above her, she now found herself again encompassed with the darkness.  The outlines of the poles had disappeared, the white fluttering garments were distinct apparitions waving in the wind, like dancing ghosts.  But there certainly was a queer misshapen bulk moving beyond, which she did not recognize, and as she at last reached one of the poles, a shock was communicated to it, through the clothes-line and the bulk beyond.  Then she heard a voice say impatiently,—­

“What in h-ll am I running into now?”

It was a man’s voice, and, from its elevation, the voice of a man on horseback.  She answered without fear and with slow deliberation,—­

“Inter our clothes-line, I reckon.”

“Oh!” said the man in a half-apologetic tone.  Then in brisker accents, “The very thing I want!  I say, can you give me a bit of it?  The ring of my saddle girth has fetched loose.  I can fasten it with that.”

“I reckon,” replied Lanty, with the same unconcern, moving nearer the bulk, which now separated into two parts as the man dismounted.  “How much do you want?”

“A foot or two will do.”

They were now in front of each other, although their faces were not distinguishable to either.  Lanty, who had been following the lines with her hand, here came upon the end knotted around the last pole.  This she began to untie.

“What a place to hang clothes,” he said curiously.

“Mighty dryin’, tho’,” returned Lanty laconically.

“And your house?  Is it near by?” he continued.

“Just down the ridge—­ye kin see from the edge.  Got a knife?” She had untied the knot.

“No—­yes—­wait.”  He had hesitated a moment and then produced something from his breast pocket, which he however kept in his hand.  As he did not offer it to her she simply held out a section of the rope between her hands, which he divided with a single cut.  She saw only that the instrument was long and keen.  Then she lifted the flap of the saddle for him as he attempted to fasten the loose ring with the rope, but the darkness made it impossible.  With an ejaculation, he fumbled in his pockets.  “My last match!” he said, striking it, as he crouched over it to protect it from the wind.  Lanty leaned over also, with her apron raised between it and the blast.  The flame for an instant lit up the ring, the man’s dark face, mustache, and white teeth set together as he tugged at the girth, and Lanty’s brown, velvet eyes and soft, round cheek framed in the basket.  Then it went out, but the ring was secured.

“Thank you,” said the man, with a short laugh, “but I thought you were a humpbacked witch in the dark there.”

“And I couldn’t make out whether you was a cow or a b’ar,” returned the young girl simply.

Here, however, he quickly mounted his horse, but in the action something slipped from his clothes, struck a stone, and bounded away into the darkness.

“My knife,” he said hurriedly.  “Please hand it to me.”  But although the girl dropped on her knees and searched the ground diligently, it could not be found.  The man with a restrained ejaculation again dismounted, and joined in the search.