fire my
gun and bring 'em up."

But Lanty was gazing open-mouthed towards the ridge. "What's that wavin'
on the ridge?" she said in awe-stricken tones.

She was pointing to the petticoat,--a vague, distant, moving object
against the horizon.

"Why, that's some o' the wash on the line, ain't it?"

"Wash--TWO DAYS IN THE WEEK!" said Lanty sharply. "Wot's gone of you?"

"Thet's so," muttered the man, "and it wan't there at sundown, I'll
swear! P'r'aps I'd better call the guard," and he raised his rifle.

"Don't," said Lanty, catching his arm. "Suppose it's nothin', they'll
laugh at ye. Creep up softly and see; ye ain't afraid, are ye? If ye
are, give me yer gun, and I'LL go."

This settled the question, as Lanty expected. The man cocked his piece,
and bending low began cautiously to mount the acclivity. Lanty waited
until his figure began to fade, and then ran like fire to the barn.

She had arranged every detail of her plan beforehand. Crouching beside
the wall of the stall she hissed through a crack in thrilling whispers,
"Don't move. Don't speak for your life's sake. Wait till I hand you back
your knife, then do the best you can." Then slipping aside the loosened
board she saw dimly the black outline of curling hair, back, shoulders,
and tied wrists of the captive. Drawing the knife from her pocket, with
two strokes of its keen cutting edge she severed the cords, threw the
knife into the opening, and darted away. Yet in that moment she knew
that the man was instinctively turning towards her. But it was one thing
to free a horse-thief, and another to stop and "philander" with him.

She ran halfway up the ridge, and met the farm hand returning. It was
only a bit of washing after all, and he was glad he hadn't fired his
gun. On the other hand, Lanty confessed she had got "so skeert" being
alone, that she came to seek him. She had the shivers; wasn't her
hand cold? It was, but thrilling even in its coldness to the bashfully
admiring man. And she was that weak and dizzy, he must let her lean on
his arm going down; and they must go SLOW. She was sure he was cold,
too, and if he would wait at the back door she would give him a drink of
whiskey. Thus Lanty, with her brain afire, her eyes and ears straining
into the darkness, and the vague outline of the barn beyond. Another
moment was protracted over the drink of whiskey, and then Lanty, with a
faint archness, made him promise not to tell her mother of her escapade,