"What in hell made you run off?" demanded Mrs. Crump in an aggrieved
tone.
"Well," hesitated Thady Shea, "I figured I might get you into trouble
with Mackintavers and his crowd; Dorales would be after me, you know.
And then I wanted to make up for what I'd done. I wanted to go away and
prove to myself that I could do something--without any one else helping
me. It's a little vague, but----"
"Oh, I savvy," finished Mrs. Crump for him. "My land, Thady! I been
hunting you all over creation, but I never aimed to see you lookin' like
this--never!" Hands on her hips, she surveyed him with appraising,
delighted eyes.
As he stood there awkwardly beside the plow, Thady Shea did look unlike
her last view of him. Also, he sounded different. They had talked at
length, but in all their talk, in all his tale to date, he had not once
broken into the rolling, rounded phrases which formerly he had so loved.
He showed the lack of self-consciousness that was upon him. It was not
the bristly beard which had wrought the change, although this disguised
him startlingly. Perhaps it was the gruelling work which he had been
doing of late, with its effects.
In this man of fifty-eight there showed a strange boyishness. He was no
longer gaunt and haggard. True, there was a haunting gentleness, a
sadness, in his eyes, but it was the sadness of time past, not of the
present. His look, his manner, had taken on a definite personality. No
longer was he Thaddeus Roscius, the actor who fitted himself into the
characters of other men; Montalembert was dead and here stood Thady
Shea, man of his hands; one whose eyes met the world honestly and
earnestly, with wide questioning, with a balanced poise and surety in
self.
"My land!" pursued Mrs. Crump, meditatively. "When I think of the
knock-kneed, blear-eyed critter I found layin' up above the Bajada
grade, I can't hardly recognize ye, Thady! Ye look's if ye'd got used to
leaning on yourself. Want to come back to Number Sixteen with me?"
Shea frowned in perplexity. His eyes were serious. He had set forth all
that had happened to him, all that he had done; Mrs. Crump had given him
no blame, but in her eyes had shone pride and praise.
"I--I don't know," he said, slowly. "I'm looking for a purpose in life.
I'm trying to find something definite. It's so long since I've had
anything definite! These twenty years, and more, there has seemed to be
a knot gripped about my soul, somewhere--stifling me. I don't seem
to----"
"No need for all that," said Mrs. Crump, impatiently. "You're rich now."
Shea's eyes widened. "You mean--the mine?"
"No, I don't. That mine is a humdinger, or will be once it gets started
to paying. I got Lewis an' Gilbert workin' there now, they bein' out o'
jail and shut o' that old charge. No, Thady; I mean the ten thousand we
screwed out o' that skunk Mackintavers."
Shea looked blank. "Ten thousand? I don't understand."
Mrs. Crump sighed in resignation, and set herself to explain.
"It was a right smart trick to indorse that check Dorales had made ready
for ye--'bout the smartest thing I ever knowed ye to do, Thady. I takes
that check and lights out and cashes it 'fore old Mackintavers heard
what had happened to Dorales. The money's in your name, down to the
First National at Silver City; I ain't touched it."
She fumbled in her bosom and produced a folded check book.
"Here's the check book they give me, all proper. Sign your checks the
same way ye indorsed that one, savvy? I turned in the note ye left me at
the shack, with your signature on it, to the bank."
She broke off. She came to a faltering but decided halt.
For, as she had spoken, a queer look had stolen across the beard-blurred
features of Thady Shea, and had settled there. It was such a look as she
had never previously seen upon his face. It was a look of incredulous
wonder, of grief, of dismay.
The personal equation in that look silenced and startled Mrs. Crump. It
conveyed to her that she must have said some terrible thing, something
which had shocked Thady Shea beyond words, something which had struck
and hurt him like a blow. She rapidly thought back--no, she had not even
sworn!
"What the devil ails ye?" she demanded.
"Why--why--that check!" blurted Shea. He drew back from the check book
which she was extending to him. His eyes were wide, fixed. "I never
meant it--that way! I never dreamed you'd do anything with it. I left it
there with the other paper to show you what Dorales had been up to."
Mrs. Crump laughed suddenly.
"Oh, then I gave ye too much credit? Never mind, Thady----"
"You don't understand!" In his voice was a harsh note, a note of pain.
"Don't you realize what you've done? That money--why, it's stolen! It'll
have to go back to Mackintavers! It isn't ours."
