Annersley in his tracks.

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'