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

You Left?" She Asked. "No One?"

Cahill Had Not Replaced The Bandaged Hand In His Pocket,  But Had

Shoved It Inside The Opening Of His Coat. As Mary Cahill Caught His

Arm Her Fingers Sank Into The Palm Of The Hand And He Gave A Slight

Grimace Of Pain.

"Oh,  Father," Miss Cahill Cried,  "Your Hand! I Am So Sorry. Did I

Hurt It? Please--Let Me See."

Cahill Drew Back With Sudden Violence.

"No!" He Cried. "Leave It Alone! Come,  We Must Be Going." But Miss

Cahill Held The Wounded Hand In Both Her Own. When She Turned Her

Eyes To Ranson They Were Filled With Tender Concern.

"I Hurt Him," She Said,  Reproachfully. "He Shot Himself Last Night

With One Of Those New Cylinder Revolvers."

Her Father Snatched The Hand From Her. He Tried To Drown Her Voice By

A Sudden Movement Toward The Door. "Come!" He Called. "Do You Hear

Me?"

But His Daughter In Her Sympathy Continued. "He Was Holding It So,"

She Said,  "And It Went Off,  And The Bullet Passed Through Here." She

Laid The Tip Of A Slim White Finger On The Palm Of Her Right Hand.

"The Bullet!" Cried Ranson. He Repeated,  Dully,  "The Bullet!"

There Was A Sudden,  Tense Silence. Outside They Could Hear The Crunch

Of The Sentry's Heel In The Gravel,  And From The Baseball Field Back

Of The Barracks The Soft Spring Air Was Rent With The Jubilant Crack

Of The Bat As It Drove The Ball. Afterward Ranson Remembered That

While One Half Of His Brain Was Terribly Acute To The Moment,  The

Other Was Wondering Whether The Runner Had Made His Base. It Seemed

An Interminable Time Before Ranson Raised His Eyes From Miss Cahill's

Palm To Her Father's Face. What He Read In Them Caused Cahill To Drop

His Hand Swiftly To His Hip.

Ranson Saw The Gesture And Threw Out Both His Hands. He Gave A

Hysterical Laugh,  Strangely Boyish And Immature,  And Ran To Place

Himself Between Cahill And The Door. "Drop It!" He Whispered. "My

God,  Man!" He Entreated,  "Don't Make A Fool Of Yourself. Mr. Cahill,"

He Cried Aloud,  "You Can't Go Till You Know. Can He,  Mary? Yes,

Mary." The Tone In Which He Repeated The Name Was Proprietary And

Commanding. He Took Her Hand. "Mr. Cahill," He Said,  Joyously,  "We've

Got Something To Tell You. I Want You To Understand That In Spite Of

All I've Done--I Say In Spite Of All I've Done--I Mean Getting Into

This Trouble And Disgrace,  And All That--I've Dared To Ask Your

Daughter To Marry Me." He Turned And Led Miss Cahill Swiftly Toward

The Veranda. "Oh,  I Knew He Wouldn't Like It," He Cried. "You See. I

Told You So. You've Got To Let Me Talk To Him Alone. You Go Outside

And Wait. I Can Talk Better When You Are Not Here. I'll Soon Bring

Him Around."

"Father," Pleaded Miss Cahill,  Timidly. From Behind Her Back Ranson

Shook His Head At The Post-Trader In Violent Pantomime. "She'd Better

Go Outside And Wait,  Hadn't She,  Mr. Cahill?" He Directed.

As He Was Bidden,  The Post-Trader Raised His Head And Nodded Toward

The Door. The Onslaught Of Sudden And New Conditions Overwhelmed And

Paralyzed Him.

"Father!" Said Miss Cahill,  "It Isn't Just As You Think. Mr. Ranson

Did Ask Me To Marry Him--In A Way--At Least,  I Knew What He Meant.

But I Did Not Say--In A Way--That I Would Marry Him. I Mean It Was

Not Settled,  Or I Would Have Told You. You Mustn't Think I Would Have

Left You Out Of This--Of My Happiness,  You Who Have Done Everything

To Make Me Happy."

She Reproached Her Father With Her Eyes Fastened On His Face. His Own

Were Stern,  Fixed,  And Miserable. "You Will Let It Be,  Won't You,

Father?" She Begged. "It--It Means So Much. I--Can't Tell You--" She

Threw Out Her Hand Toward Ranson As Though Designating A Superior

Being. "Why,  I Can't Tell Him. But If You Are Harsh With Him Or With

Me It Will Break My Heart. For As I Love You,  Father,  I Love Him--And

It Has Got To Be. It Must Be. For I Love Him So. I Have Always Loved

Him. Father," She Whispered,  "I Love Him So."

Ranson,  Humbly,  Gratefully,  Took The Girl's Hand And Led Her Gently

To The Veranda And Closed The Door Upon Her. Then He Came Down The

Room And Regarded His Prospective Father-In-Law With An Expression Of

Amused Exasperation. He Thrust His Hands Deep Into The Pockets Of His

Riding-Breeches And Nodded His Head. "Well," He Exclaimed,  "You've

Made A Damned Pretty Mess Of It,  Haven't You?"

Cahill Had Sunk Heavily Into A Chair And Was Staring At Ranson With

The Stupid,  Wondering Gaze Of A Dumb Animal In Pain. During The

Moments In Which The Two Men Eyed Each Other Ranson's Smile

Disappeared. Cahill Raised Himself Slowly As Though With A Great

Effort.

