"And when we will. First come, first served.—Come, lads, ye’re loitering, and half the sheep are yet unwashed," he broke off, turning to the farm-men. Red Ratcliffe’s face darkened. "The old wives say, Wayne of Marsh, that the first feud sprang up at this very spot, because it chanced that the Marsh and the Wildwater ewes came on the same day to the washing. I would have no lad’s blood on my hands, for my part, so bear the old tale in mind, and give us room." Wayne had his sword loose all this time, and his eyes, even when they seemed to rove, were never far from Red Ratcliffe’s movements. "Your talk, sir, wearies me," he said. "Ye mean to strike, seven against one.—Well, strike! I’m waiting for you, with a thought of what chanced once in Marshcotes kirkyard to keep my blood warm." The Ratcliffes were daunted a little by the downright, sturdy fashion of the man; and for a moment they hung back, remembering how Wayne of Marsh had met them time and again with witchcraft and with resistless swordplay. One looked at another, seeking denial of the folly which could credit Wayne with power to match the seven of them. "Where is the Lean Man to-day? ’Tis strange he comes not to the sheep-washing," said Wayne of Marsh, as still they halted. "He would not trouble," snarled Red Ratcliffe. "’Twas butchery, he said, for a man of his years to fight with such a callow strippling." Wayne smiled with maddening coolness. "That is a lie, Ratcliffe the Red. He dared not come. The last I saw of him, he was riding hard—with my sword-point all but in his back. Well? Am I to wait till nightfall for you, or are ye, too, minded to turn tail?" Stung by the taunt, Red Ratcliffe spurred forward on the sudden, and his comrades followed with a yell; and even sour Hiram Hey sent up a half-shamed prayer that the Master might come through this desperate pass with safety. Hiram, as a practical man and one who dealt chiefly with what he could see and handle, was wont to use prayer as the last resource of all; and his furtive appeal was witness that he saw no hope of rescue—no hope of respite, even—for his Master.