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

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"Breakfast!" Stammered Ranson. "No. The Guard Brought Some,  But I

Couldn't Eat It. This Thing Has Taken The Life Out Of Me--To Think

Sane,  Sensible People--My Own People--Could Believe That I'd Steal,

That I'd Kill A Man For Money."

 

"Yes,  I Know," Said Miss Cahill Soothingly; "But You've Not Had Any

Sleep,  And You Need Your Coffee." She Lifted The Lid Of The Basket.

"It's Getting Cold," She Said. "Don't You Worry About What People

Think. You Must Remember You're A Prisoner Now Under Arrest. You

Can't Expect The Officers To Run Over Here As Freely As They Used To.

What Do You Want?" She Laughed. "Do You Think The Colonel Should

Parade The Band And Give You A Serenade?" For A Moment Ranson Stared

At Her Dully,  And Then His Sense Of Proportion Returned To Him. He

Threw Back His Head And Laughed With Her Joyfully.

 

From Verandas,  Barracks,  And Headquarters,  The Four Hundred Pairs Of

Eyes Noted This Evidence Of Heartlessness With Varied Emotions. But,

Unmindful Of Them,  Ranson Now Leaned Forward,  The Eager,  Searching

Look Coming Back Into His Black Eyes. They Were So Close To Mary

Cahill's That She Drew Away. He Dropped His Voice To A Whisper And

Spoke Swiftly.

 

"Miss Cahill,  Whatever Happens To Me I Won't Forget This. I Won't

Forget Your Coming Here And Throwing Heart Into Me. You Were The Only

One Who Did. I Haven't Asked You If You Believe That I--"

 

She Raised Her Eyes Reproachfully And Smiled. "You Know You Don't

Have To Do That," She Said.

 

The Prisoner Seized The Palings As Though He Meant To Pull Apart The

Barrier Between Them. He Drew A Long Breath Like One Inhaling A

Draught Of Clean Morning Air.

 

"No," He Said,  His Voice Ringing,  "I Don't Have To Do That."

 

He Cast A Swift Glance To The Left And Right. The Sentry's Bayonet

Was Just Disappearing Behind The Corner Of The Hut. To The Four

Hundred Other Eyes Around The Parade-Ground Lieutenant Ranson's

Attitude Suggested That He Was Explaining To Cahill's Daughter What

He Wanted For His Luncheon. His Eyes Held Her As Firmly As Though The

Palings He Clasped Were Her Two Hands.

 

"Mary," He Said,  And The Speaking Of Her Name Seemed To Stop The

Beating Of His Heart. "Mary," He Whispered,  As Softly As Though He

Were Beginning A Prayer,  "You're The Bravest,  The Sweetest,  The

Dearest Girl In All The World. And I've Known It For Months,  And Now

You Must Know. And There'll Never Be Any Other Girl In My Life But

You."

 

Mary Cahill Drew Away From Him In Doubt And Wonder.

 

"I Didn't Mean To Tell You Just Yet," He Whispered,  "But Now That

I've Seen You I Can't Help It. I Knew It Last Night When I Stood Back

There And Watched Your Windows,  And Couldn't Think Of This Trouble,

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Nor Of Anything Else,  But Just You. And You've Got To Promise Me,  If

I Get Out Of This All Right--You Must--Must Promise Me--"

 

Mary Cahill's Eyes,  As She Raised Them To His,  Were Moist And

Glowing. They Promised Him With A Great Love And Tenderness. But At

The Sight Ranson Protested Wildly.

 

"No," He Whispered,  "You Mustn't Promise--Anything. I Shouldn't Have

Asked It. After I'm Out Of This,  After The Court-Martial,  Then You've

Got To Promise That You'll Never,  Never Leave Me."

 

Miss Cahill Knit Her Hands Together And Turned Away Her Head. The

Happiness In Her Heart Rose To Her Throat Like A Great Melody And

Choked Her. Before Her,  Exposed In The Thin Spring Sunshine,  Was The

Square Of Ugly Brown Cottages,  The Bare Parade-Ground,  In Its Centre

Trumpeter Tyler Fingering His Bugle,  And Beyond On Every Side An

Ocean Of Blackened Prairie. But She Saw Nothing Of This. She Saw

Instead A Beautiful World Opening Its Arms To Her,  A World Smiling

With Sunshine,  Glowing With Color,  Singing With Love And Content.

 

She Turned To Him With All That Was In Her Heart Showing In Her Face.

 

"Don't!" He Begged,  Tremblingly,  "Don't Answer. I Couldn't Bear It--

If You Said 'No' To Me." He Jerked His Head Toward The Men Who

Guarded Him. "Wait Until I'm Tried,  And Not In Disgrace." He Shook

The Gate Between Them Savagely As Though It Actually Held Him A

Prisoner.

 

Mary Cahill Raised Her Head Proudly.

 

"You Have No Right. You've Hurt Me," She Whispered. "You Hurt Me."

 

"Hurt You?" He Cried.

 

She Pressed Her Hands Together. It Was Impossible To Tell Him,  It Was

Impossible To Speak Of What She Felt; Of The Pride,  Of The Trust And

Love,  To Disclose This New And Wonderful Thing While The Gate Was

Between Them,  While The Sentries Paced On Either Side,  While The

Curious Eyes Of The Garrison Were Fastened Upon Her.

 

"Oh,  Can't You See?" She Whispered. "As Though I Cared For A Court-

Martial! I Know You. You Are Just The Same. You Are Just What You

Have Always Been To Me--What You Always Will Be To Me."

