ou as soon as I can change my gown. I
suppose father and mother have gone."

"They have--for which you should be grateful!"

Captain Claiborne lighted a cigar and waited.

CHAPTER XXI

THE COMEDY OF A SHEEPFOLD

A glance, a word--and joy or pain
Befalls; what was no more shall be.
How slight the links are in the chain
That binds us to our destiny!

--T.B. Aldrich.

Oscar's eye, roaming the landscape as he left Shirley Claiborne and
started for the bungalow, swept the upland Claiborne acres and rested
upon a moving shadow. He drew rein under a clump of wild cherry-trees at
the roadside and waited. Several hundred yards away lay the Claiborne
sheepfold, with a broad pasture rising beyond. A shadow is not a thing to
be ignored by a man trained in the niceties of scouting. Oscar,
satisfying himself that substance lay behind the shadow, dismounted and
tied his horse. Then he bent low over the stone wall and watched.

"It is the big fellow--yes? He is a stealer of sheep, as I might have
known."

Zmai was only a dim figure against the dark meadow, which he was slowly
crossing from the side farthest from the Claiborne house. He stopped
several times as though uncertain of his whereabouts, and then clambered
over a stone wall that formed one side of the sheepfold, passed it and
strode on toward Oscar and the road.

"It is mischief that brings him from the hills--yes?" Oscar reflected,
glancing up and down the highway. Faintly--very softly through the night
he heard the orchestra at the hotel, playing for the dance. The little
soldier unbuttoned his coat, drew the revolver from his belt, and thrust
it into his coat pocket. Zmai was drawing nearer, advancing rapidly, now
that he had gained his bearings. At the wall Oscar rose suddenly and
greeted him in mockingly-courteous tones:

"Good evening, my friend; it's a fine evening for a walk."

Zmai drew back and growled.

"Let me pass," he said in his difficult German.

"It is a long wall; there should be no difficulty in passing. This
country is much freer than Servia--yes?" and Oscar's tone was pleasantly
conversational.

Zmai put his hand on the wall and prepared to vault.

"A moment only, comrade. You seem to be in a hurry; it must be a business
that brings you from the mountains--yes?"

"I have no time for you," snarled the Servian. "Be gone!" and he shook
himself impatiently and again put his hand on the wall.

"One should not be in too much