For the first time in many years Mehitabel Crump was shocked into
immobile silence. She was absolutely petrified. She could not believe
the words she heard.
"You didn't look at it that way, of course," added Shea hastily.
Earnestness grew upon him, and deep conviction. "But it's true. If it
were ten cents or ten dollars, it might not matter. But--ten thousand
dollars! It must go back."
The blue eyes of Mrs. Crump hardened like agates. Her mouth clenched
grimly. Her wrinkled features tightened into fighting lines. She was
dumbly amazed that the magnitude of the sum did not appeal to Thady
Shea's cupidity; but she was vigorously and fiercely determined that the
money was to be his. It was not for herself that she wanted it.
When she made answer, it was with a virile insistence that drove home
every word like a blow.
"You got no call to insult me, Thady Shea, by callin' me a thief; mind
that! Are you crazy or just plain fool? Mackintavers an' Dorales comes
along thinking to trim us right and proper, like they done by other poor
folks, thinking to rob a lone widder woman, thinking to fool you into
robbing me. That there check for ten thousand was the jackpot.
Mackintavers signed it as such, knowin' it to be such, stakin' it agin'
Number Sixteen to win or lose. You didn't know that the prop'ty was
recorded in your name--but he knew!
"He lost, and you can bet he ain't said nothing about losing them table
stakes! What call you got to beef about winning that bet? It's plumb
legal, cashed at a bank, sanctified by Sandy hisself over the phone.
You'd be a fool not to take money after you'd won it in a game like
that! If ye want----"
For the second time Mrs. Crump came to a decided and bewildered halt.
She was entirely convinced that to take the money was legitimate; she
was convinced that it had been lawfully won, that Thady Shea was
actually entitled to it. She had chuckled over the coup a hundred times.
She had chuckled a hundred times over the grimly delightful irony of
cashing that check, of giving Mackintavers a counter-thrust that he
would remember. Yet, although she was presenting her argument with
entire conviction, she was conscious that it was like presenting her
argument in the face of a stone wall.
Somehow Thady Shea was ignoring her argument. Its point seemed quite
lost upon him. He stood before her, flinty, untouched, unheeding. The
slight glint of scorn in his eye, real or fancied, flicked Mrs. Crump on
the raw; it lashed her into real and unassumed anger.
"All that is quite true," he said. In his manner was a gentleness, a
frightful gentleness, a gentleness so entire and calm that it was
hideous. One would have said that he was speaking to a little child.
"All that is true, Mrs. Crump. Of course your intentions were
whole-souled and generous, and from your viewpoint the action was
justified. I didn't mean to call you a thief, heaven knows! I didn't
mean any such thing.
"But--the money was to be given in exchange for something. The exchange
did not take place. Therefore, to keep the money would be theft. That is
the way I look at it. That is all I can see to it--all! The money must
go back."
There was a terrible simplicity in the man's face, in the words he used,
in the argument he used. It was a simplicity which nothing could change.
It was a simplicity above all argument or question. It was a simplicity
that stood up like a gray naked rock. Against this implacable front Mrs.
Crump was impotent and knew it.
Thady Shea reached out and took the check book from her hand. He opened
it. He stripped one check from the book and placed this check in his
pocket. Then he took the check book, tore it across, and flung the
pieces away. He did it casually, impatiently, carelessly.
Now, to tear a check book across is not an easy thing. To do it
carelessly, casually, is a most unusual and significant thing. It jerked
at Mrs. Crump's attention. She wondered just how strong Thady Shea was.
Yet, the thought that the one check in Shea's pocket was destined for
Mackintavers fired the anger within her, and fanned the flame. She could
deal gently, pityingly, with a weak man. With a strong man, strong as
Thady Shea was strong, she had but one argument.
"I'll write out that check----" began Shea.
"You're a coward!" said Mrs. Crump, savagely. She knew the words were
fearfully unjust, but they rose within her and she said them. The
thought that Mackintavers would deem her weak and silly enough to return
that money maddened her. "You're a coward!"
She leaned forward and struck him in the mouth. She struck a man's blow,
a full, hard-fisted, strong blow, a blow that might have felled another
man than Thady Shea. Under it he reeled. Then he came upright and stood
motionless, looking at her. He did not speak. Slowly he lifted his hand
to his mouth, and his eyes shifted to the red smear upon his hand. Then
his gaze went again to her face.
