Without stopping to think of possible peril, he leaped for the door and threw it open.
In the dim moonlight he made out the form of a man running across the dooryard to the nearest patch of timber.
“Stop!” he called loudly. “Stop, or I will fire on you!”
Instead of heeding the command the fellow ran faster than ever.
Up came Harry’s gun, and, taking a low aim at the retreating form, he fired. A yell of pain followed, and he saw the man stagger and fall headlong.
By this time the cabin was in an uproar, and Ezra Winship and Peter Parsons came rushing from the bedroom, followed by Joe, and all leaped for their guns, thinking that an attack by the Indians had been begun. A moment later the girls and Mrs. Parsons followed, wrapped in such garments as had been handy.
“Harry, who are you firing at?” demanded the youth’s father.
“Some rascal who set the cabin on fire,” was the answer. “Quick, get some water, or the place will be burnt down!”
The others now saw the fire, which was burning fiercely in a heap of pine brush stacked against the side of the cabin. Rushing for a pitchfork, Ezra Winship threw the burning brush away from the building.
While this was being done Mr. Parsons and Joe hurried for buckets of water from the spring. They had to work lively, for the flames were creeping up the whole side of the log cabin toward the highly inflammable roof.