"We ought to arouse him. Run, Paul, while I keep watch."
"I will, but don't do anything rash during my absence," replied Paul Winthrop.
He sneaked along in the tall grass until the outbuildings were left a hundred feet and sped like a deer toward the ranch home, showing dimly in the grim shadows ahead.
Less than sixty seconds passed, and he was pounding vigorously on the front door of the heavy log building. Not content with using his fist he banged away with the toe of his cowhide boot.
"Who's thar?" came from within presently.
"Mr. Dottery!"
"That's me, stranger."
"Come out. It's Paul Winthrop. There are horse thieves at your barn."
"What!" roared Dottery. He was a heavy-built man, with a voice like a giant. "The same chaps ez robbed you?"
He unbarred the door and came out on a run, gun in hand and a long pistol in his belt. He was an old settler, and rarely took the trouble to undress when he went to rest for the night.