Ranson's Folly (Fiscle Part 3) by Richard Harding Davis (dar e dil novel online reading TXT) 📕

"Well,  You Know You Want To Be Careful. A Horse's Teeth Really Are

Poisonous." He Examined His Own Hands Complacently. "Now,  If I Had A

Bandage Like That On My Right Hand They Would Hang Me Sure,  No Matter

Whether It Was A Bite,  Or A Burn,  Or A Bullet."

Cahill Raised The Glass To His Lips And Sipped The Whiskey

Critically. "Why?" He Asked.

"Why? Why,  Didn't You Know That The Paymaster Boasted Last Night To

The Surgeons That He Hit This Fellow In The Hand? He Says--"

Cahill Snorted Scornfully. "How'd He Know That? What Makes Him Think

So?"

"Well,  Never Mind,  Let Him Think So," Ranson Answered,  Fervently.

"Don't Discourage Him. That's The Only Evidence I've Got On My Side.

He Says He Fired To Disarm The Man,  And That He Saw Him Shift His Gun

To His Left Hand. It Was The Shot That The Man Fired When He Held His

Gun In His Left That Broke The Colonel's Arm. Now,  Everybody Knows I

Can't Hit A Barn With My Left. And As For Having Any Wounds Concealed

About My Person"--Ranson Turned His Hands Like A Conjurer To Show The

Front And Back--"They Can Search Me. So,  If The Paymaster Will Only

Stick To That Story--That He Hit The Man--It Will Help Me A Lot."

Ranson Seated Himself On The Table And Swung His Leg. "And Of Course

It Would Be A Big Help,  Too,  If You Could Remember Who Was In Your

Exchange When I Was Planning To Rob The Coach. For Someone Certainly

Must Have Overheard Me,  Someone Must Have Copied My Disguise,  And

That Someone Is The Man We Must Find. Unless He Came From Kiowa."

Cahill Shoved His Glass From Him Across The Table And,  Placing His

Hands On His Knees,  Stared At His Host Coldly And Defiantly. His

Would-Be Son-In-Law Observed The Aggressiveness Of His Attitude,  But,

In His Fuller Knowledge Of Their Prospective Relations,  Smiled

Blandly.

"Mr. Ranson," Began Cahill,  "I've No Feelings Against You Personally.

I've A Friendly Feeling For All Of You Young Gentlemen At My Mess.

But You're Not Playing Fair With Me. I Can See What You Want,  And I

Can Tell You That You And Captain Carr Are Not Helping Your Case By

Asking Me Up Here To Drink And Smoke With You,  When You Know That I'm

The Most Important Witness They've Got Against You."

Ranson Stared At His Father-In-Law-Elect In Genuine Amazement,  And

Then Laughed Lightly.

"Why,  Dear Mr. Cahill," He Cried,  "I Wouldn't Think Of Bribing You

With Such A Bad Brand Of Whiskey As This. And I Didn't Know You Were

Such An Important Witness As All That. But,  Of Course,  I Know

Whatever You Say In This Community Goes,  And If Your Testimony Is

Against Me,  I'm Sorry For It,  Very Sorry. I Suppose You Will Testify

That There Was No One In The Exchange Who Could Have Heard My Plan?"

Cahill Nodded.

"And,  As It's Not Likely Two Men At Exactly The Same Time Should Have

Thought Of Robbing The Stage In Exactly The Same Way,  I Must Have

Robbed It Myself."

Cahill Nursed His Bandaged Hand With The Other. "That's The Court's

Business," He Growled; "I Mean To Tell The Truth."

"And The Truth Is?" Asked Ransom

"The Truth Is That Last Night There Was No One In The Exchange But

You Officers And Me. If Anybody'd Come In On The Store Side You'd

Have Seen Him,  Wouldn't You? And If He'd Come Into The Exchange I'd

Have Seen Him. But No One Come In. I Was There Alone--And Certainly I

Didn't Hear Your Plan,  And I Didn't Rob The Stage. When You Fellows

Left I Went Down To The Indian Village. Half The Reservation Can

Prove I Was There All The Evening--So Of The Four Of Us,  That Lets Me

Out. Crosby And Curtis Were In Command Of The Pay Escort--That's

Their Alibi--And As Far As I Can See,  Lieutenant,  That Puts It Up To

You."

Ranson Laughed And Shook His Head. "Yes,  It Certainly Looks That

Way," He Said. "Only I Can't See Why You Need Be So Damned Pleased

About It." He Grinned Wickedly. "If You Weren't Such A Respectable

Member Of Fort Crockett Society I Might Say You Listened At The Door,

And Rode After Me In One Of Your Own Ponchos. As For The Indian

Village,  That's No Alibi. A Kiowa Swear His Skin's As White As Yours

If You Give Him A Drink."

"And Is That Why I Get This One?" Cahill Demanded. "Am I A Kiowa?"

Ranson Laughed And Shoved The Bottle Toward His Father-In-Law-Elect.

"Oh,  Can't You Take A Joke?" He Said. "Take Another Drink,  Then."

The Voice Outside The Hut Was Too Low To Reach The Irate Cahill,  But

Ranson Heard It And Leaped To His Feet.

"Wait," He Commanded. He Ran To The Door,  And Met Sergeant Clancey At

The Threshold.

"Miss Cahill,  Lieutenant," Said The Sergeant,  "Wants To See Her

Father."

Cahill Had Followed Ranson To The Door,  "You Want To See Me,  Mame?

"He Asked.

"Yes," Miss Cahill Cried; "And Mr. Ransom,  Too,  If I May." She Caught

Her Father Eagerly By The Arm,  But Her Eyes Were Turned Joyfully Upon

Ranson. They Were Laughing With Excitement. Her Voice Was Trembling

And Eager.

