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

Remember Particularly That Before I Spoke I Waited For Him To Get

Back To The Exchange."

"And Crosby Tells Me," Continued Carr,  "That The Instant You Had Gone

He Looked Into The Exchange And Saw Cahill At The Farthest Corner

From The Door. He Could Have Heard Nothing."

"If You Ask Me,  I Think You've Begun At The Wrong End," Said Ranson.

"If I Were Looking For The Red Rider I'd Search For Him In Kiowa

City."

"Why?"

"Because,  At This End No One But A Few Officers Knew That The

Paymaster Was Coming,  While In Kiowa Everybody In The Town Knew It,

For They Saw Him Start. It Would Be Very Easy For One Of Those

Cowboys To Ride Ahead And Lie In Wait For Him In The Buttes. There

Are Several Tough Specimens In Kiowa. Any One Of Them Would Rob A Man

For Twenty Dollars--Let Alone Ten Thousand. There's 'Abe' Fisher And

Foster King,  And The Chase Boys,  And I Believe Old 'Pop' Henderson

Himself Isn't Above Holding Up One Of His Own Stages."

"He's Above Shooting Himself In The Lungs," Said Carr. "Nonsense. No,

I Am Convinced That Someone Followed You From This Post,  And Perhaps

Cahill Can Tell Us Who That Was. I Sent For Him This Morning,  And

He's Waiting At My Quarters Now. Suppose I Ask Him To Step Over Here,

So That We Can Discuss It Together."

Before He Answered,  Ranson Hesitated,  With His Eyes On The Ground. He

Had No Way Of Knowing Whether Mary Cahill Had Told Her Father

Anything Of What He Had Said To Her That Morning. But If She Had Done

So,  He Did Not Want To Meet Cahill In The Presence Of A Third Party

For The First Time Since He Had Learned The News.

"I'll Tell You What I Wish You Would Do," He Said. "I Wish You'd Let

Me See Cahill First,  By Myself. What I Want To See Him About Has

Nothing To Do With The Hold-Up," He Added. "It Concerns Only Us Two,

But I'd Like To Have It Out Of The Way Before We Consult Him As A

Witness."

Carr Rose Doubtfully. "Why,  Certainly," He Said; "I'll Send Him Over,

And When You're Ready For Me Step Out On The Porch And Call. I'll Be

Sitting On My Veranda. I Hope You've Had No Quarrel With Cahill--I

Mean I Hope This Personal Matter Is Nothing That Will Prejudice Him

Against You."

Ranson Smiled. "I Hope Not,  Too," He Said. "No,  We've Not Quarrelled-

-Yet," He Added.

Carr Still Lingered. "Cahill Is Like To Be A Very Important Witness

For The Other Side--"

"I Doubt It," Said Ranson,  Easily. "Cahill's A Close-Mouthed Chap,

But When He Does Talk He Talks To The Point And He'll Tell The Truth.

That Can't Hurt Us."

As Cahill Crossed The Parade-Ground From Captain Carr's Quarters On

His Way To Ranson's Hut His Brain Was Crowded Swiftly With Doubts,

Memories,  And Resolves. For Him The Interview Held No Alarms. He Had

No Misgivings As To Its Outcome. For His Daughter's Sake He Was

Determined That He Himself Must Not Be Disgraced In Her Eyes And That

To That End Ranson Must Be Sacrificed. It Was To Make A Lady Of Her,

As He Understood What A Lady Should Be,  That On Six Moonlit Raids He

Had Ventured Forth In His Red Mask And Robbed The Kiowa Stage. That

There Were Others Who Roamed Abroad In The Disguise Of The Red Rider

He Was Well Aware. There Were Nights The Stage Was Held Up When He

Was Innocently Busy Behind His Counter In Touch With The Whole

Garrison. Of These Nights He Made Much. They Were Alibis Furnished By

His Rivals. They Served To Keep Suspicion From Himself,  And He,

Working For The Same Object,  Was Indefatigable In Proclaiming That

All The Depredations Of The Red Rider Showed The Handiwork Of One And

The Same Individual.

"He Comes From Kiowa Of Course," He Would Point Out. "Some Feller Who

Lives Where The Stage Starts,  And Knows When The Passengers Carry

Money. You Don't Hear Of Him Holding Up A Stage Full Of Recruits Or

Cow-Punchers. It's Always The Drummers And The Mine Directors That

The Red Rider Lays For. How Does He Know They're In The Stage If He

Don't See 'Em Start From Kiowa? Ask 'Pop' Henderson. Ask 'Abe'

Fisher. Mebbe They Know More Than They'd Care To Tell."

The Money Which At Different Times Cahill Had Taken From The Kiowa

Stage Lay In A New York Bank,  And The Law Of Limitation Made It Now

Possible For Him To Return To That City And Claim It. Already His

Savings Were Sufficient In Amount To Support Both His Daughter And

Himself In One Of Those Foreign Cities,  Of Which She Had So Often

Told Him And For Which He Knew She Hungered. And For The Last Five

Years He Had Had No Other Object In Living Than To Feed Her Wants.

Through Some Strange Trick Of The Mind He Remembered Suddenly And

Vividly A Long-Forgotten Scene In The Back Room Of Mcturk's,  When He

Was Mcturk's Bouncer. The Night Before A Girl Had Killed Herself In

This Same Back Room; She Made The Third Who Had Done So In The Month.

