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."

"Don't," said Miss Cahill. "Please let me go on. After I brought you