The distant, flat report of the shot broke the silence, fired more in the hope of intimidating Annersley than anything else, yet the man who had fired it must have known that there was but one place in the brush from where the window could be seen—­and to that extent the shot was premeditated, with the possibility of its killing some one in the cabin.

Young Pete heard his pop gasp and saw him stagger in the dim light.  In a flash Pete was at his side.  “You hit, pop?” he quavered.  There came no reply.  Annersley had died instantly.  Pete fumbled at his chest in the dark, called to him, tried to shake him, and then, realizing what had happened threw himself on the floor beside Annersley and sobbed hopelessly.  Again a bullet whipped across the clearing.  Glass tinkled on the cabin floor.  Pete cowered and hid his face in his arms.  Suddenly a shrill yell ripped the silence.  The men were rushing the cabin!  Young Pete’s fighting blood swelled his pulse.  He and pop had been partners.  And partners always “stuck.”  Pete crept cautiously to the window.  Halfway across the clearing the blurred hulk of running horses loomed in the starlight.  Young Pete rested his carbine on the window-sill and centered on the bulk.  He fired and thought he saw a horse rear.  Again he fired.  This was much easier than shooting deer.  He beard a cry and the drumming of hoofs.  Something crashed against the door.  Pete whirled and fired point-blank.  Before he knew what had happened men were in the cabin.  Some one struck a match.  Young Pete cowered in a corner, all the fight oozing out of him as the lamp was lighted and he saw several men masked with bandannas.  “The old man’s done for,” said one of them, stooping to look at Annersley.  Another picked up the two empty shells from Annersley’s rifle.  “Where’s the kid?” asked another.  “Here, in the corner,” said a cowboy.  “Must ‘a’ been him that got Wright and Bradley.  The old man only cut loose twict—­afore the kid come.  Look at this!” And dragging Young Pete to his feet, the cowboy took the carbine from him and pointed to the three thirty-thirty shells on the cabin floor.

The men were silent.  Presently one of them laughed.  Despite Pete’s terror, he recognized that laugh.  He knew that the man was Gary, he who had once spoken of running Annersley out of the country.

“It’s a dam’ bad business,” said one of the men.  “The kid knows too much.  He’ll talk.”

“Will you keep your mouth shut, if we don’t kill you?” queried Gary.

“Cut that out!” growled another.  “The kid’s got sand.  He downed two of us—­and we take our medicine.  I’m for fannin’ it.”

Pete, stiff with fear, saw them turn and clump from the cabin.

As they left he heard one say something which he never forgot.  “Must ‘a’ been Gary’s shot that downed the o1e man.  Gary knowed the layout and where he could get a line on the window.”