by B. TRAVEN
5
“The mine was fully discovered and worked with all the zeal avaricious human beings could command. The gain was almost unbelievably rich and the prospectors felt sure that they had not yet come to the most valuable veins.
“But provisions ran short and new tools were needed, so five men were sent off to town to sell a quantity of nuggets and with the proceeds buy all that was needed to go on with the exploitation.
“Harry Tilton, the one who later told the story, was satisfied with what he had earned up to this time. He decided to leave with the five men and not to return. He received his proper cut and left. A bank in Arizona paid him for his load twenty–eight thousand dollars. He had promised his partners not to tell about the mine. This promise he kept. With the money he went back to his native state, Kansas, where he bought a farm and led an easy life.
“The five men ordered to get provisions bought horses, tools, clothing, and sufficient food to last for a long time. After they had their claims properly registered, they returned to the mine.
“Arriving there, they found the camp destroyed and burned down. Their partners, six in number, were dead, killed by Indians, as could be seen from the manner in which they had been slain.
“The gold and everything else was untouched.
“From the way the camp looked they knew that a fierce battle had taken place before their partners had been defeated.
“Nothing else was to be done but to bury the men and then go to work once more.
“Hardly a week had gone by when the Indians returned. They came about eighty men strong. Without any palavers or warning they attacked so quickly that the miners were killed before they had time enough to draw a gun or fetch a rifle. The massacre over, the Indians left without taking even a nail.
“One of the prospectors, who was gravely wounded and left for dead, managed to crawl away after the Indians had gone. How long he dragged himself across the desert, whether days or weeks, he could not remember when he was picked up by a farmer out hunting. The farmer was living all by himself in a lonely shack some thirty miles from the nearest town. The wounded man told his story. The farmer could not carry the man to town because he could see that his wounds were such that he would not live. A few days later the man died.
“The farmer reported the case when he was in town about five months later. Nobody, not even the sheriff, took his tale seriously. People there considered the story evidence that the farmer’s mind was unbalanced—as they had suspected since the day the stranger had settled so far out in the desert.
6
“Harry Tilton of course did not know anything of what had happened after he had left. He thought his partners had returned to their homes after having made their fortunes. He wasn’t much of a talker anyhow. He admitted that he had made his pile in prospecting, and let it rest there.
“Then came the gold fever all over the world. In three different corners of the earth, Australia, South Africa, and Alaska, deposits were found. People everywhere became mad in their desire for riches. If every tale about gold-finds told in those days had been true, the world today would have more gold at its command than lead. One prospector out of ten thousand would make a hundred thousand dollars inside of six months. In consequence of this plain fact stories were spread and believed that every one of twenty thousand prospectors within four weeks had picked two millions for his own share.
“It was these exaggerated tales that brought to the mind of adventurous men living in the same county where Harry Tilton had his farm bits of the story Harry had told.
“An expedition was formed and Harry, much against his will, was made leader. He did not care to go out again, for he was satisfied with his life. But these men tired him out, pressed him day in and day out, called him a bad citizen, a liar, an egoistical and jealous neighbor, threatened to run him out of the county, until he saw no other way but to take the party to the old mine.
“Almost thirty years had passed since Harry had been there, and his memory was no longer accurate. He could rather easily describe certain landmarks that had been near the mine when he had worked there. He drew maps and made sketches which seemed clear to every member of the expedition.
“I was a member of the party,” Howard concluded, “I had staked quite a bit of money on this adventure. But I tell you boys, and it may sound silly, we never did find the spot. We searched and dug like madmen. Twice or oftener each day Harry would say that it must be there; a few hours later he would say that he was mistaken, that it must be two miles yonder. He became more and more confused every day. The men thought finally that he had intentionally misled them. This, of course, was unjust. He was honest. What interest would he have had, old man that he was, in concealing the location of the mine? If he had known it, he would have shown it.
“The party became furious. One night they tortured him in the most cruel way, believing that he would tell, but he couldn’t tell something which he himself didn’t know. Two went so far as to suggest that he should be killed like a rat for having double-crossed them. Luckily for him, the majority of the party were still sane enough to prevent this injustice. It surely would have been a funny trick of fate had he died near the same spot where all his former partners had lost their lives.
“The second night after the party was back home again, his farm buildings were burned to the ground. He was tough, however—a real pioneer. He did not give in. Right away he began to build again. When he had nearly finished the buildings, they burned down again while he was gone to town.
“Harry had to sell out for half the money the farm was really worth, for he knew that he could no longer live there.
“He left the state. I don’t know what has become of him.
“Well, and here, boys, is the end of another of the stories about the one-man mining companies. I have seen quite a number of men get rich prospecting, but I haven’t yet met one who stayed so. My old friend Harry Tilton was no exception. And he sure was a man who tried very hard to keep what he had made.”
4
The next morning Dobbs retold this story to Curtin while they were sitting on the plaza.
Curtin listened eagerly to the yarn. When Dobbs had finished Curtin said: “I figure this story is a true one.”
