He looked up in amazement.  She had not gone; in fact, she had closed the door slowly and stood with her back against it, staring at him in a speechless bewilderment.

“What sort of a man are you?” asked the girl at last.

“A fool,” said Ronicky slowly.  “Go out and round up your friends; I can’t stop you.”

“No,” said the girl thoughtfully, “but that was a poor bluff at stopping me.”

He nodded.  And she hesitated still, watching his face closely.

“Listen to me,” she said suddenly.  “I have two minutes to talk to you, and I’ll give you those two minutes.  You can use them in getting out of the house—­I’ll show you a way—­or you can use them to tell me just why you’ve come.”

In spite of himself Ronicky smiled.  “Lady,” he said, “if a rat was in a trap d’you think he’d stop very long between a chance of getting clear and a chance to tell how he come to get into the place?”

“I have a perfectly good reason for asking,” she answered.  “Even if you now get out of the house safely you’ll try to come back later on.”

“Lady,” said Ronicky, “do I look as plumb foolish as that?”

“You’re from the West,” she said in answer to his slang.

“Yes.”

She considered the straight-looking honesty of his eyes.  “Out West,” she said, “I know you men are different.  Not one of the men I know here would take another chance as risky as this, once they were out of it.  But out there in the mountains you follow long trails, trails that haven’t anything but a hope to lead you along them?  Isn’t that so?”

“Maybe,” admitted Ronicky.  “It’s the fever out of the gold days, lady.  You start out chipping rocks to find the right color; maybe you never find the right color; maybe you never find a streak of pay stuff, but you keep on trying.  You’re always just sort of around the corner from making a big strike.”

She nodded, smiling again, and the smiles changed her pleasantly, it seemed to Ronicky Doone.  At first she had impressed him almost as a man, with her cold, steady eyes, but now she was all woman, indeed.

“That’s why I say that you’ll come back.  You won’t give up with one failure.  Am I right?”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “I dunno.  If the trail fever hits me again—­maybe I would come back.”

“You started to tell me.  It’s because of Caroline Smith?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to talk to me,” said the girl.  “As a matter of fact I shouldn’t be here listening to you.  But, I don’t know why, I want to help you.  You—­you are in love with Caroline?”

“No,” said Ronicky.

Her expression grew grave and cold again.  “Then why are you here hunting for her?  What do you want with her?”

“Lady,” said Ronicky, “I’m going to show you the whole layout of the cards.  Maybe you’ll take what I say right to headquarters—­the man that smiles—­and block my game.”