"How'd he know that? What makes him think
so?"
"Well, never mind, let him think so," Ranson answered, fervently.
"Don't discourage him. That's the only evidence I've got on my side.
He says he fired to disarm the man, and that he saw him shift his gun
to his left hand. It was the shot that the man fired when he held his
gun in his left that broke the colonel's arm. Now, everybody knows I
can't hit a barn with my left. And as for having any wounds concealed
about my person"--Ranson turned his hands like a conjurer to show the
front and back--"they can search me. So, if the paymaster will only
stick to that story--that he hit the man--it will help me a lot."
Ranson seated himself on the table and swung his leg. "And of course
it would be a big help, too, if you could remember who was in your
Exchange when I was planning to rob the coach. For someone certainly
must have overheard me, someone must have copied my disguise, and
that someone is the man we must find. Unless he came from Kiowa."
Cahill shoved his glass from him across the table and, placing his
hands on his knees, stared at his host coldly and defiantly. His
would-be son-in-law observed the aggressiveness of his attitude, but,
in his fuller knowledge of their prospective relations, smiled
blandly.
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