"
A dishevelled orderly bearing a tray with two glasses confronted
Ranson at the door. "Here's the Scotch and sodas, lieutenant," he
panted. "I couldn't get 'em any sooner. The men wanted to take 'em
off me--to drink Miss Cahill's health."
"So they shall," said Ranson. "Tell them to drink the canteen dry and
charge it to me. What's a little thing like the regulations between
friends? They have taught me my manners. Mr. Cahill," he called.
The post-trader returned from the veranda.
Ranson solemnly handed him a glass and raised the other in the air.
"Here's hoping that the Red Rider rides on his raids no more," he
said; "and to the future Mrs. Ranson--to Mary Cahill, God bless her!"
He shattered the empty glass in the grate and took Cahill's hand.
"Father-in-law," said Ranson, "let's promise each other to lead a new
and a better life."
THE BAR SINISTER
PART I
The Master was walking most unsteady, his legs tripping each other.
After the fifth or sixth round, my legs often go the same way.
But even when the Master's legs bend and twist a bit, you mustn't
think he can't reach you. Indeed, that is the time he kicks most
frequent.
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