"It pleases me at all times to hear of one man fighting three, and daunting them. Wilt ever give me that sort of pleasure, think’st thou?" Red Ratcliffe was silent for awhile; then, "What dost find to say, Janet, when thou meet’st Shameless Wayne by stealth?" he asked, with a sudden glance at her. She coloured hotly, and paled again. If he knew what she had thought to be a secret from all at Wildwater, her chance of helping Wayne of Marsh was slight. "It wears an ugly look," he went on. "Come, I am kin to thee, and have a right to guard thy honour. Wilt tell me what has passed between this rake-the-moon and thee, or must I whisper in the Lean Man’s ear how his darling wantons up and down the country-side?" She would not stoop to plead with him, in whatever jeopardy she might be. "Thou canst tell as much as pleases thee," she flashed, "and I will amend thy story afterward; and if ever thou darest to block my way again——" Red Ratcliffe had unhooded his hawk too soon, and he made a clumsy effort to atone for the false cast. "Stay, girl! I did not mean to say aught to anger thee. Promise to wed me before the corn is ripe, and I’ll keep a still tongue." "Promise to wed thee?" said Janet, turning her back on him. "I’ve promised it already, when thou canst prove thyself a better man than Shameless Wayne. But before the corn is ripe? Nay, I think ’twill be later in the year." He watched her move a pace or two away. "I’ll ask thee once more, when we get back to Wildwater," he said surlily; "and by that time, I fancy, thou’lt have given thought to what the Lean Man’s anger is." He was falling into step beside her, but she would none of him. "Go over the rise yonder," she said, "and it may be thou wilt find something there to give _thee_ food for thought." "I had liefer walk beside thee, sweet, than follow any All-Fool’s chase." "It is no fool’s errand, I tell thee. Thou know’st the boundary-stone this side Ling Crag? I passed it just now, and saw a present waiting for thee on the top of it." He stopped, glancing first at Janet, then down the bridle-track. "A present?" he cried. "What sort of gift should any one leave for the first passer-by to steal?" "’Tis a curious gift, and one not likely to be stolen," she said. "What is it? Nay, but a gift grows less if one tells of it beforehand and I’ll spoil no pleasure for thee." A sudden fear, the echo of his late panic, touched Red Ratcliffe. "Is—is it Wayne of Marsh who waits there with the present?" he asked, and bit his lips soon as the tell-tale thought was out. "When Wayne of Marsh wants thee, he will not wait," she said. "Go, sir, and have no fear at all of him whom thou hast sworn to kill before the corn is ripe." *CHAPTER XIII* *APRIL SNOW*