e precipice. It was then
that I seemed to see the angry face of old Kate--the Silent Woman--at my
elbow, and it counseled me to speak out. Again her spirit was leading
me. Calmly and slowly these words came from my lips:

"Because I think you are a low-lived, dirty-souled dog of a man and if
you can stand that without fighting you are a coward to boot."

This was not the language of diplomacy but at the time it seemed to me
rather kind and flattering.

Latour flashed red and jumped off his horse and struck at me with his
crop. I caught it in my hand and said:

"Hold on. Let's proceed decently and in order. Purvis, you hold these
horses while we fight it out."

Purvis caught Latour's horse and brought the others close to mine and
gathered the reins in his hand. I shall never forget how pale he looked
and how fast he was breathing and how his hands trembled.

I jumped off and ran for my man. He faced me bravely. I landed a
stunning blow squarely on his nose and he fell to the ground. Long
before, Hacket had told me that a swift attack was half the battle and I
have found it so more than once, for I have never been slow to fight for
a woman's honor or a friend's or my own--never, thank God! Latour lay so
quietly for a moment that I was frightened. His face was covered with
blood. He came to and I helped him up and he rushed at me like a tiger.
I remember that we had a long round then with our fists. I knew how to
take care of my face and stomach and that I did while he wore himself
out in wild blows and desperate lunges.

We had dismounted near the end of a bridge. He fought me to the middle
of it and when his speed slackened I took the offensive and with such
energy that he clinched. I threw him on the planks and we went down
together, he under me, in a fall so violent that it shook the bridge and
knocked the breath out of him. This seemed to convince Latour that I was
his master. His distress passed quickly and he got up and began brushing
the dust from his pretty riding coat and trousers. I saw that he was
winded and in no condition to resume the contest.

I felt as fresh as if I had mowed only once around the field, to quote a
saying of my uncle.

"We'll have to fight it out some other day," he said. "I'm weak from the
loss of blood. My nose feels as if it was turned wrong side out."

"It ought to be used to the grindstone after two years of practise," I
remarked. "Come down to the brook and let me wash the