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

Stooping,  Pulled At It,  But The Wheels Did Not Move.

Mrs. Truesdall Fell Into A Fresh Panic. "What Is It Now?" She Called,

Miserably.

Before He Answered,  Hunk Smith Threw A Quick Glance Toward The Column

Of Moving Dust. He Was Apparently Reassured.

"The Brake," He Grunted. "The Darned Thing's Stuck!"

The Road Agent Was Tugging At The Stone Beneath Which He Had Slipped

His Bridle. "Can I Help?" He Asked,  Politely. But Before He Reached

The Stage,  He Suddenly Stopped With An Imperative Sweep Of His Arm

For Silence. He Stood Motionless,  His Body Bent To The Ground,

Leaning Forward And Staring Down The Trail. Then He Sprang Upright.

"You Old Fox!" He Roared,  "You're Gaining Time,  Are You?"

With A Laugh He Tore Free His Bridle And Threw Himself Across His

Horse. His Legs Locked Under It,  His Hands Clasped Its Mane,  And With

A Cowboy Yell He Dashed Past The Stage In The Direction Of Kiowa

City,  His Voice Floating Back In Shouts Of Jeering Laughter. From

Behind Him He Heard Hunk Smith's Voice Answering His Own In A Cry For

"Help!" And From A Rapidly Decreasing Distance The Throb Of Many

Hoofs. For An Instant He Drew Upon His Rein,  And Then,  With A Defiant

Chuckle,  Drove His Spurs Deep Into His Horse's Side.

Mrs. Truesdall Also Heard The Pounding Of Many Hoofs,  As Well As Hunk

Smith's Howls For Help,  And Feared A Fresh Attack. "Oh,  What Is It?"

She Begged

"Soldiers From The Fort," Hunk Called,  Excitedly,  And Again Raised

His Voice In A Long,  Dismal Howl.

"Sounds Cheery,  Doesn't It?" Said The Salesman; "Referring To The

Soldiers," He Explained. It Was His First Coherent Remark Since The

Red Rider Had Appeared And Disappeared.

"Oh,  I Hope They Won't--" Began Miss Post,  Anxiously.

The Hoof-Beats Changed To Thunder,  And With The Pounding On The Dry

Trail Came The Jangle Of Stirrups And Sling-Belts. Then A Voice,  And

The Coach Was Surrounded By Dust-Covered Troopers And Horses

Breathing Heavily. Lieutenant Crosby Pulled Up Beside The Window Of

The Stage. "Are You There,  Colonel Patten?" He Panted. He Peered

Forward Into The Stage,  But No One Answered Him. "Is The Paymaster In

Here?" He Demanded.

The Voice Of Lieutenant Curtis Shouted In Turn At Hunk Smith. "Is The

Paymaster In There,  Driver?"

"Paymaster? No!" Hunk Roared. "A Drummer And Three Ladies. We've Been

Held Up. The Red Rider--" He Rose And Waved His Whip Over The Top Of

The Coach. "He Went That Way. You Can Ketch Him Easy."

Sergeant Clancey And Half A Dozen Troopers Jerked At Their Bridles.

But Crosby,  At The Window,  Shouted "Halt!"

"What's Your Name?" He Demanded Of The Salesman.

"Myers," Stammered The Drummer. "I'm From The Hancock Uniform--"

Curtis Had Spurred His Horse Beside That Of His Brother Officer. "Is

Colonel Patten At Kiowa?" He Interrupted.

"I Can't Give You Any Information As To That," Replied Mr. Myers,

Importantly; "But These Ladies And I Have Just Been Held Up By The

Red Rider. If You'll Hurry You'll--"

The Two Officers Pulled Back Their Horses From The Stage And,  Leaning

From Their Saddles,  Consulted In Eager Whispers. Their Men Fidgeted

With Their Reins,  And Stared With Amazed Eyes At Their Officers.

Lieutenant Crosby Was Openly Smiling,  "He's Got Away With It," He

Whispered. "Patten Missed The Stage,  Thank God,  And He's Met Nothing

Worse Than These Women."

"We Must Make A Bluff At Following Him," Whispered Curtis.

"Certainly Not! Our Orders Are To Report To Colonel Patten,  And Act

As His Escort."

"But He's Not At Kiowa; That Fellow Says So."

"He Telegraphed The Colonel From Kiowa," Returned Crosby. "How Could

He Do That If He Wasn't There?" He Turned Upon Hunk Smith. "When Did

You Leave Henderson's?" He Demanded.

"Seven O'clock," Answered Hunk Smith,  Sulkily. "Say,  If You Young

Fellows Want To Catch--"

"And Patten Telegraphed At Eight," Cried Crosby. "That's It. He

Reached Kiowa After The Stage Had Gone. Sergeant Clancey!" He Called.

The Sergeant Pushed Out From The Mass Of Wondering Troopers.

"When Did The Paymaster Say He Was Leaving Kiowa?"

"Leaving At Once,  The Telegram Said," Answered Clancey.

"'Meet Me With Escort Before I Reach The Buttes.' That's The Message

I Was Told To Give The Lieutenant."

Hunk Smith Leaned From The Box-Seat. "Mebbe Pop's Driving Him Over

Himself In The Buckboard," He Volunteered. "Pop Often Takes 'Em Over

That Way If They Miss The Stage."

"That's How It Is,  Of Course," Cried Crosby. "He's On His Way Now In

The Buckboard."

Hunk Smith Surveyed The Troopers Dismally And Shook His Head. "If He

Runs Up Against The Red Rider,  It's 'Good-By' Your Pay,  Boys," He

Cried.

