There was vague light from the bedroom windows upstairs, for the windows were curtained.  A soft wind moved a dried leaf across the gravel of the road, and the aspen leaves brushed their pale palms.  Somebody or something was out there in the night, something as watchful as I, something waiting.

Waiting for me to move?  Waiting to kill me?  Or some passing traveler wondering if he should ask for shelter from the already darkened house?

Did he know that only women lived here?  Or did he know about me?  Was he looking for me?

The wind stirred again, rustling the leaves, and I waited.  No sign of a horse.  Was he afoot or did he leave his horse back up the road?  Or did he hope to steal a horse here?

An Indian?  This was Ute country and folks were saying the Utes were mighty unhappy about a lot of things.  I knew the Utes.  They were tough people, good fighting men and not about to be pushed around by anyone.  If they went on the warpath it would mean a lot of good people were going to get hurt.

Yonder in the granary I had a good bed waiting, and I was tired, ready to turn in.  My eyes searched the shadows.  What I had heard sounded like a boot on gravel, and that meant whoever was out there was not likely to be an Indian.

What this place needed was a good dog, a watch-dog who would make himself known.  There should be one on the place before I left.  A dog right now would know that man was out there and would tell us when people arrived or left.

As for myself I understood my position.  If somehow I was shot, nobody would pay much attention.  I was a drifter whom nobody knew and about whom nobody cared.  My death would be a matter of conversation for a few hours or days depending on what else there was to talk about.

Things had quieted down inside with all the lights out and I believed the womenfolks had gone to bed.  My eyes were accustomed to the darkness now and I could make things out pretty good.

Whoever was out there could not know I was outside.  He might have seen me go in, he might have seen me through the windows, although I doubted it.  I believed he arrived just as I was coming out and when I first heard him.  I did not know that, however.  Yet, the chances were he believed all here were inside and in bed.  Leaning against the corner of the house, I waited while the slow minutes passed.  Suddenly the roan blew loudly, and I could see his head was up and he was listening, watching something.

A shadow detached itself from the other shadows and a man stood in the road looking toward the house.

"Whatever you've got in mind," I said, "you'd better forget it.  We don't take kindly to prowlers."

He stood very still.  He was in the open and I was in deep shadow.  He was wearing a narrow-brimmed hat and a suit.

"I'm looking for a woman," he said.