The Treasure OfThe Sierra Madre (38 page)

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.”

5

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.

When the uncle came out of his house followed by a number of men, the villagers gathered in a wide circle in front of the house. Some remained near the burros, bending down and testing their legs, opening their mouths, and feeling the soundness of their flesh.

The three thieves had been diverted by Angel, who told them stories and made them relate their adventures with women. Now, looking up casually, they saw that they were entirely surrounded, so that there was no way of escape. Not yet did they realize that this had been ordered by the uncle on purpose, for the men near the burros looked and acted as if they were buyers in dead earnest. Their first idea was that of all thieves and bandits: that they were to be robbed or doublecrossed or even killed. This fear, however, was dispelled by the words the uncle spoke to the men of the village.

He said: “Friends, amigos y ciudadanos, here are tres forasteros, three strangers, who have come from the valley wishing to sell their burros.”

The strangers, so introduced, rose and greeted the villagers: “Buenas tardes, senores!”

“Buenas tardes a ustedes, senores!” came the answer.

The uncle then resumed: “The price for the burros is not high. The community could use them, or might rent them out to the poorer citizens for a little money, which, after the burros are paid for, would be of help for our school, since the kids in school need books and pencils.”

The speaker paused and then continued in a different tone: “The price is not high. We only wonder how it is possible that you men,” addressing the strangers, “can sell burros of this good quality for so little money.”

Miguel grinned. “Now, see here, senor, it is like this, we need ready cash, that’s all, and since we can’t make you pay more we will have to accept what you offer us.”

“Do the burros have a brand?”

“Naturally,” Miguel answered quickly. “They all have brands.” He looked round at the burros to read the brand, but found that the men had covered them all up.