“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.
“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?”