That was not her dad, out there in the kitchen.

She did not know who it was; it was some strange man prowling through the house, hunting for something.

She felt again the tremor of fear that is the heritage of womanhood alone in the dark.

She pulled the Navajo blanket up to her ears with the instinct of the woman to hide, because she is not strong enough to face and fight the danger that comes in the dark.

She listened to the sound of that drawer being pushed back, and the other drawer being pulled out, and she shivered under the blanket.
Then she reached out her hand and got hold of her six-shooter which she had laid down unthinkingly upon a chair near the couch.