Facing her, alongside the button, flat against the wall, was a man. In his hand, pointed toward her, was a revolver. She noticed, even in the shock of seeing him, that the weapon was black and exceedingly long-barreled. She knew black and exceedingly long it for what it was, a Colt's. He was a medium-sized man, roughly clad, brown-eyed, and swarthy with sunburn. He seemed very cool. There was no wabble to the revolver and it was directed toward her stomach, not from an outstretched arm, but from the hip, against which the forearm rested. “Oh,” she said. “I beg your pardon. You startled me. What do you want?” “I reckon I want to get out,” he answered, with a humorous twitch to the lips. “I've kind of lost my way in this here shebang, and if you'll kindly show me the door I'll cause no trouble and sure vamoose.” “But what are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice touched with the sharpness of one used to authority. “Plain robbing, Miss, that's all. I came snooping around to see what I could gather up. I thought you wan't to home, seein' as I saw you pull out with your old man in an auto. I reckon that must a ben your pa, and you're Miss Setliffe.” Mrs. Setliffe saw his mistake, appreciated the naive compliment, and decided not to undeceive him. “How do you know I am Miss Setliffe?” she asked. “This is old Setliffe's house, ain't it?” She nodded. “I didn't know he had a daughter, but I reckon you must be her. And now, if it ain't botherin' you too much, I'd sure be obliged if you'd show me the way out.” “But why should I? You are a robber, a burglar.” “If I wan't an ornery shorthorn at the business, I'd be accumulatin' them rings on your fingers instead of being polite,” he retorted. “I come to make a raise outa old Setliffe, and not to be robbing women-folks. If you get outa the way, I reckon I can find my own way out.” Mrs. Setliffe was a keen woman, and she felt that from such a man there was little to fear. That he was not a typical criminal, she was certain. From his speech she knew he was not of the cities, and she seemed to sense the wider, homelier air of large spaces. “Suppose I screamed?” she queried curiously. “Suppose I made an outcry for help? You couldn't shoot me?... a woman?” She noted the fleeting bafflement in his brown eyes. He answered slowly and thoughtfully, as if working out a difficult problem. “I reckon, then, I'd have to choke you and maul you some bad.” “A woman?” “I'd sure have to,” he answered, and she saw his mouth set grimly. “You're only a soft woman, but you see, Miss, I can't afford to go to jail. No, Miss, I sure can't. There's a friend of mine waitin' for me out West. He's in a hole, and I've got to help him out.” The mouth shaped even more grimly. “I guess I could choke you without hurting you much to speak of.” Her eyes took on a baby stare of innocent incredulity as she watched him. “I never met a burglar before,” she assured him, “and I can't begin to tell you how interested I am.”