We'll tell 'em you're going to Fort Worth to buy the
engagement ring, because I can't, being under arrest. But you go to
Duncan City instead, and from there take the cars, to--"
"Run away!" Cahill repeated, dazedly. "But you'll be court-
martialled."
"There won't be any court-martial!"
Cahill glanced around the room quickly. "I see," he cried. In his
eagerness he was almost smiling. "I'm to leave a confession and give
it to you."
"Confession! What rot!" cried Ranson.
"They can't prove anything against me. Everyone knows by now that
there were two men on the trail, but they don't know who the other
man was, and no one ever must know--especially Mary."
Cahill struck the table with his fist. "I won't stand for it!" he
cried. "I got you into this and I'm goin'--"
"Yes, going to jail," retorted Ranson. "You'll look nice behind the
bars, won't you? Your daughter will be proud of you in a striped
suit. Don't talk nonsense. You're going to run and hide some place,
somewhere, where Mary and I can come and pay you a visit. Say--
Canada. No, not Canada. I'd rather visit you in jail than in a
Montreal hotel. Say Tangier, or Buenos Ayres, or Paris.
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