At the post the men had doubled out under Lieutenant Ranson with wet horse-blankets, and while he led G Troop to fight the flames, H Troop, under old Major Stickney, burned a space around the post, across which the men of G Troop retreated, stumbling, with their ears and shoulders wrapped in the smoking blankets.  The sparks beat upon them and the flames followed so fast that, as they ran, the blazing grass burned their lacings, and they kicked their gaiters ahead of them.

When the regiment arrived it found everybody at Fort Crockett talking enthusiastically of Ranson’s conduct and resentfully of the fact that he had regarded the fire as one which had been started for his especial amusement.

“I assure you,” said Mrs. Bolland to the colonel, “if it hadn’t been for young Ranson we would have been burned in our beds; but he was most aggravating.  He treated it as though it were Fourth of July fireworks.  It is the only entertainment we have been able to offer him since he joined in which he has shown the slightest interest.”  Nevertheless, it was generally admitted that Ranson had saved the post.  He had been ubiquitous.  He had been seen galloping into the advancing flames like a stampeded colt, he had reappeared like a wraith in columns of black, whirling smoke, at the same moment his voice issued orders from twenty places.  One instant he was visible beating back the fire with a wet blanket, waving it above him jubilantly, like a substitute at the Army-Navy game when his side scores, and the next staggering from out of the furnace dragging an asphyxiated trooper by the collar, and shrieking, “Hospital-steward, hospital-steward! here’s a man on fire.  Put him out, and send him back to me, quick!”

Those who met him in the whirlwind of smoke and billowing flame related that he chuckled continuously.  “Isn’t this fun?” he yelled at them.  “Say, isn’t this the best ever?  I wouldn’t have missed this for a trip to New York!”

When the colonel, having visited the hospital and spoken cheering words to those who were sans hair, sans eyebrows and with bandaged hands, complimented Lieutenant Ranson on the parade-ground before the assembled regiment, Ranson ran to his hut muttering strange and fearful oaths.

That night at mess he appealed to Mary Cahill for sympathy.  “Goodness, mighty me!” he cried, “did you hear him?  Wasn’t it awful?  If I’d thought he was going to hand me that I’d have deserted.  What’s the use of spoiling the only fun we’ve had that way?  Why, if I’d known you could get that much excitement out of this rank prairie I’d have put a match to it myself three months ago.  It’s the only fun I’ve had, and he goes and preaches a funeral oration at me.”