But Ranson's face showed no sign of satisfaction. “Wait!” he cried. “Why am I relieved from arrest?” “Why? Because the other fellow has confessed.” Ranson placed himself suddenly in front of Mary Cahill as though to shield her. His eyes stole stealthily towards Cahill's confession. Still unread and still unsigned, it lay unopened upon the table. Cahill was gazing upon Ranson in blank bewilderment. Captain Carr gasped a sigh of relief that was far from complimentary to his client. “Who confessed?” he cried. “'Pop' Henderson,” said Crosby. “'Pop' Henderson!” shouted Cahill. Unmindful of his wound, he struck the table savagely with his fist. For the first time in the knowledge of the post he exhibited emotion. “'Pop' Henderson, by the eternal!” he cried. “And I never guessed it!” “Yes,” said Crosby, eagerly. “Abe Fisher was in it. Henderson persuaded the paymaster to make the trip alone with him. Then he dressed up Fisher to represent the Red Rider and sent him on ahead to hold him up. They were to share the money afterward. But Fisher fired on 'Pop' to kill, so as to have it all, and 'Pop's' trying to get even. And what with wanting to hurt Fisher, and thinking he is going to die, and not wishing to see you hanged, he's told the truth. We wired Kiowa early this morning and arrested Fisher. They've found the money, and he has confessed, too.” “But the poncho and the red kerchief?” protested Carr. “And he had no stirrups!” “Oh, Fisher had the make-up all right,” laughed Crosby; “Henderson says Fisher's the 'only, original' Red Rider. And as for the stirrups, I'm afraid that's my fault. I asked the colonel if the man wasn't riding without stirrups, and I guess the wish was father to the fact. He only imagined he hadn't seen any stirrups. The colonel was rattled. So, old man,” he added, turning to Ranson, “here's your sword again, and God bless you.” Already the post had learned the news from the band and the verandas of the enlisted men overflowed with delighted troopers. From the stables and the ball field came the sound of hurrying feet, and a tumult of cheers and cowboy yells. Across the parade-ground the regimental band bore down upon Ranson's hut, proclaiming to the garrison that there would be a hot time in the old town that night. But Sergeant Clancey ran to meet the bandmaster, and shouted in his ear. “He's going to marry Mary Cahill,” he cried. “I heard him tell the colonel's wife. Play 'Just Because She Made Them Goo-goo Eyes.'” “Like hell!” cried the bandmaster, indignantly, breaking in on the tune with his baton. “I know my business! Now, then, men,” he commanded, “'I'll Leave My Happy Home for You.'” As Mrs. Bolland dragged Miss Cahill into view of the assembled troopers Ranson pulled his father-in-law into a far corner of the room. He shook the written confession in his face. “Now, will you kindly tell me what that means?” he demanded. “What sort of a gallery play were you trying to make?”