The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

Chapter 24

Dogs often show a real interest in what men do, even when the men in question are not their masters. Dogs even like to meddle in the affairs of men. Burros are less interested in men’s personal doings; they mind their own business. That’s the reason why donkeys are thought to have a definite leaning toward philosophy.

So it came about that the burros, paying no heed to what was happening, marched off, taking the way to town.

In their excitement the thieves forgot the burros while they were busily stripping the body of Dobbs and eagerly searching the pockets for money. Without any hesitation, while the clothing was still warm and wet from the dead man’s sweat, they put it on after they had thrown away their own rags. Dobbs’s boots and his other clothes had been in daily use for the last ten months and were badly worn. To these tramps they were still luxuries.

Only the shirt found no claimant, although the shirts they wore were in tatters.

“Why don’t you want to put on the shirt, Nacho?” Miguel asked. “You would look like a dude, like a fine caballero, with such a shirt on your stinking carcass.” He kicked at the body on the ground, naked except for the well-worn khaki shirt. Everything else had found a new owner.

“It isn’t worth very much,” Nacho answered, shrugging his shoulders.

“You’ve got a swell reason to say so, you filthy dog.” Miguel looked at him, drawing one corner of his mouth down almost to the chin. “Compared with yours, it’s a gent’s silk shirt. No decency and no feeling for good things in you, that’s the trouble with a pig like you.”

Nacho turned away. “I’m not hot for it, that’s all. Besides, it’s too close to the neck. Why don’t you take it yourself? Your own isn’t so grand, either.”

“Me?” Miguel frowned as if he had heard an insult. “Me wear a shirt still warm from such a dirty son of a gringo dog! Not me. I still have some pride left.”

The truth was that for Miguel, also, the shirt was too close to the neck of the dead man. It had only a few red spots near the collar, because Dobbs had worn it open, to get all the air he could. While it looked better than any of the shirts the thieves had on, all refused to have it. It was not superstition, it was only an uneasy feeling that made them anxious not to have it on their own body.

“I am sure that cabron has more shirts in the packs,” Pablo remarked.

“You wait until I’ve examined these packs, and then we’ll see,” Miguel replied.

“You mean to tell us that you are the boss here?” Nacho’s eyes narrowed and he stepped nearer to Miguel. He was still furious that he had got only Dobbs’s pants, while Miguel had the boots, which he himself wanted.

“Boss? Who’s asking me? A fly like you?” Miguel roared. “Boss or no boss, I’ll tell what’s what here. What have you done so far, hey?”

“Wasn’t it me that stoned him? Without me stoning him first, you would never have dared to go near him, you yellow skunk. That’s what you are, yellow, and a filthy son of a stinking cabron.”

“Huh! Don’t make me laugh right out. You with your little stone. It was just like a toothpick. A stone? Who ever heard of using a stone for bumping off a guy? Only cowards do that, unicamente cobardes y cabrones. Which of you rats would have come out and given him the final works? You are just low-down thieves and swindlers and liars. And don’t you forget for one minute I can use this machete a second time. And a third time as well. I won’t come and ask your permission if I no longer need you. I can do all the work alone and be better off, get me?” Miguel turned to examine the packs.

“Be cursed and damned in hell! Where the devil are these malditos burros, los chingados bestias? Gone to hell!” He was so surprised that he forgot to roar.

The burros were well on their way to town.

“Now, hustle up, you bandits,” Miguel commanded. “We must get these burros back here, all of them. If even one of them reaches town without a driver, the cops will get busy and smell a dead rat in the parlor. Then they come out here and we’ll be in a hell of a mess. Hurry and get them. Rustle your bones.”

He himself started after the burros, followed by the other two. The animals were half-way to town already. As there was no roadside grass for them to nibble, they had traveled rather livelily to get to town, where experience told them they would get water, food, and a much needed rest. What was more, in the vicinity of the town lay the ranch where they had been brought up.

It took the men over an hour to get the animals all back under the trees once more.

“We’d better get busy and bury this carcass before the buzzards find it. Someone coming this way may investigate to see what the vultures are after, and then somebody else will be after us.” Miguel tied the burros to the trees to prevent them from walking off again.

It was hard work to break the ground and bury the body. And work was not what these men wanted.

