“The truth is that last night there was no one in the Exchange but you officers and me.  If anybody’d come in on the store side you’d have seen him, wouldn’t you? and if he’d come into the Exchange I’d have seen him.  But no one come in.  I was there alone—­and certainly I didn’t hear your plan, and I didn’t rob the stage.  When you fellows left I went down to the Indian village.  Half the reservation can prove I was there all the evening—­so of the four of us, that lets me out.  Crosby and Curtis were in command of the pay escort—­that’s their alibi—­and as far as I can see, lieutenant, that puts it up to you.”

Ranson laughed and shook his head.  “Yes, it certainly looks that way,” he said.  “Only I can’t see why you need be so damned pleased about it.”  He grinned wickedly.  “If you weren’t such a respectable member of Fort Crockett society I might say you listened at the door, and rode after me in one of your own ponchos.  As for the Indian village, that’s no alibi.  A Kiowa swear his skin’s as white as yours if you give him a drink.”

“And is that why I get this one?” Cahill demanded.  “Am I a Kiowa?”

Ranson laughed and shoved the bottle toward his father-in-law-elect.

“Oh, can’t you take a joke?” he said.  “Take another drink, then.”

The voice outside the hut was too low to reach the irate Cahill, but Ranson heard it and leaped to his feet.

“Wait,” he commanded.  He ran to the door, and met Sergeant Clancey at the threshold.

“Miss Cahill, lieutenant,” said the sergeant, “wants to see her father.”

Cahill had followed Ranson to the door, “You want to see me, Mame? “he asked.

“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.