bet my hat,” thought he with a quiet whistle. “By
George, this is awkward. My first trespasser is in petticoats. I say,
she's a beauty--a ripping beauty. Lord, Lord, what do such women mean by
giving themselves to little rats like Bazelhurst? Oh, the shame of it!
Well, it's up to me! If I expect to make good, I've just got to fire her
off these grounds.”
Naturally he expected to be very polite about it--instinctively so;
he could not have been otherwise. The horsewoman saw him step into the
middle of the road, smiling oddly but deferentially; her slim figure
straightened, her colour rose, and there was a--yes, there was a
relieved gleam in her eyes. As she drew near he advanced, hat in hand,
his face uplifted in his most winning smile--savouring more of welcome
than of repellence.
“I beg your pardon,” he said; “doubtless you are not aware that this is
proscribed land.”
“Then you _are_ Mr. Shaw?” she asked, checking her horse with
premeditated surprise and an emphasis that puzzled him.
“Yes, madam,” he responded gravely, “the hated Shaw. Permit me,” and
he politely grasped the bridle rein. To her amazement he deliberately
turned and began to lead her horse, willy nilly, down the road, very
much as if she were a child taking her first riding lesson.
“What are you doing, sir? she exclaimed sharply. There was a queer
flutter of helplessness in her voice.
“Putting you off,” he answered laconically. She laughed in delight and
he looked up with a relieved smile. “I'm glad you don't mind. I have to
do it. These feuds are such beastly things, you know. One has to live up
to them whether he likes it or not.”
“So you are putting me off your place? Oh, how lovely!”
[Illustration: 0042]
“It is n't far, you know--just down by those big rocks. Your line is
there. Of course,” he went on politely, “you know that there _is_ a
feud.”
“Oh, yes; I've heard you discussed. Besides, I met Tompkins and James
this morning. Pardon me, Mr. Shaw, but I fancy I can get on without
being led. Would you mind--”
“My dear madam, there is no alternative. I have taken a solemn vow
personally to eject all Bazelhurst trespassers from my place. You forget
that I am, by your orders, to be thrown into the river and all that.
Don't be alarmed! I don't mean to throw you into the river.”
“By my orders? It seems to me that you have confused me with Lord
Bazelhurst.”
“Heaven has given me keener perception, your ladyship. I have seen his
lordship.”
“Ah, may I inquire whether he was particularly rough with you this
afternoon?”
“I trust I am too chivalrous to answer that question.”
“You are quite dry.”
“Thank you. I deserve the rebuke, all right.”
“Oh, I mean you haven't been in the river.
“Not since morning. Am I walking too fast for you?”
“Not at all. One could n't ask to be put off more considerately.”
“By Jove,” he said involuntarily, his admiration getting the better of
him.
“I beg your pardon,” with slightly elevated eyebrows.
“Do you know, you 're not at all what I imagined you'd be.”
“Oh? And I fancy I'm not at all _whom_ you imagined me to be.”
“Heavens! Am I ejecting an innocent bystander? You _are_ Lady
Bazelhurst?”
“I am Penelope Drake. But”--she added quickly--“I _am_ an enemy. I am
Lord Bazelhurst's sister.”
“You--you don't mean it?”
“Are you disappointed? I'm sorry.”
“I am staggered and--a bit skeptical. There is no resemblance.”
“I _am_ a bit taller,” she admitted carefully. “It is n't dreadfully
immodest, is it, for one to hold converse with her captor? I am in your
power, you see.”
“On the contrary, it is quite the thing. The heroine always converses
with the villain in books. She tells him what she thinks of him.”
“But this is n't a book and I'm not a heroine. I am the adventuress.
Will you permit me to explain my presence on your land?”
“No excuse is necessary. You were caught red-handed and you don't have
to say anything to incriminate yourself further.”
“But it is scarcely a hundred feet to our line. In a very few minutes I
shall be hurled relentlessly from your land and may never have another
chance to tell why I dared to venture over here. You see, you have a
haunted house on your land and I--” She hesitated.
“I see. The old Renwood Cottage on the hill. Been deserted for years.
