Of course she knew immediately that she was being pursued. She tried to increase her pace, but evidently with little success. Short, dumpy people can never hope to compete with slim, long-legged greyhounds like Lil Artha.
And so, almost from the start, the three scouts began to close in upon the fleeing Italian woman.
"Say, she's got a bloody old knife," gasped Lil Artha, as they struggled on through the woods where the creeping vines and the underbrush, not to mention frequent logs and occasional woodchuck holes, made running a desperate business.
"That's so, Elmer," piped up Mark, "I saw her shake it at us then."
"I know it, fellows," said the scout master, "and that's what I was shouting about, to warn you."
"Are we gaining any, Elmer? I can't see just as well as I'd like, with this thing up to my nose," the lanky runner asked.
"Pulling up on her fast, my boy," came the reassuring answer.
"And what're we goin' to do when she turns on us?" demanded Lil Artha.
"First of all, surround her."
"That sounds good as far as she goes. What next?"