Ranson's Folly (Fiscle Part 3) by Richard Harding Davis (best black authors .TXT) 📖

Under His Breath Crosby Was

Swearing Fiercely. Curtis Stood Staring Out Of The Open Door.

 

"Will He Do It?" He Asked.

 

"Of Course He'll Do It."

 

Curtis Crossed The Room And Dropped Into A Chair. "And What--What Had

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We Better Do?" He Asked. For Some Time The Other Made No Answer. His

Brows Were Knit,  And He Tramped The Room,  Scowling At The Floor. Then

With An Exclamation Of Alarm He Stepped Lightly To The Door Of The

Exchange And Threw Back The Curtain. In The Other Room,  Cahill Stood

At Its Furthest Corner,  Scooping Sugar From A Hogshead.

 

Crosby's Scowl Relaxed,  And,  Reseating Himself At The Table,  He

Rolled A Cigarette. "Now,  If He Pulls It Off," He Whispered,  "And

Gets Back To Quarters,  Then--It's A Case Of All's Well. But,  If He's

Shot,  Or Caught,  And It All Comes Out,  Then It's Up To Us To Prove He

Meant It As A Practical Joke."

 

"It Isn't Our Duty To Report It Now,  Is It?" Asked Curtis,  Nervously.

 

"Certainly Not! If He Chooses To Make An Ass Of Himself,  That's None

Of Our Business. Unless He's Found Out,  We Have Heard Nothing And

Seen Nothing. If He's Caught,  Then We've Got To Stick By Him,  And

Testify That He Did It On A Bet. He'll Probably Win Out All Right.

There Is Nobody Expected On The Stage But That Miss Post And Her

Aunt. And The Driver's An Old Hand. He Knows Better Than To Fight."

 

"There May Be Some Cowboys Coming Up."

 

"That's Ranson's Lookout. As Cahill Says,  The Red Rider Takes His

Chances."

 

"I Wish There Was Something We Could Do Now," Curtis Protested,

Petulantly. "I Suppose We've Just Got To Sit Still And Wait For Him?"

 

"That's All," Answered Crosby,  And Then Leaped To His Feet. "What's

That?" He Asked. Out On The Parade Ground,  A Bugle-Call Broke

Suddenly On The Soft Spring Air. It Rang Like An Alarm. The Noise Of

A Man Running Swiftly Sounded On The Path,  And Before The Officers

Reached The Doorway Sergeant Clancey Entered It,  And Halted At

Attention.

 

"The Colonel's Orders," Panted The Sergeant,  "And The Lieutenant's

Are To Take Twenty Men From G And H Troops,  And Ride To Kiowa To

Escort The Paymaster."

 

"The Paymaster!" Crosby Cried. "He's Not Coming Till Thursday."

 

"He's Just Telegraphed From Kiowa City,  Lieutenant. He's Ahead Of His

Schedule. He Wants An Escort For The Money. He Left Kiowa A Few

Minutes Ago In The Up Stage."

 

The Two Lieutenants Sprang Forward,  And Shouted In Chorus: "The

Stage? He Is In The Stage!"

 

Sergeant Clancey Stared Dubiously From One Officer To The Other. He

Misunderstood Their Alarm,  And With The Privilege Of Long Service

Attempted To Allay It. "The Lieutenant Knows Nothing Can Happen To

The Stage Till It Reaches The Buttes," He Said. "There Has Never Been

A Hold-Up In The Open,  And The Escort Can Reach The Buttes Long

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Before The Stage Gets Here." He Coughed Consciously. "Colonel's

Orders Are To Gallop,  Lieutenant."

 

As The Two Officers Rode Knee To Knee Through The Night,  The Pay

Escort Pounding The Trail Behind Them,  Crosby Leaned From His Saddle.

"He Has Only Ten Minutes' Start Of Us," He Whispered. "We Are Certain

To Overtake Him. We Can't Help But Do It. We Must Do It. We Must! If

We Don't,  And He Tries To Stop Colonel Patten And The Pay-Roll,  He'll

Die. Two Women And A Deaf Driver,  That--That's A Joke. But An Indian

Fighter Like Old Patten,  And Uncle Sam's Money,  That Means A Finish

Fight-And His Death And Disgrace." He Turned Savagely In His Saddle.

"Close Up There!" He Commanded. "Stop That Talking. You Keep Your

Breath Till I Want It--And Ride Hard."

 

After The Officers Had Galloped Away From The Messroom,  And Sergeant

Clancey Had Hurried After Them To The Stables,  The Post-Trader

Entered It From The Exchange And Barred The Door,  Which They In Their

Haste Had Left Open. As He Did This,  The Close Observer,  Had One Been

Present,  Might Have Noted That Though His Movements Were Now Alert

And Eager,  They No Longer Were Betrayed By Any Sound,  And That His

Spurs Had Ceased To Jangle. Yet That He Purposed To Ride Abroad Was

Evident From The Fact That From A Far Corner He Dragged Out A Heavy

Saddle. He Flung This Upon The Counter,  And Swiftly Stripped It Of

Its Stirrups. These,  With More Than Necessary Care,  He Hid Away Upon

The Highest Shelf Of The Shop,  While From The Lower Shelves He

Snatched A Rubber Poncho And A Red Kerchief. For A Moment,  As He

Unbarred The Door,  The Post-Trader Paused And Cast A Quick Glance

Before And Behind Him,  And Then The Door Closed And There Was

Silence. A Minute Later It Was Broken By The Hoofs Of A Horse

Galloping Swiftly Along The Trail To Kiowa City.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part Ii

 

 

 

 

 

That Winter Miss Post Had Been Going Out A Great Deal More Than Was

Good For Her,  And When The Spring Came She Broke Down. The Family

Doctor Recommended Aiken,  But An Aunt Of Miss Post's,  Mrs. Truesdall,

Had Been At Farmington With Mrs. "Colonel" Bolland,  And Urged

Visiting Her Instead. The Doctor Agreed That The Climatic Conditions

Existing At Fort Crockett Were Quite As Health-Giving As Those At

Aiken,  And Of The Two The Invalid Decided That The Regimental Post

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Would Be More Of A Novelty.

