It was a delightful ride up into the highlands through woods just turning green.  Full flowing noisy brooks cut the road here and there on their way to the great river.  Latour rode along beside me for a few miles and began to tell of his sentimental adventures and conquests.  His talk showed that he had the heart of a stone.  It made me hate him and the more because he had told of meeting Sally on the street in Albany and that he was in love with her.  It was while he was telling me how he had once fooled a country girl that I balked.  He thought it a fine joke, for his father had cut his allowance two hundred a year so that the sum they had had to pay in damages had kept his nose “on the grindstone” for two years.  Then I stopped my horse with an exclamation which would have astonished Lord Chesterfield, I am sure.

The young man drew rein and asked: 

“What’s the matter?”

“Only this.  I shall have to try to lick you before we go any further.”

“How’s that?”

I dismounted and tightened the girth of my saddle.  My spirit was taking swift counsel with itself at the brink of the 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.