The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

by B. TRAVEN

  The nearer the day for departure came, the friendlier the partners became. The old man and Dobbs were considering going into business together. They talked of opening a movie house in the port, Howard to be the business manager, and Dobbs the artistic director.

  Curtin had his own problems. He found himself in a difficult situation. He could not even decide for himself whether he wished to stay in the republic or return to the States. Occasionally he mentioned a dame in San Antonio, Texas, whom he meant to marry some day. This idea occurred to him mostly when he felt rather lonely for a female. Since he knew her best, he naturally concentrated his special desires upon her whenever he was thinking of manly pleasures. But he was clever enough to know that, once back in town, and having met in a friendly way some easy janes, he might lose all interest in marrying the S.A. damsel. He admitted this when Howard explained to him what was really the matter and why right now he was so hot for the dame from Laredo Street.

  The partners, as a rule, rarely talked of women. They knew from experience that it was not good for their health or for their work to think too frequently of things they could not have.

  Anyone listening to their discussions would have been unable to imagine any of these men holding a woman in his arms. Any decent woman would have preferred to drown herself or cut her veins rather than keep company with these men. The fellows themselves, having lost all means of comparison with other people, could, of course, know nothing about the impression they would make upon an outsider who by chance should meet them. They saw only themselves, and none of them cared how he looked or how he spoke.

  The gold worn around the finger of an elegant lady or as a crown on the head of a king has more often than not passed through hands of creatures who would make that king or that elegant lady shudder. There is little doubt that gold is oftener bathed in human blood than in hot suds. A noble king who wished to show his high-mindedness could do no better than have his crown made of iron. Gold is for thieves and swindlers. For this reason they own most of it. The rest is owned by those who do not care where the gold comes from or in what sort of hands it has been.

  9

  Curtin had been to the village to buy provisions. These were meant to last until the partners were ready to leave.

  “Where the devil have you been so long?” Howard asked him when Curtin arrived. “I had just decided to saddle up my ass and go to look for you. We were afraid something had happened to you. You should have been back by noon.”

  “Yes, sure I should.” Curtin spoke wearily. Slowly he dismounted from the burro he had been riding and, helped by the old man, went about unpacking the two other animals.

  Dobbs had gone to a certain look-out on the peak of the rock where he could see the whole valley below and the paths leading toward the base of the mountain range.

  Only Curtin was sent out for provisions, for he knew best how to handle the burros and make them work; for the same reason he was in charge of carrying the water up to the mine. Going down to the village for buying or trading was far from being a vacation trip. It was more tiresome than working at the mine. Trading was carried on with the general storekeeper in the village merely for camouflaging the real doings at the mine. Curtin usually took down for exchange a few hides, for which he received close to nothing because the storekeeper claimed that he had no buyers for them. Most of what Curtin bought was paid for in cash.

  One might have expected that whenever Curtin returned from the village he would bring back with him news from the outside world, but he did not. Nobody in this little village of very small Indian farmers ever read a newspaper. There would hardly have been found four persons in the village, including the storekeeper, who could read at all. If by any strange accident a newspaper came to the village, usually in the form of wrapping for goods received at the store, it was seldom less than ten months old. The storekeeper did not wrap up anything bought from him, because he had no paper for such a purpose. His patrons had to find for themselves a way to carry home their merchandise. This was of no concern to the storekeeper, as there was no competition, and besides, being the mayor, he was king, law, judge, and executioner all in one.

  Since the papers were printed in Spanish, the three partners, not being on very easy terms with the Spanish language, would have got little out of them anyway. Of course, Curtin would speak to the storekeeper and to other men hanging around in the store, but they knew nothing beyond the affairs of their little community—an occasional murder, a wife-beating, the mysterious disappearance of a cow or a goat, the strange dryness of the present season. The burning of don Paulino’s hut, a tiger breaking into the corral of the widow of don Modesto, the death of don Gonzalo’s two youngest children, who had been stung by scorpions, and the paralysis of don Antonio on account of the bite of a venomous snake were the topics they discussed.

  This sort of village talk was of no interest to the partners, and if Curtin mentioned it at all, it was just to tell something of what he had learned. Howard and Dobbs hardly listened. They would have been little stirred by hearing who had been nominated for president by the conventions of the Democrats and the G.O.P. Any interest in world affairs would have had a bad influence upon their work. Right now they could not afford to think of anything but how to finish up this job satisfactorily. The fact was they had no interest in anything beyond their vision, and this vision did not go farther than how to make money and, having made it, how to spend it.

  2

  Howard hollered for Dobbs.

  Curtin opened the packs and handed out the goods he had brought. Evening was not far off, and so they decided to knock off work for the day, cook the meal, and have a long lazy chat afterwards, with pipes filled with fresh tobacco.