"Fall In There!" Shouted Crosby. "Corporal Tynan,  Fall Out With Two

Men And Escort These Ladies To The Fort." He Touched His Hat To Miss

Post,  And,  With Curtis At His Side,  Sprang Into The Trail. "Gallop!

March!" He Commanded.

"Do You Think He'll Tackle The Buckboard,  Too?" Whispered Curtis.

Crosby Laughed Joyously And Drew A Long Breath Of Relief.

"No,  He's All Right Now," He Answered. "Don't You See,  He Doesn't

Know About Patten Or The Buckboard. He's Probably Well On His Way To

The Post Now. I Delayed The Game At The Stage There On Purpose To

Give Him A Good Start. He's Safe By Now."

"It Was A Close Call," Laughed The Other. "He's Got To Give Us A

Dinner For Helping Him Out Of This."

"We'd Have Caught Him Red-Handed," Said Crosby,  "If We'd Been Five

Minutes Sooner. Lord!" He Gasped. "It Makes Me Cold To Think Of It.

The Men Would Have Shot Him Off His Horse. But What A Story For Those

Women! I Hope I'll Be There When They Tell It. If Ranson Can Keep His

Face Straight,  He's A Wonder." For Some Moments They Raced Silently

Neck By Neck,  And Then Curtis Again Leaned From His Saddle. "I Hope

He Has Turned Back To The Post," He Said. "Look At The Men How

They're Keeping Watch For Him. They're Scouts,  All Of Them."

"What If They Are?" Returned Crosby,  Easily. "Ranson's In Uniform--

Out For A Moonlight Canter. You Can Bet A Million Dollars He Didn't

Wear His Red Mask Long After He Heard Us Coming."

"I Suppose He'll Think We've Followed To Spoil His Fun. You Know You

Said We Would."

"Yes,  He Was Going To Shoot Us," Laughed Crosby. "I Wonder Why He

Packs A Gun. It's A Silly Thing To Do."

The Officers Fell Apart Again,  And There Was Silence Over The

Prairie,  Save For The Creaking Of Leather And The Beat Of The Hoofs.

And Then,  Faint And Far Away,  There Came The Quick Crack Of A

Revolver,  Another,  And Then A Fusillade. "My God!" Gasped Crosby. He

Threw Himself Forwards Digging His Spurs Into His Horse,  And Rode As

Though He Were Trying To Escape From His Own Men.

No One Issued An Order,  No One Looked A Question; Each,  Officer And

Enlisted Man,  Bowed His Head And Raced To Be The First.

The Trail Was Barricaded By Two Struggling Horses And An Overturned

Buckboard. The Rigid Figure Of A Man Lay Flat Upon His Back Staring

At The Moon,  Another White-Haired Figure Staggered Forward From A

Rock. "Who Goes There?" It Demanded.

"United States Troops. Is That You,  Colonel Patten?"

"Yes."

Colonel Patten's Right Arm Was Swinging Limply At His Side. With His

Left Hand He Clasped His Right Shoulder. The Blood,  Black In The

Moonlight,  Was Oozing Between His Fingers.

"We Were Held Up," He Said. "He Shot The Driver And The Horses. I

Fired At Him,  But He Broke My Arm. He Shot The Gun Out Of My Hand.

When He Reached For The Satchel I Tried To Beat Him Off With My Left

Arm,  But He Threw Me Into The Road. He Went That Way--Toward Kiowa."

Sergeant Clancey,  Who Was Kneeling By The Figure In The Trail,  Raised

His Hand In Salute. "Pop Henderson,  Lieutenant," He Said. "He's Shot

Through The Heart. He's Dead."

"He Took The Money,  Ten Thousand Dollars," Cried Colonel Patten. "He

Wore A Red Mask And A Rubber Poncho. And I Saw That He Had No

Stirrups In His Stirrup-Straps."

Crosby Dodged,  As Though Someone Had Thrown A Knife,  And Then Raised

His Hand Stiffly And Heavily.

"Lieutenant Curtis,  You Will Remain Here With Colonel Patten," He

Ordered. His Voice Was Without Emotion. It Fell Flat And Dead.

"Deploy As Skirmishers," He Commanded. "G Troop To The Fight Of The

Trail,  H Troop To The Left. Stop Anyone You See--Anyone. If He Tries

To Escape,  Cry 'Halt!' Twice And Then Fire--To Kill. Forward! Gallop!

March! Toward The Post."

"No!" Shouted Colonel Patten. "He Went Toward Kiowa."

Crosby Replied In The Same Dead Voice: "He Doubled After He Left You,

Colonel. He Has Gone To The Post."

Colonel Patten Struggled From The Supporting Arms That Held Him And

Leaned Eagerly Forward. "You Know Him,  Then?" He Demanded.

"Yes," Cried Crosby,  "God Help Him! Spread Out There,  You,  In Open

Order--And Ride Like Hell!"

Just Before The Officers' Club Closed For The Night Lieutenant Ranson

Came In And,  Seating Himself At The Piano,  Picked Out "The Queen Of

The Philippine Islands" With One Finger. Major Stickney And Others

Who Were Playing Bridge Were Considerably Annoyed. Ranson Then

Demanded That Everyone Present Should Drink His Health In Champagne

For The Reason That It Was His Birthday And That He Was Glad He Was

Alive,  And Wished Everyone Else To Feel The Same Way About It. "Or,

For Any Other Reason Why," He Added Generously. This Frontal Attack

Upon The Whist-Players Upset The Game Entirely,  And Ranson,  Enthroned

Upon The Piano-Stool,  Addressed The Room. He Held Up A Buckskin

Tobacco-Bag Decorated With Beads.