"I Done It," Said Cahill,  "For Her. I Done It To Make Her Happy."

"That's All Right," Said Ranson,  Briskly. "She's Going To Be Happy.

We're All Going To Be Happy."

"An' All I Did," Cahill Continued,  As Though Unconscious Of The

Interruption,  "Was To Disgrace Her." He Rose Suddenly To His Feet.

His Mental Sufferings Were So Keen That His Huge Body Trembled. He

Recognized How Truly He Had Made "A Mess Of It." He Saw That All He

Had Hoped To Do For His Daughter By Crime Would Have Been Done For

Her By This Marriage With Ranson,  Which Would Have Made Her A "Lady,"

Made Her Rich,  Made Her Happy. Had It Not Been For His Midnight Raids

She Would Have Been Honored,  Loved,  And Envied,  Even By The Wife Of

The Colonel Herself. But Through Him Disgrace Had Come Upon Her,

Sorrow And Trouble. She Would Not Be Known As The Daughter Of Senator

Ranson,  But Of Cahill,  An Ex-Member Of The Whyo Gang,  A Highway

Robber,  As The Daughter Of A Thief Who Was Serving His Time In State

Prison. At The Thought Cahill Stepped Backward Unsteadily As Though

He Had Been Struck. He Cried Suddenly Aloud. Then His Hand Whipped

Back To His Revolver,  But Before He Could Use It Ranson Had Seized

His Wrist With Both Hands. The Two Struggled Silently And Fiercely.

The Fact Of Opposition Brought Back To Cahill All Of His Great

Strength.

"No,  You Don't!" Ranson Muttered. "Think Of Your Daughter,  Man. Drop

It!"

"I Shall Do It," Cahill Panted. "I Am Thinking Of My Daughter. It's

The Only Way Out. Take Your Hands Off Me--I Shall!"

With His Knuckles Ranson Bored Cruelly Into The Wounded Hand,  And It

Opened And The Gun Dropped From It; But As It Did So It Went Off With

A Report That Rang Through The Building. There Was An Instant Rush Of

Feet Upon The Steps Of The Veranda,  And At The Sound The Two Men

Sprang Apart,  Eyeing Each Other Sheepishly Like Two Discovered

Truants. When Sergeant Clancey And The Guard Pushed Through The Door

Ranson Stood Facing It,  Spinning The Revolver In Cowboy Fashion

Around His Fourth Finger. He Addressed The Sergeant In A Tone Of

Bitter Irony.

"Oh,  You've Come At Last," He Demanded. "Are You Deaf? Why Didn't You

Come When I Called?" His Tone Showed He Considered He Had Just Cause

For Annoyance.

"The Gun Brought Me,  I--" Began Clancey.

"Yes,  I Hoped It Might. That's Why I Fired It," Snapped Ranson. "I

Want Two Whiskey-And-Sodas. Quick Now!"

"Two--" Gasped Clancey.

"Whiskey-And-Sodas. See How Fast One Of You Can Chase Over To The

Club And Get 'Em. And Next Time I Want A Drink Don't Make Me Wake The

Entire Garrison."

As The Soldiers Retreated Ranson Discovered Miss Cahill's White Face

Beyond Them. He Ran And Held The Door Open By A Few Inches.

"It's All Right," He Whispered,  Reassuringly. "He's Nearly Persuaded.

Wait Just A Minute Longer And He'll Be Giving Us His Blessing."

"But The Pistol-Shot?" She Asked.

"I Was Just Calling The Guard. The Electric Bell's Broken,  And Your

Father Wanted A Drink. That's A Good Sign,  Isn't It? Shows He's

Friendly,  What Kind Did You Say You Wanted,  Mr. Cahill--Scotch Was

It,  Or Rye?" Ranson Glanced Back At The Sombre,  Silent Figure Of

Cahill,  And Then Again Opened The Door Sufficiently For Him To Stick

Out His Head. "Sergeant," He Called,  "Make Them Both Scotch--Long

Ones."

He Shut The Door And Turned Upon The Post-Trader. "Now,  Then,  Father-

In-Law," He Said,  Briskly,  "You've Got To Cut And Run,  And You've Got

To Run Quick. We'll Tell 'Em You're Going To Fort Worth To Buy The

Engagement Ring,  Because I Can't,  Being Under Arrest. But You Go To

Duncan City Instead,  And From There Take The Cars,  To--"

"Run Away!" Cahill Repeated,  Dazedly. "But You'll Be Court-

Martialled."

"There Won't Be Any Court-Martial!"

Cahill Glanced Around The Room Quickly. "I See," He Cried. In His

Eagerness He Was Almost Smiling. "I'm To Leave A Confession And Give

It To You."

"Confession! What Rot!" Cried Ranson.

"They Can't Prove Anything Against Me. Everyone Knows By Now That

There Were Two Men On The Trail,  But They Don't Know Who The Other

Man Was,  And No One Ever Must Know--Especially Mary."

Cahill Struck The Table With His Fist. "I Won't Stand For It!" He

Cried. "I Got You Into This And I'm Goin'--"

"Yes,  Going To Jail," Retorted Ranson. "You'll Look Nice Behind The

Bars,  Won't You? Your Daughter Will Be Proud Of You In A Striped

Suit. Don't Talk Nonsense. You're Going To Run And Hide Some Place,

Somewhere,  Where Mary And I Can Come