Lieutenant Ranson never
knew the mischief the sympathy he had shown for his enemy caused in
the heart of Mary Cahill, nor that from that moment she loved him
deeply.
The West Point graduates before they answered Ranson's ultimatum
smoked their cigarettes for some time in silence.
"Oh, there's been fighting even at Fort Crockett," said Crosby. "In
the last two years the men have been ordered out seven times, haven't
they, Miss Cahill? When the Indians got out of hand, and twice after
cowboys, and twice after the Red Rider."
"The Red Rider!" protested Ranson; "I don't see anything exciting in
rounding up one miserable horse thief."
"Only they don't round him up," returned Curtis crossly. "That's why
it's exciting. He's the best in his business. He's held up the stage
six times now in a year. Whoever the fellow is, if he's one man or a
gang of men, he's the nerviest road-agent since the days of Abe
Case."
Ranson in his then present mood was inclined toward pessimism. "It
doesn't take any nerve to hold up a coach," he contradicted.
Curtis and Crosby snorted in chorus. "That's what you say," mocked
Curtis.
"Well, it doesn't," repeated Ranson.
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