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.