Nacho came up with his idea. “Why bury that heathen? He isn’t even a Christian, only a godless and goddamned Protestant. If he is found, what then? He can’t tell who plugged him.”

“Wise guys!” Miguel sneered at the two. “If this carcass is found here and the burros and the packs are found with us, then there won’t be any court proceedings, you know that. We’ll be shot the very hour they get us.”

“Aw, hell, shut up! We don’t need your bedtime stories,” Pablo said, with lips twisted into an ugly grin.

Miguel was the real boss. No doubt about that. The little brain he could afford he used. “You’re a smart guy, too smart to be a dirty rat. That’s what you think. But let me tell you something. Por Jesucristo y la Madre SantIsima, can’t the hell you mugs see that if they find the burros with us, but not the body, they can do nothing? They have to prove first that the gringo has been killed. As long as they haven’t found his carcass, they can’t even prove that he’s dead. We bought the burros from him, and we are not his guardians, to watch out for his safety. Well, I won’t listen to any more argument from you two guys. Get to work, and be quick about it. Someone might come this way any time now and take a look at this outfit. Get at it and get it done.”

The men pulled a spade from a saddle and began to dig a hole. It was the same spade which Dobbs, only a few days ago, had taken from the same saddle one morning and thrown across his shoulder when he went into the thicket to bury Curtin.

The body was buried in no time. The thieves did not bother to make a good job of it. The undertakers of nature would come and do the rest. Why worry?

Right after this they started the train back toward the Sierra. Believing that Dobbs might have told the truth and that two partners of his were coming this way, they turned off the trail Dobbs had followed and went back into the mountains by another trail.

When they reached the bush at the base of the Sierra, their curiosity could no longer be restrained. They were eager to know how big the booty was and how much each of them could expect for his share.

It was dark, and the woods made the night still darker, but they did not light a fire. If soldiers or the Rurales were after them, it would be wise to have no fire to guide their pursuers.

They got busy. The burros were unloaded and then the packs were opened. A pickpocket could not have been more excited to learn the contents of a pocketbook or a lady’s handbag than these men were while untying the bundles.

There were more pants, but they were none too good. The few shirts they found were practically rags_-hardly better than the ones they had on. There were two pairs of light shoes, which belonged to Howard and Curtin. There were pans and dishes, and two aluminum pots for coffee and tea. Nothing was good enough to sell, even to the poor, as everything was battered and covered with a thick crust of greasy, hardened soot.

“Looks like that scoundrel really spoke the truth,” Nacho said disappointedly. “Not a cent, save the few pennies he carried in his pants. Seventy-four centavos! All the money we get out of it.”

Pablo was inspecting other things. “The hides are not of the best sort. Very poor. All shot to pieces. A lot of holes make them of hardly any value. Funny sort of a hunter he must have been. Careless in shooting, and he had no idea what to shoot or how to get good hides. Worst of all, they are badly dried up. They are stinking and full of maggots. All the hair is coming off already. We’re lucky if we get twenty pesos for the whole lot. And we won’t get the twenty with a smile either. Maybe no one will take them even as a present.”

Miguel was working about a pack he had opened. He held in his hands a few little bags made of rags and old sackcloth. “I can’t figure what in hell that guy had these funny little bags for.”

He poured the contents into his open hand. “Sand. Nothing but plain sand. Now, what did he carry this sand for?”

The darkness in the bush, lighted slightly by the new moon, made it difficult for the men to examine the sand more closely and recognize what it really was. Even had they known something about gold dust they would not have thought this particular sand of real value, not at this moment, when all their thoughts were occupied in other directions. They were looking for money and for things they could sell easily. As they examined the packs in darkness, trusting to the feel of their fingers and so missing even the faint glitter this dust sometimes shows, it is not strange that they failed to discern its value.

Miguel, the most experienced of the three, had worked in the mines for a few years. He brought forth an explanation: “I see through it all now. He was a sort of mining engineer, that rascal was. He was working for some mining company. Claro, he went exploring for that company and was bringing back with him these samples of dust, sand, ground rocks, and all that, to be examined later by the chemists of his company. If they find something in these samples, then they buy the land and open a mine. Such sand has no value for us. If we took it to a company, we’d have to tell where it was found. What is still worse, it would make them suspicious and they might investigate how we got it. See?”

