That summer occasional riders stopped at the cabin, were fed and housed and went on their way.  They came chiefly from the T-Bar-T ranch—­some few from Concho, a cattle outfit of the lower country.  Pete intuitively disliked these men, despite the fact that they rode excellent horses, sported gay trappings, and “joshed” with him as though he were one of themselves.  His instinct told him that they were not altogether friendly to Annersley.  They frequently drifted into warm argument as to water-rights and nesters in general—­matters that did not interest Young Pete at the time, who failed, naturally, to grasp the ultimate meaning of the talk.  But the old man never seemed perturbed by these arguments, declining, in his good-natured way, to take them seriously, and feeling secure in his own rights, as a hard-working citizen, to hold and cultivate the allotment he had earned from the Government.

The T-Bar-T outfit especially grudged him the water that they had previously used to such good advantage.  This water was now under fence.  To make this water available to cattle would disrupt the homestead.  It was at this time that Young Pete first realized the significance of these hard-riding visitors.  He was cleaning his much-polished carbine, sitting cross-legged round the corner of the cabin, when two of the chance visitors, having washed and discarded their chaps, strolled out and squatted by the doorway.  Old man Annersley was at the back of the cabin preparing supper.

One of the riders, a man named Gary, said something to his companion about “running the old man out of the country.”

Young Pete paused in his task.

“You can’t bluff him so easy,” offered the companion.

“But a thirty-thirty kin talk business,” said the man Gary, and he laughed.

Pete never forgot the remark nor the laugh.  Next day, after the riders had departed, he told his pop what he had heard.  The old man made him repeat the conversation.  He shook his head.  “Mostly talk,” he said.

“They dassent to start runnin’ us off—­dast they?” queried Young Pete.

“Mostly talk,” reiterated Annersley; but Pete saw that his pop was troubled.

“They can’t bluff us, eh, pop?”

“I reckon not, son.  How many cartridges you got?”

Young Pete thrilled to the question.  “Got ten out of the last box.  You got any?”

“Some.  Reckon we’ll go to town to-morrow.”

“To git some cartridges?”

“Mebby.”

This was Young Pete’s first real intimation that there might be trouble that would occasion the use of cartridges.  The idea did not displease him.  They drove to town, bought some provisions and ammunition, and incidentally the old man visited the sheriff and retailed the conversation that Pete had overheard.

“Bluff!” said the sheriff, whose office depended upon the vote of the cattlemen.  “Just bluff, Annersley.  You hang on to what you got and they won’t be no trouble.  I know just how far those boys will go.”