"What in the devil are you doing here, and who fired that shot?"
Oscar saluted and summoned his best English.
"It was an accident, sir."
"Why are you running and why did you fire? Understand you are a
trespasser here, and I am going to turn you over to the constable."
"There was a sheep-stealer--yes? He is yonder by the pens--and we had
some little fighting; but he is not dead--no?"
At that moment Claiborne's eyes caught sight of a burly figure rising and
threshing about by the broken pen door.
"That is the sheep-stealer," said Oscar. "We shall catch him--yes?"
Zmai peered toward them uncertainly for a moment; then turned abruptly
and ran toward the road. Oscar started to cut off his retreat, but
Claiborne caught the sergeant by the shoulder and flung him back.
"One of you at a time! They can turn the hounds on the other rascal.
What's that you have there? Give it to me--quick!"
"It's a piece of wool--"
But Claiborne snatched the paper from Oscar's hand, and commanded the man
to march ahead of him to the house. So over the meadow and through the
pergola they went, across the veranda and into the library.
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