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Updated: May 17, 2025
Then he came down the room and regarded his prospective father-in-law with an expression of amused exasperation. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his riding-breeches and nodded his head. "Well," he exclaimed, "you've made a damned pretty mess of it, haven't you?" Cahill had sunk heavily into a chair and was staring at Ranson with the stupid, wondering gaze of a dumb animal in pain.
For nearly an hour Miss Cahill lay awake listening to her father moving about in the shop below. Never before had he spoken roughly to her, and she, knowing how much the thought that he had done so would distress him, was herself distressed. In his lonely vigil on the veranda, Ranson looked from the post down the hill to where the light still shone from Mary Cahill's window.
"You'll not be dismissed this regiment, if I can help it," he cried. Ranson gave an ugly laugh, like the snarl of a puppy over his bone. "If you try to follow me, or interfere with me, Lieutenant Crosby," he said, "I'll shoot you and your troopers!" "With a pair of shears?" jeered Crosby. "No, with the gun I've got in my pocket. Now you listen to me.
I can talk better when you are not here. I'll soon bring him around." "Father," pleaded Miss Cahill, timidly. From behind her back Ranson shook his head at the post-trader in violent pantomime. "She'd better go outside and wait, hadn't she, Mr. Cahill?" he directed. As he was bidden, the post-trader raised his head and nodded toward the door.
It was all no good, for I felt angry with her, and despised her advances, no doubt, because I had Mimi, and wished to keep all my love for her. However, I took three louis out of my purse and gave them to her, asking her to tell me her history. "Stuart," she said, "was only my keeper; my real name is Ranson, and I am the mistress of a rich landed proprietor.
Bolland's porch, and the enlisted men, smoking their pipes on the rail of the barracks, whispered together. When she reached Ranson's hut over four hundred pairs of eyes were upon her, and her cheeks were flushing. Ranson came leaping to the gate, and lifted the basket from her arm as though he were removing an opera-cloak.
Captain Bedlock, who had been taken prisoner, being stripped naked, had his body stuck full of splinters of pine-knots, and then a heap of the same piled around him; the whole was then set on fire, and his two companions, Captains Ranson and Durgee, thrown alive into the flames and held down with pitchforks.
"Free?" smiled Ranson. "Yes, relieved from arrest," Crosby cried, joyfully. He turned and took Ranson's sword from the hands of the adjutant. "And the colonel's let your troop have the band to give you a serenade." But Ranson's face showed no sign of satisfaction. "Wait!" he cried. "Why am I relieved from arrest?" "Why? Because the other fellow has confessed."
"Yes, I hoped it might. That's why I fired it," snapped Ranson. "I want two whiskey-and-sodas. Quick now!" "Two " gasped Clancey. "Whiskey-and-sodas. See how fast one of you can chase over to the club and get 'em. And next time I want a drink don't make me wake the entire garrison." As the soldiers retreated Ranson discovered Miss Cahill's white face beyond them.
"Maybe the post will be gayer now that spring has come," said Curtis hopefully, but with a doubtful look at the open fire. "I wouldn't do anything rash," urged Crosby. Miss Cahill shook her head. "Why, I like it at the post," she said, "and I've been here five years ever since I left the convent and I- " Ranson interrupted, bowing gallantly.
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