man's drink. I never like
to see women at it. Wine's more their stuff."

She raised her glass to his, her eyes meltingly sympathetic.

"Here's to finding you a good position--"

But she broke off at sight of the expression of surprised disgust on his
face. The glass, barely touched, was removed from his wry lips.

"What is the matter!" she asked anxiously. "Don't you like it? Have I
made a mistake?"

"It's sure funny whisky. Tastes like it got burned and smoked in the
making."

"Oh! How silly of me! I gave you Scotch. Of course you are accustomed to
rye. Let me change it."

She was almost solicitiously maternal, as she replaced the glass with
another and sought and found the proper bottle.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. No smoke in it. It's sure the real good stuff. I ain't had
a drink in a week. Kind of slick, that; oily, you know; not made in a
chemical factory."

"You are a drinking man?" It was half a question, half a challenge.

"No, ma'am, not to speak of. I HAVE rared up and ripsnorted at spells,
but most unfrequent. But there is times when a good stiff jolt lands on
the right spot kerchunk, and this is sure one of them. And now, thanking
you for your kindness, ma'am, I'll just be a pulling along."

But Mrs. Setliffe did not want to lose her burglar. She was too poised a
woman to possess much romance, but there was a thrill about the present
situation that delighted her. Besides, she knew there was no danger. The
man, despite his jaw and the steady brown eyes, was eminently tractable.
Also, farther back in her consciousness glimmered the thought of an
audience of admiring friends. It was too bad not to have that audience.

"You haven't explained how burglary, in your case, is merely collecting
what is your own," she said. "Come, sit down, and tell me about it here
at the table."

She maneuvered for her own seat, and placed him across the corner from
her. His alertness had not deserted him, as she noted, and his eyes
roved sharply about, returning always with smoldering admiration to
hers, but never resting long. And she noted likewise that while she
spoke he was intent on listening for other sounds than those of her
voice. Nor had he relinquished the revolver, which lay at the corner of
the table between them, the butt close to his right hand.

But he was in a new habitat which he did not know. This man from the
West, cunning in woodcraft and plainscraft, with eyes and ears open,
tense and