"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, shuddering slightly. "In that case I suppose the hero in my story will have to be a good shot." She laughed. "I shouldn't want him to get half way through the story and then be killed because he was clumsy in handling his weapon. I am beginning to believe that I shall have to make him a 'two-gun' man. I understand they are supposed to be very good shots." "I've seen them that wasn't," he returned gravely and shortly. "How did you prove that?" she asked suddenly. But he was not to be snared. "I didn't say I'd proved it," he stated. "But I've seen it proved." "How proved?" "Why," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement, "they ain't here any more, ma'am." "Oh. Then it doesn't follow that because a man wears two guns he is more likely to survive than is the man who wears only one?" "I reckon not, ma'am." "I see that you have the bottoms of your holsters tied down," she said, looking at them. "Why have you done that?" "Well," he declared, drawling his words a little, "I've always found that there ain't any use of takin' chances on an accident. You mightn't live to tell about it. An' havin' the bottoms of your holsters tied down keeps your guns from snaggin'. I've seen men whose guns got snagged when they wanted to use them. They wasn't so active after." "Then I shall have to make my hero a 'two-gun' man," she said. "That is decided. Now, the next thing to do is to give some attention to his character. I think he ought to be absolutely fearless and honest and incapable of committing a dishonorable deed. Don't you think so?" While they had talked he had come closer to her and stood beside the shelf rock, one foot resting on it. At her question he suddenly looked down at the foot, shifting it nervously, while a flush started from above the blue scarf at his throat and slowly suffused his face. "Don't you think so?" she repeated, her eyes meeting his for an instant. "Why, of course, ma'am," he suddenly answered, the words coming sharply, as though he had only at that instant realized the import of the question. "Why," said she, aware of his embarrassment, "don't you think there are such men?" "I expect there are, ma'am," he returned; "but in this country there's a heap of argument could be made about what would be dishonorable. If your two-gun should happen to be a horse thief, or a rustler, I reckon we could get at it right off." "He shan't be either of those," she declared stoutly. "I don't think he would stoop to such contemptible deeds. In the story he is employed by a ranch owner to kill a rustler whom the owner imagines has been stealing his cattle." His hands were suddenly behind him, the fingers clenched. His eyes searched her face with an alert, intense gaze. His embarrassment was gone; his expression was saturnine, his eyes narrowed with a slight mockery. And his voice came, cold, deliberate, even. "I reckon you've got your gun-man true to life, ma'am," he said.