She closed her trembling fingers on the familiar grip of it, and the feel of it comforted her and steadied her.
Yet she had no desire, no slightest impulse to get up and see who was there.

She was careful not to move, except to cover the doorway to the kitchen with her gun.
After a few minutes the man came and tried the door, and Jean lifted herself cautiously upon her elbow and waited in grim desperation.

If he forced that door open, if he came in, she certainly would shoot; and if she shot,--well, you remember the fate of that hawk on the wing.
The man did not force the door open, which was perhaps the luckiest thing that ever happened to him.

He fussed there until he must have made sure that it was fastened firmly upon the inside, and then he left it and went into what had been the living-room.

Jean did not move from her half-sitting position, nor did she change the aim of her gun.