“Then it’s no good?” Nacho asked.

“Can’t you understand plain Spanish, you mug?” Pablo shouted at him. “Miguel knows. He has worked in mines. He knows more than all these gringo engineers. And you heard what he said. It might easily give us away. Throw it away as quick as you can. It’s hot, too hot for us. My bags are already cleared of that dirt. What’s more, the packs will be less heavy, and so we can get away easier. Get rid of it.”

Nacho offered another explanation. “Miguel, I thought you were so smart, but you aren’t. And I can prove it. You may have worked in mines, but this mug here was the real American fraud and bluffer, a real American cheater, if you ask me. You wonder why these little bags of sand were so well hidden inside the wrapped hides. It’s all clear to me. No riddle any longer. He knew that the hides are sold by their weight, and he was such a dirty cheat that he put these little bags between the hides to make them weigh more. He wanted to sell the hides in bundles, perhaps late at night, somewhere on the plaza. And in the morning when the buyer opened his hides and found out the fraud, my good gringo would be a long way off with the train, saying: ‘Now, come and catch me.’ Well, I think we’ve spoiled his dirty business and saved a poor tanner’s hard-earned money.”

Pablo crouched about his packs, digging into them for better finds. “Who ever thought that these gringos would be such dirty skunks, cheating even a poor Mexican tanner?” he asked himself with a loud voice. “I don’t feel a bit sorry we finished him up and sent him straight to hell.”

Miguel admitted that he might have made a mistake in thinking that the bags contained samples for geological examinations. He found Nacho’s idea more to his liking and accepted it as the best explanation.

Then came the night breeze which carried all the sand, strewn about the ground, far and wide in all directions.

It was still dark when the three thieves packed up and went on their way farther back into the mountains. They wished to be as far away from civilization as possible and to stay away for the next ten weeks if they could.

Next day they reached a little Indian village high up in the Sierra Madre. Seeing a man in the street, Pablo went up to him and asked if he knew anyone who might want to buy a few burros which were no longer needed.

The Indian nodded and said: “Might be that I talce them.” He walked around the burros, inspected the brands, looked at the packs, and then, as if casually, looked at the high boots Miguel wore, which were quite a bit too large for his feet. With the same curious look the Indian stared at the pants Nacho had donned. He looked at everything as if he meant to buy the whole outfit, including the clothes the drivers were wearing.

When he was through with his inspection he said: “I can’t buy any burros now for myself, because I haven’t the cash. But my uncle may buy a few, perhaps all of them, if you mean to sell them all and the price is reasonable. He has got the money, my uncle has, to buy as many bestias as he wants.”

This was good news to the three rascals and they smiled at each other. They had not thought it would be that easy to sell the animals for cash. They had expected that they might have to visit a dozen Indian villages before finding buyers who were ready to buy burros and pay real money. Cash was a rare thing among these Indian farmers living on the slopes of the Sierra and owning only poor ranches.

Five minutes later the thieves were at the house of the uncle who was to buy the burros. Like all the other houses in the village, it was of adobe and faced the plaza, a big square which was formed on all the four sides by rows of similarly built houses. In the midst of the row which was opposite the house of the uncle, there was the modest school-house, built by the Indian villagers themselves. In the center of the plaza a little pavilion was set up. The pavilion served many purposes. Most of them had something to do with celebrations of Independence Day and other national holidays, when the school-teacher or some other citizen would make a speech, and at night there would be an orchestra composed of villagers to play the national tunes and after that play for the assembled crowd to dance and make merry. Here also the Health Commissioners sent by the federal government to educate the people in matters of hygiene and general health, commissioners of the Secretary of Agriculture, and others would make speeches about how to improve agrarian conditions. No village in the republic is complete without such a pavilion in the center of the plaza. It is taken as an evidence that the village, be it ever so small or ever so poor and populated by Indians only, is a recognized part of the republic and under an organized local government. The existence of this pavilion should have warned the three thieves to be very careful hereabouts, because such a pavilion indicates that wherever it is seen, there are men near whose business it is to see that the law is respected and obeyed.

The man who had led them to this house went inside to speak to his uncle. It was not long before the uncle stepped out and greeted the strangers, who had squatted in the shade of a few trees in front of the house.

