By mere chance it fell upon the heavy revolver in its holster which Sim had hung upon the pole at the head of her bed.

She caught it out, drew back into the room, toward the head of the bed, and stumbling into her rude box chair, sat there, the revolver held loosely in her hand.

She knew little of its action.
She heard a heavy step on the floor, that did not sound familiar, a clearing of the throat which was yet more unfamiliar, a laugh which was the last thing needed.

This man had no business there, else he would not have laughed.
"Who's there ?" she called out, tremulously.

"Who are you ?" She turned on him her sightless eyes, a vast terror in her soul.
"Good morning," said a throaty voice.