 

So She And Her Aunt And The Maid Changed Cars Twice After Leaving St.

Louis And Then Staged It To Kiowa City,  Where,  While Waiting For

"Pop" Henderson's Coach To Fort Crockett,  They Dined With Him On

Bacon,  Fried Bread,  And Alkali Water Tinged With Coffee.

 

It Was At Kiowa City,  A City Of Four Hundred Houses On Blue-Print

Paper And Six On Earth,  That Miss Post First Felt Certain That She

Was Going To Enjoy Her Visit. It Was There She First Saw,  At Large

And On His Native Heath,  A Blanket Indian. He Was A Tall,  Beautiful

Youth,  With Yellow Ochre On His Thin,  Brown Arms And Blue Ochre On

His Cheekbones,  Who Sat On "Pop's" Steps,  Gazing Impassively At The

Stars. Miss Post Came Out With Her Maid And Fell Over Him. The Maid

Screamed. Miss Post Said: "I Beg Your Pardon"; And The Brave

Expressed His Contempt By Gutteral Mutterings And By Moving Haughtily

Away. Miss Post Was Then Glad That She Had Not Gone To Aiken. For The

Twelve-Mile Drive Through The Moonlit Buttes To Fort Crockett There

Was,  Besides The Women,  One Other Passenger. He Was A Travelling

Salesman Of The Hancock Uniform Company,  And Was Visiting Fort

Crockett To Measure The Officers For Their Summer Tunics. At Dinner

He Passed Miss Post The Condensed Milk-Can,  And In Other Ways Made

Himself Agreeable. He Informed Her Aunt That He Was In The Military

Equipment Department Of The Army,  But,  Much To That Young Woman's

Distress,  Addressed Most Of His Remarks To The Maid,  Who,  To His

Taste,  Was The Most Attractive Of The Three.

 

"I Take It," He Said Genially To Miss Post,  "That You And The Young

Lady Are Sisters."

 

"No," Said Miss Post,  "We Are Not Related."

 

It Was Eight O'clock,  And The Moon Was Full In The Heavens When "Pop"

Henderson Hoisted Them Into The Stage And Burdened His Driver,  Hunk

Smith,  With Words Of Advice Which Were Intended Solely For The Ears

Of The Passengers.

 

"You Want To Be Careful Of That Near Wheeler,  Hunk," He Said,  "Or

He'll Upset You Into A Gully. An' In Crossing The Second Ford,  Bear

To The Right; The Water's Running High,  And It May Carry Youse All

Down Stream. I Don't Want That These Ladies Should Be Drowned In Any

Stage Of Mine. An' If The Red Rider Jumps You Don't Put Up No Bluff,

But Sit Still. The Paymaster's Due In A Night Or Two,  An' I've No

Doubt At All But That The Rider's Laying For Him. But If You Tell Him

That There's No One Inside But Womenfolk And A Tailor,  Mebbe He Won't

Hurt Youse. Now,  Ladies," He Added,  Putting His Head Under The

Leather Flap,  As Though Unconscious That All He Had Said Had Already

Reached Them,  "Without Wishing To Make You Uneasy,  I Would Advise

Your Having Your Cash And Jewelry Ready In Your Hands. With Road-

Agents It's Mostly Wisest To Do What They Say,  An' To Do It Quick. Ef

You Give 'Em All You've Got,  They Sometimes Go Away Without Spilling

Blood,  Though,  Such Being Their Habits,  Naturally Disappointed." He

Turned His Face Toward The Shrinking Figure Of The Military Tailor.

"You,  Being An Army Man," He Said,  "Will Of Course Want To Protect

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The Ladies,  But You Mustn't Do It. You Must Keep Cool. Ef You Pull

Your Gun,  Like As Not You'll All Get Killed. But I'm Hoping For The

Best. Good-Night All,  An' A Pleasant Journey."

 

The Stage Moved Off With Many Creaks And Many Cracks Of The Whip,

Which In Part Smothered Hunk Smith's Laughter. But After The First

Mile,  He,  Being A Man With Feelings And A Family,  Pulled The Mules To

A Halt.

 

The Voice Of The Drummer Could Instantly Be Heard Calling Loudly From

The Darkness Of The Stage: "Don't Open Those Flaps. If They See Us,

They'll Fire!"

 

"I Wanted You Folks To Know," Said Hunk Smith,  Leaning From The Box-

Seat,  "That That Talk Of Pop's Was All Foolishness. You're As Safe On

This Trail As In A Pullman Palace-Car. That Was Just His Way. Pop

Will Have His Joke. You Just Go To Sleep Now,  If You Can,  And Trust

To Me. I'll Get You There By