The uncle was an elderly man with graying hair, tall and apparently strong. His face was open and frank and bronzed, indicating his pure Indian race. His dark eyes sparkled like those of a boy. His hair, though rather long at the neck, was well trimmed and combed. His clothing did not differ from that worn by all the other men of his village. And like all of them he was a small farmer.

He approached the three strangers with dignity. Without looking too closely at the three men, he went over to the burros and examined them with the utmost care, as experienced farmers do when buying animals. His eyes, however, gave no indication of his thoughts.

Miguel rose and said appraisingly: “Very fine burros, senor, bestias de carga muy excelentes. I can assure you, senor, you cannot buy better at the market in Durango.”

“True, true, es Ia verdad, por Dios,” the Indian answered. “These are in fact very good burros. Of course, they are overworked and very tired. Their backs must be sore, also.”

“Not so much, senor. Slightly, yes, one cannot avoid that on these hard mountain trails, climbing over the rocks.”

“Yes, yes, I can see that. You have had a long trip, I presume?”

“Oh no, not so far,” Nacho broke in without being asked.

Miguel pushed him in the ribs and said: “It is not quite as my partner here says. Right now we’ve been traveling only two days—that is, since we had our last resting-day, but we’ve been on the road for a few weeks.”

“How many weeks?” the uncle asked.

“Oh—oh—” Miguel was looking for the right answer. “Well, as I said before, quite a number of weeks.”

The Indian seemed not to notice the vagueness of this answer. “In that case it is no wonder that the animals are slightly overworked. I shall have them all right in no time with the rich pasture they will find around here and with good care.” While speaking, he looked again at the three men, noting carefully their attire and observing that the shirts and pants and boots they wore could not very well be their own, as they did not fit. He did not let them feel his scrutiny, making it appear as if he were thinking about the price he meant to pay.

“How much are you asking for the burros?”

Miguel smiled craftily and narrowed his eyes, twisting his neck like a curious turtle and trying to give the impression that he was a sly old trader in horses, well acquainted with all the tricks. “Well, how much shall I say? Among brothers I figure a price of twelve duros should not be considered too high. What do you think, hombre?”

“Twelve pesos for the lot?” the uncle asked innocently.

Miguel laughed as though he had heard a good joke. “Of course not for the lot. What I meant is twelve pesos for each.”

“That’s very high,” the uncle said in a businesslike tone. “If I were willing to pay that much, I wouldn’t have to buy them here. For that price I can get them in Durango at the market, better fed and without sore backs.”

“I wouldn’t say so, seflor. I know the prices. In Durango burros like these, trained for hard work, will bring as much as eighteen pesos, even twenty. And then you will have to drive them up here.”

“Right,” the Indian admitted, “but then I can have them carry merchandise for my general store here, for my tienda, and so the burros would earn part of what they cost me.”

Miguel drew his lips down. “I see I have to deal with a very clever business man who knows good animals when he sees them. All right, I’ll meet you half-way and I won’t insist upon the price. So my last, my very last word, and may heaven forgive me for being a bad trader, nine pesos each. I know you are not a rich man and have to work hard to make both ends meet, and this year we have had a long drought. All right, all right, I’m coming along; so that we may part friends and do more business some day, well, eight pesos each.” He looked around at his partners, waiting for their appreciation of his ability as a great merchant and smart trader.

“Eight pesos is still too much for me,” the uncle said dryly, “demasiado mucho. Where do you think I get my money? I cannot steal my money. I have to work for my living, trabajando duro.”

“Make it five, amigo mio, my dear friend, and the burros are yours; and to make it a real bargain, with the saddles thrown in. What say?” Miguel stuck his hands in his pants pockets and swayed his body nonchalantly, as if he already had the money in his possession.

“Four pesos is my offer,” the Indian said curtly, without the slightest expression on his face.

“Senor, you are robbing me! Seriously speaking, and no offense meant, you are pulling my hide over my ears, you flay me, you leave me naked.” Miguel looked at the uncle sadly, and from him to the nephew and the few other villagers watching the deal, and finally at his own partners, as if he were praying for their forgiveness for robbing them of their inheritance. His partners nodded their heads mournfully, as though he had given away their last shirt.

The uncle also nodded, looking as if he had already known last night that today he would buy burros for four pesos apiece. He approached the burros as though he meant to test them for the last time. Without looking at Miguel he asked: “Do you mean to carry the packs on your own backs?”

