I saw you did. So I thought I'd just confess to what I meant to
do, even if I didn't do it."
Ranson surveyed his father-in-law with a delighted grin. "How did you
get that bullet-hole in your hand?" he asked.
Cahill laughed shamefacedly. "I hate to tell you that," he said. "I
got it just as I said I did. My new gun went off while I was fooling
with it, with my hand over the muzzle. And me the best shot in the
Territory! But when I heard the paymaster claimed he shot the Red
Rider through the palm I knew no one would believe me if I told the
truth. So I lied."
Ranson glanced down at the written confession, and then tore it
slowly into pieces. "And you were sure I robbed the stage, and yet
you believed that I'd use this? What sort of a son-in-law do you
think you've got?"
"You thought _I_ robbed the stage, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And you were going to stand for robbing it yourself, weren't you?
Well, that's the sort of son-in-law I've got!"
The two men held out their hands at the same instant.
Mary Cahill, her face glowing with pride and besieged with blushes,
came toward them from the veranda. She was laughing and radiant, but
she turned her eyes on Ranson with a look of tender reproach.
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