Renwood brought his wife up here in the mountains long ago and murdered
her. She comes back occasionally, they say; mysterious noises and lights
and all that. Well?”
“Well, I'm very much interested in spooks. In spite of the feud I rode
over here for a peep at the house. Dear me, it's a desolate looking
place. I did n't go inside, of course. Why don't you tear it down?”
“And deprive the ghost of house and home? That would be heartless.
Besides, it serves as an attraction to bring visitors to my otherwise
unalluring place. I'm terribly sorry the fortunes of war prevent me
from offering to take you through the house. But as long as you remain
a Bazelhurst I can't neglect my vow. Of course, I don't mean to say
that you _cant_ come and do what you please over here, but you shall be
recognized and treated as a trespasser.”
“Oh, that 's just splendid! Perhaps I 'll come to-morrow.”
“I shall be obliged to escort you from the grounds, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” she said agreeably. He looked dazed and delighted. “Of
course, I shall come with stealth and darkly. Not even my brother shall
know of my plans.”
“Certainly not,” he said with alacrity. (They were nearing the line.)
“Depend on me.”
“Depend on you? Your only duty is to scare me off the place.”
“That 's what I mean. I 'll keep sharp watch for you up at the haunted
house.”
“It 's more than a mile from the line,” she advised him.
“Yes, I know,” said he, with his friendliest smile. “Oh, by the way,
would you mind doing your brother a favour, Miss Drake? Give him this
watch. He--er--he must have dropped it while pursuing me.”
“You _ran?_” she accepted the watch with in surprise and unbelief.
“Here is the line, Miss Drake,” he evaded. “Consider yourself
ignominiously ejected. Have I been unnecessarily rough and expeditious?”
“You have had a long and tiresome walk,” she said, settling herself for
a merry clip. “Please don't step on our side.” He released the bridle
rein and doffed his hat.
“I shall bring my horse to-morrow,” he remarked significantly.
“I may bring the duke,” she said sweetly.
“In that case I shall have to bring an extra man to lead his horse. It
won't matter.”
“So this rock is the dividing line?”
“Yes; you are on the safe side now--and so am I, for that matter. The
line is here,” and he drew a broad line in the dust from one side of the
road to the other. “My orders are that you are not to ride across that
line, at your peril.”
“And you are not to cross it either, at _your_ peril.”
“Do you dare me?” with an eager step forward.
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye! I say, are you sure you can find the Renwood cottage?” he
called after her. The answer came back through the clatter of hoofs,
accompanied by a smile that seduced his self-possession.
“I shall find it in time.”
For a long time he stood watching her as she raced down the road.
“At my peril,” he mused, shaking his head with a queer smile. “By
George, that's fair warning enough. She's beautiful.”
At dinner that night the Honourable Penelope restored the watch to her
brother, much to his embarrassment, for he had told the duke it was
being repaired in town.
“It was n't this watch that I meant, old chap,” he announced,
irrelevantly, to the duke, quite red in the face. “Where did you find
it, Pen?” She caught the plea in his eye and responded loyally.
“You dropped it, I daresay, in pursuing Mr. Shaw.”
The positive radiance which followed dismay in his watery eyes convinced
her beyond all doubt that her brother's encounter with the tall Mr. Shaw
was not quite creditable to Bazelhurst arms. She listened with pensive
indifference to the oft-repeated story of how he had routed the
“insufferable cad,” encouraged by the support of champagne and the
solicited approval of two eye-witnesses. She could not repress the mixed
feelings of scorn, shame, and pity, as she surveyed the array of men who
so mercilessly flayed the healthy, fair-faced young man with the gentle
strength.
The house party had been augmented during the day by the arrival of half
a dozen men and women from the city, brain-fagged, listless, and smart.
The big cottage now was full, the company complete for three weeks at
least. She looked ahead, this fresh, vigorous young Englishwoman, and
wondered how she was to endure the staleness of life.
There was some relief in the thought that the men would make love to the
good-looking young married women--at least part of the time--and--but it
depressed her in turn to think of the left-over husbands who would make
love to her.
“Why is it that Evelyn does n't have real men here--like this Mr. Shaw?”
she found herself wondering vaguely as the night wore on.