"It Is Something I Have Discovered," She Cried; "I Found It Out Just

Now,  And I Think--Oh,  I Hope!--It Is Most Important. I Believe It

Will Clear Mr. Ranson!" She Cried,  Happily. "At Least It Will Show

That Last Night Someone Went Out To Rob The Coach And Went Dressed As

He Was."

Cahill Gave A Short Laugh. "What's His Name?" He Asked,  Mockingly.

"Have You Seen Him?"

"I Didn't See Him And I Don't Know His Name,  But--"

Cahill Snorted,  And Picked Up His Sombrero From The Table. "Then It's

Not So Very Important After All," He Said. "Is That All That Brought

You Here?"

"The Main Thing Is That She Is Here," Said Ranson; "For Which The

Poor Prisoner Is Grateful--Grateful To Her And To The Man She Hasn't

Seen,  In The Mask And Poncho,  Whose Name She Doesn't Know. Mr.

Cahill,  Bad As It Is,  I Insist On Your Finishing Your Whiskey. Miss

Cahill,  Please Sit Down."

He Moved A Chair Toward Her And,  As He Did So,  Looked Full Into Her

Face With Such Love And Happiness That She Turned Her Eyes Away.

"Well?" Asked Cahill.

"I Must First Explain To Lieutenant Ranson,  Father," Said His

Daughter,  "That To-Day Is The Day We Take Account Of Stock."

"Speaking Of Stock," Said Ranson,  "Don't Forget That I Owe You For A

Red Kerchief And A Rubber Poncho. You Can Have Them Back,  If You

Like. I Won't Need A Rain Coat Where I Am Going."

"Don't," Said Miss Cahill. "Please Let Me Go On. After I Brought You

Your Breakfast Here,  I Couldn't Begin To Work Just At Once. I Was

Thinking About--Something Else. Everyone Was Talking Of You--Your

Arrest,  And I Couldn't Settle Down To Take Account Of Stock." She

Threw A Look At Ranson Which Asked For His Sympathy. "But When I Did

Start I Began With The Ponchos And The Red Kerchiefs,  And Then I

Found Out Something." Cahill Was Regarding His Daughter In Strange

Distress,  But Ranson Appeared Indifferent To Her Words,  And Intent

Only On The Light And Beauty In Her Face. But He Asked,  Smiling,  "And

That Was?"

"You See," Continued Miss Cahill,  Eagerly,  "I Always Keep A Dozen Of

Each Article,  And As Each One Is Sold I Check It Off In My Day-Book.

Yesterday Mrs. Bolland Bought A Poncho For The Colonel. That Left

Eleven Ponchos. Then A Few Minutes Later I Gave Lightfoot A Red

Kerchief For His Squaw. That Left Eleven Kerchiefs."

"Stop!" Cried Ranson. "Miss Cahill," He Began,  Severely,  "I Hope You

Do Not Mean To Throw Suspicion On The Wife Of My Respected Colonel,

Or On Mrs. Lightfoot,  'The Prairie Flower.' Those Ladies Are My

Personal Friends; I Refuse To Believe Them Guilty. And Have You Ever

Seen Mrs. Bolland On Horseback? You Wrong Her. It Is Impossible."

"Please," Begged Miss Cahill,  "Please Let Me Explain. When You Went

To Hold Up The Stage You Took A Poncho And A Kerchief. That Should

Have Left Ten Of Each. But When I Counted Them This Morning There

Were Nine Red Kerchiefs And Nine Ponchos."

Ranson Slapped His Knee Sharply. "Good!" He Said. "That Is

Interesting."

"What Does It Prove?" Demanded Cahill.

"It Proves Nothing,  Or It Proves Everything," Said Miss Cahill. "To

My Mind It Proves Without Any Doubt That Someone Overheard Mr.

Ranson's Plan,  That He Dressed Like Him To Throw Suspicion On Him,

And That This Second Person Was The One Who Robbed The Paymaster.

Now,  Father,  This Is Where You Can Help Us. You Were There Then. Try

To Remember. It Is So Important. Who Came Into The Store After The

Others Had Gone Away?"

Cahill Tossed His Head Like An Angry Bull.

"There Are Fifty Places In This Post," He Protested,  Roughly,  "Where

A Man Can Get A Poncho. Every Trooper Owns His Slicker."

"But,  Father,  We Don't Know That Theirs Are Missing," Cried Miss

Cahill,  "And We Do Know That Those In Our Store Are. Don't Think I Am

Foolish. It Seemed Such An Important Fact To Me,  And I Had Hoped It

Would Help."

"It Does Help--Immensely!" Cried Ranson.

"I Think It's A Splendid Clue. But,  Unfortunately,  I Don't Think We

Can Prove Anything By Your Father,  For He's Just Been Telling Me That

There Was No One In The Place But Himself. No One Came In,  And He Was

Quite Alone--" Ranson Had Begun Speaking Eagerly,  But Either His Own

Words Or The Intentness With Which Cahill Received Them Caused Him To

Halt And Hesitate--"Absolutely--Alone."

"You See," Said Cahill,  Thickly,  "As Soon As They Had Gone I Rode To

The Indian Village."

"Why,  No,  Father," Corrected Miss Cahill. "Don't You Remember,  You

Told Me Last Night That When You Reached Lightfoot's Tent I Had Just

Gone. That Was Quite Two Hours After The Others Left The Store." In

Her Earnestness Miss Cahill Had Placed Her Hand Upon Her Father's Arm

And Clutched It