“Yes,” Miss Cahill cried; “and Mr. Ransom, too, if I may.” She caught her father eagerly by the arm, but her eyes were turned joyfully upon Ranson. They were laughing with excitement. Her voice was trembling and eager.
“It is something I have discovered,” she cried; “I found it out just now, and I think—oh, I hope!—it is most important. I believe it will clear Mr. Ranson!” she cried, happily. “At least it will show that last night someone went out to rob the coach and went dressed as he was.”
Cahill gave a short laugh. “What's his name?” he asked, mockingly. “Have you seen him?”
“I didn't see him and I don't know his name, but—”
Cahill snorted, and picked up his sombrero from the table. “Then it's not so very important after all,” he said. “Is that all that brought you here?”
“The main thing is that she is here,” said Ranson; “for which the poor prisoner is grateful—grateful to her and to the man she hasn't seen, in the mask and poncho, whose name she doesn't know. Mr. Cahill, bad as it is, I insist on your finishing your whiskey. Miss Cahill, please sit down.”
He moved a chair toward her and, as he did so, looked full into her face with such love and happiness that she turned her eyes away.
“Well?” asked Cahill.
“I must first explain to Lieutenant Ranson, father,” said his daughter, “that to-day is the day we take account of stock.”
“Speaking of stock,” said Ranson, “don't forget that I owe you for a red kerchief and a rubber poncho. You can have them back, if you like. I won't need a rain coat where I am going.”