  “What seems to be the trouble with you, Curty?” Howard asked, noticing that Curtin had not said a word for half an hour.

  “I had to go a hell of a roundabout way to get back here, I tell you guys.”

  “How come?”

  “It’s like this, see. Down there in that damn Indian lay-out a guy was hanging around and he sort of blocked me. He said he was from Arizona, that mug did.”

  “He would be,” Howard said.

  Dobbs had become suspicious. “What is he after?”

  “Ask me another. That’s what I wanted to find out. But, hell, he kept his trap shut as to that. The natives told me that he had taken up quarters in a dirty little joint down there, a kind of a mule-drivers’ lodging and boarding joint, or what they call here a fonda. He has been staying there practically a week. Doing nobody any harm. Talking quite swell Spanish. Seems to go along fine with those villagers. Doesn’t drink, either. And besides he sure doesn’t look like a tough gunner or as if he was chased for something he left to be settled with the D.A. No, looks rather decent, he does.”

  “Hell, come to the point.” Dobbs was nervous.

  “I wish I could. That’s just the trouble, I can’t see through; it’s all thick. Well, fact is, he asked the natives if there might be gold or silver mines around here.”

  “The hell! He would ask that.” Howard dropped his pipe, so startled was he by that remark.

  “To this the Indians said no, there could be no gold or silver around here or they would know it, living here since the world began, and if there were any, they sure would like it, because they can hardly make their living, and if they didn’t put in a heap of extra work by braiding mats and baskets and making pottery to sell in far-off towns, they would have to live like savages, with nothing to cover the nakedness of their bodies.”

  Dobbs looked around as if searching for something on the ground. “Do you want me to stone you, you devil of a silly talker? Say what he wants and have done.”

  “Okay, go down yourself and ask him for a written statement to be given to the press.”

  “Gosh, be quiet for once, Dobby, and let him tell his yarn in his own way. Well, Curty, go on, what’s the brass tack?”

  “Everything would have been fine as sunshine but for t
hat devil of a storekeeper, whom we have actually made a millionaire. He had to brag and tell that Arizona hick that up here on this mountain ridge an American is roaming about hunting tigers and lions or weasels and what have you. That god-damn devil of a storekeeper also said that this chingando gringo is due to come down for his provisions one of these days and if that Arizona mug would stick around that long he might speak to his countryman. To this that hang-around answered that he’d like to wait and meet me.”

  “So you mean to tell us he actually waited for you to show up? Is that what you mean to say?” Dobbs got more and more excited.

  “You heard me, or did you sleep while I was reporting? Well, he waited for me. So the very moment I stepped into the store, he came, that hell of a brother from Arizona. He was an entire stranger to me. I’d never seen him before anywhere in this here country. ‘Hello, stranger, how are ye?’ and with this he bumped me. I tried to shake him off and show him an icy shoulder. I only said: ‘How’s y’self?’ and tuned off, paying all my attention to the storekeeper. And what do you think? He didn’t mind my being cold at all. He went on talking and saying that he thinks there must be truck-loads of real goods up there in the mountains. So that I might understand what he meant, he explained that he, of course, was speaking of the real stuff—that is, of yellow glittering dirt.”

  “Hell!” Howard blared out. “Looks tough to me, it sure does. Somehow he must have got an idea into his head when that storekeeper told him about you staying up here for so long a time without looking for other hunting-grounds.”

  “What did you tell him after he’d touched the right switch?” Dobbs asked.

  “I said to him he shouldn’t take me for a kid. Sure I’ve been up here for quite a while and I know the whole landscape around, and if there were a single grain of gold he could bet that I’d sure know it, and I assured him that there is nothing doing here for gold, or even copper, or I’d have seen it.”

  “What did he say to that door leading out?”

  “He just answered with a smile showing that he was wise, and, to make everything positive and no mistake about it, he said: ‘I wouldn’t think you so dumb, brother. Believe me, if I only see a hill five miles away, I can tell you whether it carries an ounce or a ship-load. If you haven’t found anything yet, I’ll come up and put your nose into it. Here in the valley I’ve seen indications, lots of indications in fact, and tracing the rocks I found that they must have come from that ridge up there, washed down by the tropical torrents.’ ‘You don’t say so, you mug,’ I said to him, and says he: ‘Yes, believe it or not, I say so, and take this home with you.’”

  Howard interrupted Curtin: “I have to say this much for that guy, if he can tell from the landscape and from the wash-down the load of a mountain, well, then he must be a very great man.”

  “Maybe he is a geogist or what they call the guys who can tell right from the ground if there is oil or if there is a dry hole.”

