She passed through the trees and into the stretch of open ground beyond. Then for the first time she looked back and saw me. At least I believe she saw me, for she seemed to start, and her cloak fluttered as she began to run with great speed. A hundred yards farther was a rail fence, and beyond that a stretch of corn land. With half a leap and half a climb, very remarkable in woman, who is usually not expert in such matters, she scaled this fence in a breath and was among the cornstalks. I feared that she might elude me there, but I, too, was over the fence in a trice and kept her figure in view. She had shown much more endurance than I expected, though I knew she was a strong girl. But we had come a good half mile, and few women can run at speed so far. She led me a chase through the cornfield and then over another fence into a pasture. I noted with pleasure that I was gaining all the time. In truth, I had enjoyed so much exercise of this kind in the last day that I ought to have been in a fair way of becoming an expert. Our course lengthened to a mile and I was within fifteen yards of her. Despite my general disrelish for the position I felt a certain grim joy in being the man to stop her plans, inasmuch as she had deceived me more perhaps than any one else. It was evident that I could overtake her, and I hailed her, demanding that she stop. For reply she whirled about and fired a pistol at me, and then, seeing that she had missed, made an effort to run faster. I was astounded. I confess it even after all that had happened--but she had fired at Whitestone before; now she was firing at me. I would stop this fierce woman, not alone for the good of our cause, but for the revenge her disappointment would be to me. The feeling gave me strength, and in five minutes more I could almost reach out my hands and touch her. “Stop!” I shouted in anger. She whirled about again and struck at me, full strength, with the butt of her pistol. I might have suffered a severe, perhaps a stunning, blow, but by instinct I threw up my right hand, and her wrist gliding off it the pistol struck nothing, dashing with its own force from her hand. I warded off another swift blow aimed with the left fist, and then saw that I stood face to face not with Kate Van Auken but with her brother Albert. There was a look upon his face of mingled shame and determination. How could he escape shame with his sister’s skirts around him and her hood upon his head? My own feelings were somewhat mixed in character. First, there was a sensation of great relief, so quick I had not time to make analysis, and then there came over me a strong desire to laugh. I submit that the sight of a man caught in woman’s dress and ashamed of it is fair cause for mirth. It was dark, but not too dark for me to see his face redden at my look. “You’ll have to fight it out with me,” he said, very stiff and haughty. “I purpose to do it,” I said, “but perhaps your clothes may be in your way.”