“Expound!” he said. “What have I done?”
“A plenty. The sheriff come over this mornin’. Him and a deppity has gone to arrest Mis’ Crump—and all along o’ you, ye mis’able coyote!”
“Arrest her? Why?” Shea stared, his heart sinking. So piteous was his gaze that old man Ferris turned aside, spat, and resumed his discourse in kindlier tones.
“Don’t ye know that they’s a new law about explosives? Well, they is. Everybody what handles powder or dynamite has got to have a license. From what I gather, Mis’ Crump ain’t wise to it and ain’t got none.
“Last night you done blabbed out your soul to Aimes. Danged fool! Why did Aimes git the sheriff after Mis’ Crump? Ain’t but one answer to that—so’s that devil Mackintavers could profit! And sheriff’s goin’ to take ’em to Silver City, too. If Mis’ Crump has located an ore prop’ty, as looks likely, Mackintavers is after it.
“Once she gits out’n the way and they ain’t nobody to hold down the location, some o’ Mackintavers’ crowd is going to jump it sure’s shooting! Huh! Git out’n my back yard ’fore I come back, ye swine!”
Snorting angrily, old man Ferris turned and stamped away, and so out of the story. He had fulfilled his share in destiny, with greater measure than he knew.
Thady Shea sat staring, his eyes terrible with comprehension. With every moment that final exposition sank more deeply into his brain. The ghastly consequences of his own weakness left him stunned and paralyzed.
He could dimly remember what had happened, up to that final drink. He was certain that he had not mentioned the name of Mehitabel Crump. Yet he could remember telling about those explosives; as he connected things, he groaned again. Aimes had been pumping him, of course; had somehow suspected something.
The pitiless deduction of old man Ferris struck upon Shea’s brain like a trip-hammer. The mine was left unprotected, or soon would be, and Mackintavers’ men would grab it. Of course!