“Of course it’s true,” Dobbs maintained. “What made you think it might be a weak magazine tale?” He was surprised that anybody could doubt the truthfulness of the story, which Dobbs thought the prettiest he had ever heard.
Yet Curtin’s question with that glimpse of doubt had a strange effect upon the mind of Dobbs. Last night, when Howard had told the story in his slow, convincing tone, Dobbs had felt that he himself was living the story; he could not detect any fault in it. Everything had seemed as clear and simple as if it had been the story of a man who had made good in the shoe business. But the slight doubt of Curtin had raised the apparently plain story to that of high adventure. Dobbs had never before in his life thought that prospecting for gold necessarily must carry some sort of mystery with it. Prospecting for gold was only another way of looking for a job or working. There was no more mystery about it than about digging out a tank on a cattle ranch or working in a sand mine.
“I haven’t said that the story is not true,” Curtin defended his opinion. “There are a million such stories. Open any magazine and you will find them. But even if part of the story sounds like fiction, there is one incident in the old man’s story which is true as sunlight. It is that incident where the three partners, after having spotted the mine, try to hold out on the rest.”
“You said it.” Dobbs nodded. “That’s exactly what I say. It is that eternal curse on gold which changes the soul of man in a second.” The moment he had said this he knew he had said something that never had been in his mind before. Never before had he had the idea that there was a curse connected with gold. Now he had the feeling that not he himself, but something inside him, the existence of which until now he had had no knowledge of, had spoken for him, using
his voice. For a while he was rather uneasy, feeling that inside his mind there was a second person whom he had seen or heard for the first time.
“Curse upon gold?” Curtin seemed entirely unmoved by this suggestion. “I don’t see any curse on gold. Where is it? Old women’s tattle. Nothing to it. There is as much blessing on gold as there is curse. It depends upon who holds it—I mean the gold. In the end the good or the bad character of its owner determines whether gold is blessed or cursed. Give a scoundrel a bag with little stones or a bag with silver coins and he will use either to satisfy his criminal desires if he is left free to do as he pleases. And, by the way, what most people never know is the fact that gold in itself is not needed at all. Suppose I could make people believe that I have mountains of gold, then I could arrive at the same end as if I really had that gold. It isn’t the gold that changes man, it is the power which gold gives to man that changes the soul of man. This power, though, is only imaginary. If not recognized by other men, it does not exist.”
Dobbs, only half listening to what Curtin was saying, leaned back on the bench and looked up at the roofs of houses where men were at work putting up telephone wires. He had watched them the day before and he watched them now, waiting for something to happen to them. They were standing there so unprotected that he wondered how they could work at all. “And all this,” he said, “all this for four pesos and fifty centavos a day, with the possibility of dropping off and breaking their necks. A working-man’s life is a dog’s life, that’s what it is. Oh hell, let’s talk about something more amusing. Getting back once more to that story, I wonder would you betray your pals just to have all the gold for yourself.”
Curtin did not answer right away. “I don’t think that anyone can say what he would do if he had a chance to get all the cuts for himself just by a little trick or a bit of cheating. I’m sure that every man has acted differently from the way he had thought he would when face to face with a heap of money or with the opportunity to pocket a quarter of a million with only the move of one hand.”
“I think I would do as Harry Tilton did,” Dobbs said. “That is the safe thing. Then one wouldn’t have to sweat for others and run around hungry all the time. I sure would be satisfied with a certain sum, take it and go away and settle down in a pretty little town, and let the others quarrel.”
2
Returning to town in the afternoon after a swim in the river and a walk of three miles back to the city along a dusty road, to save the fifteen centavos street-car fare, the two men began to talk about prospecting again.
It was not exactly the gold alone they desired. They were tired of hanging around waiting for a new job to turn up and of chasing contractors and being forced to smile at them and laugh at their jokes to keep them friendly. A change was what they wanted most. This running after jobs could not go on forever. There must be some way out of this crazy-go-round. It was so silly to stand by the windows of the Banking Company and block the way of everybody who looked as if he might give you a job somewhere out in the fields.
Half a week went by without even the smell of a job. It looked more than ever as if the whole oil business were going to die, at least in the republic here and for sure in this section of the country.
By the end of the week Dobbs felt that for the next three months there was practically no chance of any paying job. Many companies were beginning to close up a great number of fields, and others were making preparations to withdraw from the republic altogether. Men who had worked steadily during the last five years were coming back to town and crowding the jobless. Dobbs, in a fit of desperation, said: “Everything is dying now. A lot of boys who have got the money to pay for the tickets are making off for Venezuela, where a boom seems to be on its way. So everything is at an end here now for sure. Tell you, buddy, I’m making off now for gold even if I have to go all by myself. I’m sick of this town and of this life. If I have to eat the dust, I may just as well do it among the Indians in the Sierra Madre as in this dying town. That’s what I think and what I mean.”
