It was not Coravel Tio who came, however. It was Sandy Mackintavers, driven in a hired car from Magdalena.
Mehitabel Crump was stiff-necked and uncompromising. She stood in the door of her shack, storm in her eyes, and waited grimly. Outside, sprawled on a bench that ran the length of the shack, Lewis and Gilbert smoked and also waited, ready to act if called upon.
Sandy Mackintavers left his automobile and approached the shack, quick to note the arrangements for his reception. He came up to the doorway where Mrs. Crump awaited him. He removed his hat as he came, and mopped his brow; the sun was pitiless, streaming down with direct and scorching glare, absolute and insufferable. In another hour or two it would be much worse. Sandy Mackintavers held his hat in his left hand; he extended his right hand, square-fingered and strong, to Mrs. Crump.
“Madam, I have come here as a friend. Will you shake hands with me?”
“Not by a damn’ sight!”
Mrs. Crump’s eyes were snapping dangerously. Her retort did not seem to affect Mackintavers, however. His square-hewn features assumed an oddly hypocritical expression of patient resignation. His hand remained extended.
“I must explain. Your friend Shea has repaid the money—you understand?”
“Reckon I do. What about it?”
“We had quite a conversation, Mrs. Crump. That man is a wonder! Yes’m. Most remarkable! I never did see things so clear as he made me see ’em, aiblins yes. If I may say so, I feel ashamed of myself. I’ve done some unhandsome things; aiblins, now, I’ll turn around. I’m right sorry for some things, Mrs. Crump. Will ye take my hand?”
Now, if there was anything which could shake the uncompromising hostility of Mrs. Crump, it was to hear her bitterest enemy praise Thady Shea. Aside from this, to hear Sandy Mackintavers express penitence for past sins, even to hear him admit that he had sinned, was an astounding thing. The incredibility of it was tremendous.