Up the dim, starlit trail he plodded, shivering and yet elate.  As he topped the rise he thought he could see the vague outlines of horses and men, but he was not certain.  That soft glow against the distant timber was real enough, however!  There was no mistaking that!  The log stable was on fire!

The horse fought the bit as Young Pete reined him into the timber.

Pete could see no men against the glow of the burning building, but he knew that they were there somewhere, bushed in the brush and waiting.  Within a few hundred yards of the cabin he was startled by the flat crack of a rifle.  He felt frightened and the blood sang in his ears.  But he could not turn back now!  His pop might be besieged in the cabin, alone and fighting a cowardly bunch of cow-punchers who dare not face him in the open day.  But what if his pop were not there?  The thought struck him cold.  What would he do if he made a run for the cabin and found it locked and no one there?  All at once Pete realized that it was his home and his stock and hay that were in danger.  Was he not a partner in pop’s homestead?  Then a thin red flash from the cabin window told him that Annersley was there.  Following the flash came the rip and roar of the old rifle.  Concealed in the timber, Pete could see the flames licking up the stable.  Presently a long tongue of yellow shot up the haystack.  “The doggone snakes done fired our hay!” he cried, and his voice caught in a sob.  This was too much.  Hay was a precious commodity in the high country.  Pete yanked out his carbine, loosed a shot at nothing in particular, and rode for the cabin on the run.  “We’re coming pop,” he yelled, followed by his shrill “Yip!  Yip!  We’re all here!”

Several of the outlying cow-punchers saw the big bay rear and stop at the cabin as Young Pete flung out of the saddle and pounded on the door.  “It’s me, pop!  It’s Pete!  Lemme in!”

Annersley’s heart sank.  Why had the boy come?  How did he know?  How had he managed to get away?

He flung open the door and dragged Pete in.

“What you doin’ here?” he challenged.

“I done lost my hat,” gasped Pete.  “I—­I was lookin’ for it.”

“Your hat?  You gone loco?  Git in there and lay down!” And though it was dark in the cabin Young Pete knew that his pop had gestured toward the bed.  Annersley had never spoken in that tone before, and Young Pete resented it.

Pete was easily led, but mighty hard to drive.

“Nothin’ doin’!” said Pete.  “You can’t boss me ’round like that!  You said we was pardners, and that we was both boss.  I knowed they was comin’ and I fanned it up here to tell you.  I reckon we kin lick the hull of ’em.  I got plenty cartridges.”

Despite the danger, old man Annersley smiled as he choked back a word of appreciation for Pete’s stubborn loyalty and grit.  When he spoke again Pete at once caught the change in tone.