PART III


That night at the post there was little sleep for any one. The feet
of hurrying orderlies beat upon the parade-ground, the windows of the
Officers' Club blazed defiantly, and from the darkened quarters of
the enlisted men came the sound of voices snarling in violent
vituperation. At midnight, half of Ranson's troop, having attacked
the rest of the regiment with cavalry-boots, were marched under
arrest to the guard-house. As they passed Ranson's hut, where he
still paced the veranda, a burning cigarette attesting his
wakefulness, they cheered him riotously. At two o'clock it was
announced from the hospital that both patients were out of danger;
for it had developed that, in his hurried diagnosis, Sergeant Clancey
had located Henderson's heart six inches from where it should have
been.

When one of the men who guarded Ranson reported this good news the
prisoner said, "Still, I hope they'll hang whoever did it. They
shouldn't hang a man for being a good shot and let him off because
he's a bad one."

At the time of the hold-up Mary Cahill had been a half-mile distant
from the post at the camp of the Kiowas, where she had gone in answer
to the cry of Lightfoot's squaw. When she returned she found Indian
Pete in charge of the exchange. Her father, he told her, had ridden
to the Indian village in search of her. As he spoke the post-trader
appeared. "I'm sorry I missed you," his daughter called to him.