Under his look, Mrs. Crump shivered a little. The anger went out of her
suddenly and utterly. Before his calm, hurt strength she recoiled. Her
brittle, false hardness was broken and shattered. He did not speak, and
his silence frightened her. She went to pieces.
"Thady!" The words came from her in a breath, a groan. Her burning blue
eyes were gone dull and lifeless, dumb with misery, as she realized what
she had just done. "Oh, Thady! I--Heaven forgive me, Thady, I didn't
mean to do it. I wanted you to have that money."
"I wonder if you really think I'm a coward?" said Shea, curiously calm.
"I am one, of course, but I don't see how a desire for justice can be
cowardly."
"I don't!" she burst forth impetuously, passionately. "Thady, I'm
sorry--I never meant it; it didn't come from the heart, Thady! I'm an
old fool of a woman, that's what I am. An old fool of a woman! Don't
look at me that way; I tell ye I can't stand it--it's awful! I'm sorry
for it, bitter sorry."
"I'm sorry, too," said Shea, simply. "Listen to me, now. You've given me
something real; a purpose. Maybe Ross was right. Maybe I had to wait
till it came to me. Now I'm going to find Mackintavers and give him his
money, make things right. I may be a coward in physical things, but----"
"Don't talk that way!" she broke in, harshly. "Thady, I'm sorry. Come
back to the mine with me; forget this foolishness. I'm a fool of an old
woman, that's all. I need ye at the mine, Thady."
He smiled a little. "Do you really mean it, Mrs. Crump? May I come
back--after I have seen Mackintavers?"
"Come now! Don't go chasing off like a dratted mule. Come back with me
now!"
"No." Shea looked away from her. He motioned toward the horses, their
tails switching in the arrogant sunlight. He motioned toward the
half-plowed field. "I'll finish this job first. Then, in a few days,
I'll go and see Mackintavers. You see? I have to do it. The purpose has
come to me; maybe it'll lead into something else. I don't know. After
that, I'll come back to Number Sixteen and go to work, if you still want
me."
"Yes," she said, humbly. "I'll need ye, Thady. I'm sorry ye won't come
now."
She turned from him and walked down the canon. Around the bend, out of
Shea's sight, she leaned against a bowlder. She was a woman, and God has
given tears to women. Great sobs shook her for the first time in years.
Passionate sobs were they, holding the pent-up emotion of a deep spirit
that had broken through its mask of cynic harshness.
Presently Mrs. Crump recalled that, although she was beyond the sight of
Thady Shea, she was in full view of the distant shack. Muttering that
she was a dratted old fool, she wiped her eyes. She tucked in loosened
wisps of hair about the edge of her bonnet. She pulled her bonnet
straight and started for the dust-white flivver, beyond the shack.
Mrs. Crump found Fred Ross cheerfully whistling "Silver Threads Among
the Gold" and finishing his house-cleaning.
"That there Thady Shea," she stated, harshly, "is the most amazing human
critter I've ever run up against!"
Ross grinned amiably. "Meaning, ma'am?"
"Meaning you can figger it out for yourself. Adios!"
"Hold on, ma'am. Ain't you goin' to set a while?"
"I am not. I got work to do. So long, and good luck to ye!"
Ross insisted upon cranking the dust-white flivver, and she departed
with no more words.
An hour later Thady Shea brought in the horses, and put them up for the
night. He came into the house and helped Ross get supper. He commented
on the house-cleaning with admiration. He discussed, from an amateur's
standpoint, fencing the upper end of the canon against the proposed
flock of sheep. He seemed to enjoy his supper hugely.
The meal over, both men lounged outside, smoking and watching the
crimsoned peaks that overhung them.
"Mrs. Crump," observed Shea at last, "is the most generous, whole-souled
woman I ever knew. She's a wonder, Ross!"
"She is," assented the rancher, dryly. "I suppose you're goin' to leave
me?"
"Yes," said Shea, gravely. "After that upper flat is plowed."
"Tell you what. Wait till Sunday. I'm goin' to Magdalena then, to see a
lady friend. Take ye in the car if you're goin' that way. Then I'll pay
you--got to give you something for the work, Shea. So go to Magdalena
with me Sunday."
"Mackintavers' ranch lies over there, doesn't it?"
"North. Yes."
"All right. That'll suit me."