 

She Thrust Her Hand Toward Him And He Seized It In Both Of His,  And

Then Released It Instantly,  And,  As Though Afraid Of His Own Self-

Control,  Backed Hurriedly From Her,  And She Turned And Walked Rapidly

Away.

 

Captain Carr,  Who Had Been Ranson's Captain In The Philippines,  And

Who Was Much His Friend,  Had Been Appointed To Act As His Counsel.

When Later That Morning He Visited His Client To Lay Out A Line Of

Defence He Found Ranson Inclined To Treat The Danger Which Threatened

Him With The Most Arrogant Flippancy. He Had Never Seen Him In A More

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Objectionable Mood.

 

"You Can Call The Charge 'Tommy-Rot' If You Like," Carr Protested,

Sharply. "But,  Let Me Tell You That's Not The View Any One Else Takes

Of It,  And If You Expect The Officers Of The Court-Martial And The

Civil Authorities To Take That View Of It You've Got To Get Down To

Work And Help Me Prove That It Is 'Tommy Rot.' That Miss Post,  As

Soon As She Got Here,  When She Thought It Was Only A Practical Joke,

Told Them That The Road Agent Threatened Her With A Pair Of Shears.

Now,  Crosby And Curtis Will Testify That You Took A Pair Of Shears

From Cahill's,  And From What Miss Post Saw Of Your Ring She Can

Probably Identify That,  Too; So--"

 

"Oh,  We Concede The Shears," Declared Ranson,  Waving His Hand

Grandly. "We Admit The First Hold-Up."

 

"The Devil We Do!" Returned Carr. "Now,  As Your Counsel,  I Advise

Nothing Of The Sort."

 

"You Advise Me To Lie?"

 

"Sir!" Exclaimed Carr. "A Plea Of Not Guilty Is Only A Legal Form.

When You Consider That The First Hold-Up In Itself Is Enough To Lose

You Your Commission--"

 

"Well,  It's My Commission," Said Ranson. "It Was Only A Silly Joke,

Anyway. And The War Department Must Have Some Sense Of Humor Or It

Wouldn't Have Given Me A Commission In The First Place. Of Course,

We'll Admit The First Hold-Up,  But We Won't Stand For The Second One.

I Had No More To Do With That Than With The Whitechapel Murders."

 

"How Are We To Prove That?" Demanded Carr. "Where's Your Alibi? Where

Were You After The First Hold-Up?"

 

"I Was Making For Home As Fast As I Could Cut," Said Ranson. He

Suddenly Stopped In His Walk Up And Down The Room And Confronted His

Counsel Sternly. "Captain," He Demanded,  "I Wish You To Instruct Me

On A Point Of Law."

 

Carr's Brow Relaxed. He Was Relieved To Find That Ranson Had Awakened

To The Seriousness Of The Charges Against Him.

 

"That's What I'm Here For," He Said,  Encouragingly.

 

"Well,  Captain," Said Ranson,  "If An Officer Is Under Arrest As I Am

And Confined To His Quarters,  Is He Or Is He Not Allowed To Send To

The Club For A Bottle Of Champagne?"

 

"Really,  Ranson!" Cried The Captain,  Angrily,  "You Are Impossible."

 

"I Only Want To Celebrate," Said Ranson,  Meekly. "I'm A Very Happy

Man; I'm The Happiest Man On Earth. I Want To Ride Across The Prairie

Shooting Off Both Guns And Yelling Like A Cowboy. Instead Of Which I

Am Locked Up Indoors And Have To Talk To You About A Highway Robbery

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Which Does Not Amuse Me,  Which Does Not Concern Me--And Of Which I

Know Nothing And Care Less. Now,  You Are Detailed To Prove Me

Innocent. That's Your Duty,  And You Ought To Do Your Duty,  But Don't

Drag Me In. I've Got Much More Important Things To Think About."

 

Bewilderment,  Rage,  And Despair Were Written Upon The Face Of The

Captain.

 

"Ranson!" He Roared. "Is This A Pose,  Or Are You Mad? Can't You

Understand That You Came Very Near To Being Hanged For Murder And

That You Are In Great Danger Of Going To Jail For Theft? Let Me Put

Before You The Extremely Unpleasant Position In Which You Have Been

Ass Enough To Place Yourself. You Don't Quite Seem To Grasp It. You

Tell Two Brother-Officers That You Are Going To Rob The Stage. To Do

So You Disguise Yourself In A Poncho And A Red Handkerchief,  And You

Remove The Army-Stirrups From Your Stirrup-Leathers. You Then Do Rob

This Coach,  Or At Least Hold It Up,  And You Are Recognized. A Few

Minutes Later,  In The Same Trail And In The Same Direction You Have

Taken,  There Is A Second Hold-Up,  This Time Of The Paymaster. The Man

Who Robs The Paymaster Wears A Poncho And A Red Kerchief,  And He Has

No Stirrups In His Stirrup-Leathers. The Two Hold-Ups Take Place

Within A Half-Mile Of Each Other,  Within Five Minutes Of Each Other.

Now,  Is It Reasonable To Believe That Last Night Two Men Were Hiding

In The Buttes Intent Upon Robbery,  Each In An Army Poncho,  Each

Wearing A Red Bandanna Handkerchief,  And Each Riding Without

Stirrups? Between Believing In Such A Strange Coincidence And That

You Did It,  I'll Be Hanged If I Don't Believe You Did It."

 

"I Don't Blame You," Said Ranson. "What Can I Do To Set Your Mind At

Rest?"

 

"Well,  Tell Me Exactly What Persons Knew That You Meant To Hold Up

The Stage."

 

"Curtis And Crosby; No One Else."

 

"Not Even Cahill?"

 

"No,  Cahill Came In Just Before I Said