He Recalled The Faces Of The Reporters Eyeing Mcturk In Cold Distaste

As That Terror Of The Bowery Whimpered Before Them On His Knees. "But

My Daughters Will Read It," He Had Begged. "Suppose They Believe I'm

What You Call Me. Don't Go And Give Me A Bad Name To Them,  Gentlemen.

It Ain't My Fault The Girl's Died Here. You Wouldn't Have My

Daughters Think I'm To Blame For That? They're Ladies,  My Daughters,

They're Just Out Of The Convent,  And They Don't Know That There Is

Such Women In The World As Come To This Place. And I Can't Have 'Em

Turned Against Their Old Pop. For God's Sake,  Gentlemen,  Don't Let My

Girls Know!"

Cahill Remembered The Contempt He Had Felt For His Employer As He

Pulled Him To His Feet,  But Now Mcturk's Appeal Seemed Just And

Natural. His Point Of View Was That Of The Loving And Considerate

Parent. In Cahill's Mind There Was No Moral Question Involved. If To

Make His Girl Rich And A Lady,  And To Lift Her Out Of The Life Of The

Exchange,  Was A Sin The Sin Was His Own And He Was Willing To "Stand

For It." And,  Like Mcturk,  He Would See That The Sin Of The Father

Was Not Visited Upon The Child. Ranson Was Rich,  Foolishly,  Selfishly

Rich; His Father Was A United States Senator With Influence Enough,

And Money Enough,  To Fight The Law--To Buy His Son Out Of Jail.

Sooner Than His Daughter Should Know That Her Father Was One Of Those

Who Sometimes Wore The Mask Of The Red Rider,  Ranson,  For All He

Cared,  Could Go To Jail,  Or To Hell. With This Ultimatum In His Mind,

Cahill Confronted His Would-Be Son-In-Law With A Calm And Assured

Countenance.

Ranson Greeted Him With Respectful Deference,  And While Cahill Seated

Himself,  Ranson,  Chatting Hospitably,  Placed Cigars And Glasses

Before Him. He Began Upon The Subject That Touched Him The Most

Nearly.

"Miss Cahill Was Good Enough To Bring Up My Breakfast This Morning,"

He Said. "Has She Told You Of What I Said To Her?"

Cahill Shook His Head. "No,  I Haven't Seen Her. We've Been Taking

Account Of Stock All Morning."

"Then--Then You've Heard Nothing From Her About Me?" Said Ranson.

The Post Trader Raised His Head In Surprise. "No. Captain Carr Spoke

To Me About Your Arrest,  And Then Said You Wanted To See Me First

About Something Private." The Post Trader Fixed Ranson With His Keen,

Unwavering Eyes. "What Might That Be?" He Asked.

"Well,  It Doesn't Matter Now," Stammered Ranson; "I'll Wait Until

Miss Cahill Tells You."

"Any Complaint About The Food?" Inquired The Post Trader.

Ranson Laughed Nervously. "No,  It's Not That," He Said. He Rose,  And,

To Protect What Miss Cahill Evidently Wished To Remain A Secret,

Changed The Subject. "You See You've Lived In These Parts So Long,

Mr. Cahill," He Explained,  "And You Know So Many People,  I Thought

Maybe You Could Put Me On The Track Or Give Me Some Hint As To Which

Of That Kiowa Gang Really Did Rob The Paymaster." Ranson Was Pulling

The Cork From The Whiskey Bottle,  And When He Asked The Question

Cahill Pushed His Glass From Him And Shook His Head. Ranson Looked Up

Interrogatively And Smiled. "You Mean You Think I Did It Myself?" He

Asked.

"I Didn't Understand From Captain Carr," The Post Trader Began In

Heavy Tones,  "That It's My Opinion You're After. He Said I Might Be

Wanted To Testify Who Was Present Last Night In My Store."

"Certainly,  That's All We Want," Ranson Answered,  Genially. "I Only

Thought You Might Give Me A Friendly Pointer Or Two On The Outside.

And,  Of Course,  If It's Your Opinion I Did The Deed We Certainly

Don't Want Your Opinion. But That Needn't Prevent Your Taking A Drink

With Me,  Need It? Don't Be Afraid. I'm Not Trying To Corrupt You. And

I'm Not Trying To Poison A Witness For The Other Fellows,  Either.

Help Yourself."

Cahill Stretched Out His Left Hand. His Right Remained Hidden In The

Side Pocket Of His Coat. "What's The Matter With Your Right Hand?"

Ranson Asked. "Are You Holding A Gun On Me? Really,  Mr. Cahill,

You're Not Taking Any Chances,  Are You?" Ranson Gazed About The Room

As Though Seeking An Appreciative Audience. "He's Such An Important

Witness," He Cried,  Delightedly,  "That First He's Afraid I'll Poison

Him And He Won't Drink With Me,  And Now He Covers Me With A Gun."

Reluctantly,  Cahill Drew Out His Hand. "I Was Putting The Bridle On

My Pony Last Night," He Said. "He Bit Me."

Ranson Exclaimed Sympathetically,  "Oh,  That's Too Bad," He Said.