Thady Shea sat where he was, resolved to tell her frankly the whole story of his disgrace, then to pause for no argument, but to go. He did not so misjudge her as to think that she would kick him out; still, he felt that he had been false to her trust, and as a part of his penance he must go away, until he might be able to come back a man renewed. A most indistinct idea, this, but strongly persistent. Besides, he would now be a marked man and he must not involve her in his possible danger.
Somewhat to his surprise and uneasiness, as the approaching flivver drew up the cañon Shea could not recognize the gigantic figure of Mehitabel Crump aboard. He saw only three men in the car, and he knew none of them. Two in the rear seat were evidently natives; from the dirty and heavily laden appearance of the car, Shea deduced that these men had come upon no errand of the law. They seemed, rather, to be prospectors or campers.
Near the dust-white flivver the car came to a halt. The driver alighted, and having previously made out the motionless figure of Thady Shea on the hillside above, waved a hand and started upward. The two natives climbed out and began to unstrap bundles.
As the visitor came near to him, Shea saw that the man was powerfully built, roughly dressed, and possessed striking gray eyes beneath black brows and hair.
“Howdy, old-timer!” greeted the new arrival, pausing with outstretched hand and a frank smile. “My name’s Logan, Tom Logan. We got lost over in the lava beds and struck your auto tracks. We’re prospecting. You don’t mind if we camp out here for the night?”
Shea rose and gravely shook hands.
“Not a bit, my friends,” he said, then pointed a hundred yards beyond the halted car. “You see that big rock down the valley? Instruct your comrades to make camp at that point or below it.”
Logan gave him a puzzled look. That word “valley” was strange in these parts.
“Eh, partner? You’re not joking?”
“Sir, the habiliments of jest do not become me,” returned Shea, his cavernous eyes piercingly steady.