“You said it, brother,” Curtin admitted, “and as for me, you may count me in; I’m ready even for stealing horses or cattle-rustling.”
“That’s what I like to hear. What chances are you expecting to have after, let’s say, four weeks?” Dobbs asked. “Pocket-picking and the Islas Marias.”
“Islas Marias? Are there new oil-fields?”
“No, you sap,” Dobbs put him right; “that’s the penal colony where you will go if the pocket-picking goes wrong and somebody grabs you firmly by your wrist. It isn’t just a vacation to be on those islands, if you ask me. Do you know why the pictures of the Holy Virgin you see here in all churches show a knife stabbed into her breast? That knife has been thrust into the heart of the Virgin by someone who had come back alive from the Maria Islands. There are very few guards on these islands, but you can’t escape by swimming or going off in a small canoe, because they are guarded by half a million ferocious man-sharks.”
“Pretty place, I have to say,” Curtin laughed. “And so pocket-picking and the like are out. Who wants to be guarded by sharks?”
“That’s what I said. So I think we shuffle off tomorrow. The sooner we leave, the better. In this town we spend our money for nothing; when we’re on our way, we’re actually investing our money. I’ll talk it over tonight with old man Howard.”
“With him?” asked Curtin. “What for? You don’t mean to take him along? He’s too old. We might have to carry him on our back.”
Dobbs didn’t agree. “Now don’t you make a mistake about that old man. He may prove tougher than both of us put together. Those old guys are like good old leather more often than not. Besides, there’s another point to think of. To tell the truth, I don’t know much about prospecting. Frankly, I don’t know anything of what gold looks like in the sand. It may lie there right in front of you and you won’t know it. You may think it’s only another sort of rock or dust or clay or what have you. Then what? All your hard work and sweat is no good if you can’t make out what is the real stuff and what is plain dirt. He’s an old-timer at that job. He sure knows gold when he sees it, and he knows how to lift it. That’s what we need. I tell you, we must have him, an experienced guy like him. Question is, will he go out with us puppies? Fact is, we should congratulate ourselves if he does.”
“I never thought of it that way. I think you’re right. Let’s ask him right now.” Curtin no longer had any objections.
3
On coming to the Oso Negro they found Howard lying on his cot reading about bandits in a pulp.
“Me?” He was right afire. “Me? What a question? Of course I’m going. Any time, any day. I was only waiting for one or two guys to go with me. Out for gold? Always at your service. I take the risk and make the investment. Let’s see, how much do we have?”
He-took a pencil and began scribbling on blank spaces of a newspaper ad. “I’ve got three hundred bucks ready cash here in the bank. Two hundred of them I’m all set to invest. It’s the last money I have in the world. After this is gone, I’m finished up. Anyway, if you don’t take a risk, you can’t make a win.”
Curtin and Dobbs also began to go over their property, which consisted of what was left from the wages made under Pat’s contract. It didn’t amount to very much. All their money put together did not come up to what the old man meant to invest.
“Well, I’m afraid this won’t go a long way.” Howard had made a list of the most essential provisions and tools needed, and he saw that even these modest expenses could not well be met with the money they had.
Dobbs took a deep breath. He remembered his lottery ticket.
“Don’t you get superstitious,” Curtin warned him. “I’ve never yet seen a person who won anything worth while in a lottery.”
“It won’t cost me anything to look at the list, will it?” Dobbs rose from his cot.
Curtin laughed heartily. “I’m going with you, Dobby. I wouldn’t miss seeing your long face
when you look for your number and don’t find even the last figure of your ticket, that assures you you’ll get your money back. All right, let’s go and have the free circus.”
There were lists everywhere. They were hanging in front of every sweet-shop and cigar-counter to make it as easy as possible for people to examine them. Most of the lists were printed on white cotton goods because they were examined so frequently and so nervously that those printed on paper did not last long, and they had to last for a year, since premiums were payable any time inside of twelve months after the drawing.
At the tobacco-stand outside of the Bristol Hotel there hung a list.
“Just came in, the list, caballeros,” said the girl in charge of the stand.
“And what now? Hey? What about superstition now, you sap?” Dobbs patted the list in a caressing way. “That’s the sugar papa likes. Just look at this fat rich printed number smiling at you. That’s my number. That’s what it is. Know how much it means in cold cash for my twentieth? One hundred pesos. A full hundred. Welcome, sweet little smackers.”
“All right, you win. But this is an exception, and only the dumbs ever win; that’s my idea.”
“Your idea all right.” Dobbs felt superior with his hundred pesos easy money. “Maybe it’s the dumbs that make the money. Doesn’t matter. Point is to have the dough. And besides, you have to have a good hand to buy the right ticket, see? How does a dumbhead know which is the winning number and which not? Tell me that. I picked the right number, didn’t I?”
Meanwhile they had come to the agency where the tickets were paid. The ticket was carefully examined, because smart fellows could change the printed numbers of tickets so well that even experienced tellers were, at times, deceived. But the ticket was okayed and Dobbs received his money.
