"Oh, because," stammered Cahill, miserably, "'cause of Mary, 'cause
she wanted to marry you--'cause you were going to marry her."

"Well--but--what good were you going to do by shooting yourself?"

"Oh, then?" Cahill jerked back his head as though casting out an
unpleasant memory. "I thought you'd caught me, you, too--between
you!"

"Caught you! Then you did--?"

"No, but I tried to. I heard your plan, and I did follow you in the
poncho and kerchief, meaning to hold up the stage first, and leave it
to Crosby and Curtis to prove you did it. But when I reached the
coach you were there ahead of me, and I rode away and put in my time
at the Indian village. I never saw the paymaster's cart, never heard
of it till this morning. But what with Mame missing the poncho out of
our shop and the wound in my hand I guessed they'd all soon suspect
me. I saw you did. So I thought I'd just confess to what I meant to
do, even if I didn't do it."

Ranson surveyed his father-in-law with a delighted grin. "How did you
get that bullet-hole in your hand?" he asked.

Cahill laughed shamefacedly. "I hate to tell you that," he said. "I
got it just as I said I did. My new gun went off while I was fooling
with it, with my hand over the muzzle. And me the best shot in the
Territory! But when I heard the paymaster claimed he shot the Red
Rider through the palm I knew no one would believe me if I told the
truth. So I lied."