“Oh yes, the packs.” Miguel was startled. He glanced at his accomplices, hoping to find a satisfactory answer in their faces. He had lost his feeling of superiority and was looking for help from his men.

Nacho seemed to understand the glance. “The packs we want to sell also, because we intend to travel by rail.”

“That’s right.” Miguel caught his breath. He was grateful to Nacho. “Yes, we meant to sell the packs also. But, of course, first we had to sell the animals.”

“Usually it is the other way round,” the uncle said casually. “What have you got inside the packs?”

“Hides. Mostly hides of all sorts. And, of course, our cooking outfit. Also tools. The shotgun, you will understand, we can’t sell. You wouldn’t have the money to buy it.”

“Of course not. Furthermore, I’m not interested in that shotgun. I have all the shotguns we need around here. What sort of tools are these? Any use for us?”

“I think so,” Miguel said. He was now himself once more. “There are spades, pick-axes, shovels, crow-bars, and such things.”

The Indian nodded, meaning that there was nothing strange about it. He gave the packs another look of inspection. “How do you come to carry such tools across the mountains?”

Miguel became suspicious. He glanced around at his partners, squatting on the ground and smoking cigarettes rolled in common paper, seemingly not worrying about anything. “Oh, these tools—if you mean these tools—well—these tools, you see—”

Nacho came to his rescue. “We’ve been working for quite some time with an American mining company here in the state of Durango.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Miguel blurted out, relieved of a choking burden upon his breast.

“You mean to tell me, then, that you have stolen these tools from the American mining company you worked for?” The Indian, for the first time, changed the tone of his voice.

Miguel did not understand fully the meaning of this hard, cold tone. He winked one eye at the uncle as if he wanted to make him his accomplice. Then he grinned, showing all his teeth. “I wouldn’t say stolen, senor,” he said. “That is a harsh word, and it can easily be misunderstood by the wrong people. Fact is, the tools are not exactly stolen. We are no thieves. We are honest traders in burros, in pigs, in cattle, and also, if opportunity favors us, in second-hand goods and remnants of merchandise, you know. We haven’t stolen these tools. It was simply this way: we didn’t return them when we resigned from our work. We weren’t paid well, and so we considered these tools sort of back pay owed us by the rich company. It’s a gringo company anyhow, so what does it matter? All right, you may buy these tools for two pesos. All of them for two duros. I think that isn’t too much to ask. They are very good and useful tools. We’re selling them only because we don’t want to carry them to the depot. It’s a long way down.”

The uncle stroked his hair back with his hand. He rumpled his face, obviously thinking hard. Looking around, he seemed to count the villagers standing near by. He glanced at his nephew and at a few other men and nodded as if he had come to a decision.

Then he spoke very slowly, almost drawling: “I can’t buy all the burros. I don’t need that many. I shall call together all the people of this village. Each has some money. I can promise you that you will be relieved of the burros, as well as of anything else you have, and when I say anything else, I really mean everything you have. I shall do my best to make it a perfect deal. Won’t you sit down?” Having said this, he turned round and called back to the house: “Zeferina, bring the caballeros cool water and a package of cigarettes, marca Argentinas, and matches. Make yourselves comfortable,” he added, addressing the three men; “it won’t be long until I have called together the village.”

He looked as though he had still forgotten something. “Oh yes, Angel, you will do these caballeros the honor to keep them company so that they won’t feel lonely.” Angel was his nephew, who had seated himself near the strangers, a friendly smile on his lips.

The uncle also smiled at the strangers when he left them.

In less than half an hour the villagers had assembled near the uncle’s adobe house. They came singly and in groups of two or three. Some carried their machetes in a holster, others in their hands. Some of them carried no weapon at all. They came chatting about ordinary affairs as if they were going to market.

On arriving at the house, they went inside, spoke a few words to the uncle, came out, and went straight over to the burros, looking at them carefully and appraising their value. They seemed to be satisfied with the animals. Casually they looked at the strangers squatting in the shade of the trees.

After a while the women of the village began to appear, some with babies in their arms or bound on their backs, some with their children by their side. The older children were already playing about the plaza.

There was no doubt that the whole village was present to witness the sale of the burros.