  “You mean geologist, Dobby,” Howard corrected him. “Maybe he is, maybe he’s just beating the brush to see if the rabbit is coming out of it.”

  An idea occurred to Dobbs. “Did you ever think that he might be a spy sent by the government or by the chieftains of a horde of bandits, to watch for our return and rob us or get the government to confiscate all we’ve made? Why, I’m almost sure he’s in touch with bandits. Even if they don’t know that we’ve got good pay with us, they might rob us just for our burros and hides and, what is of more worth to them, for our shotguns, tools, clothes. We have enough things outside of the pay to lure any bandit to get us on our way home.”

  Curtin shook his head. “I don’t think so. He didn’t impress me as being a government spy or a tip-off for bandits. I’m sure he means what he says. He is earnestly after gold. That’s what I think he is.”

  “How come you know what he is after?” Howard asked.

  “Because he had packed up already when I left.”

  “What do you mean packed up? Packed up what and on what?”

  “He has two mules. One is a saddle-mule, and the other he uses for his packs.”

  “What sort of packs?”

  “Seems to be a tent. Blankets. Frying-pans. A coffee-pot.”

  “No tools? I mean, no shovels and pick-axes and all that?” This from Dobbs.

  The old man said: “If he’s after the riches he can’t very well dig up the dirt with his claws. You didn’t see any shovels and such things?”

  “Matter of fact, I didn’t exactly search his packs.”

  “Of course not.” Howard was thinking. Then he stared at Curtin. “He may carry the outfit wrapped up in his tent. Did the rags look as though tools might be inside of them?”

  “Might. They looked bulky enough.”

  The fellows occupied themselves for quite a while with their own thoughts.

  Curtin finally broke the silence. “I’m almost positive that he’s no government spy and no crow for bandits. He impressed me as being a bit cracked up.”

  “Aw, let him stay, for hell’s sake. I’m sick of this twaddle about that mug,” Dobbs said. “We’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Curtin began to explain. “I think we ought to worry. Fact is, he followed me. First he asked me right out if he might come with me to my camp. I said no, he could not. Then he just came trailing after me. For two miles I didn’t mind; then I halted and let him come up. So I said to him, said I: ‘Listen here, you mug, don’t you make me sore. It may cost you dear. I don’t butt into your racket, so you’d better not nose into mine, and we might still be friends. I can talk the other way round just as well, if you get what I mean, and believe me, you hick, I can tackle any guy your size, so you better lay off me if you know what’s healthy for you. And now go to hell or heaven, what do I care?’”

  “And what did he say to that?” Howard and Dobbs asked at the same time.

  “He said that he didn’t mean to bother me at all, and that he only wanted to be in the company of a white man for a few days because he hadn’t met an American for months, and that he was about to go nuts roaming about the Sierra and seeing only Indians and never hearing a word but corrupt Spanish, and that he wanted to sit for a few nights with a white man by the fire, have a smoke together, and a damn talk, and that was all. To this I said that I didn’t feel like swallowing his chatter and that I wanted to be alone. I think he doesn’t know that I’m not alone up here. I think he has the idea that I’m camping single-handed.”

  “Where do you think he is right now?” Dobbs asked.

  “Do you think he followed you?” Howard wanted to know.

  “I took good care to go ‘way round and look for ground that the burros couldn’t easily leave stamped with their tracks. I even crawled with the animals through long stretches of brush to get the mug off my trail. But, hell, whenever I got a chance to shoot a glance back at him from a higher point of the mountains, I could see that he was coming along all right. Seems he has got a good nose. If I’d been all by myself, I could have thrown him off the trail easily, but with three burros on your hands it couldn’t be done. It’s only a matter of time, for if he means to find me he sure will. No way out. There’s only one question to settle right now.”

  “What question?” Dobbs asked.

  “What are we going to do with him if he shows up one of these days? We couldn’t very well work the mine any longer with him around for a watch-dog.”

  Howard stirred the fire and said: “Hard to tell what to do. If he were an Indian from the valley or from the village below, it wouldn’t matter a bit. An Indian doesn’t stay. He goes back to his village, to his family. It’s different with such a guy. He will smell us out. He won’t be so dumb as not to ask himself why three white men are camping up here for months. We can’t tell him that we’re here on a vacation. We might tell him that we’ve committed a couple of murders and are hiding out. But suppose he’s the wrong kind; he’ll go back after a while and set a company of feder
al troops after us. If they get you, and the officer in command is in a hurry to return to his jane, he orders his soldiers to shoot you like a sick dog. They shoot you while you are trying to escape. You can’t prove afterwards that they were mistaken, because they bury you right where you drop, and before that they make you dig a hole to spend your time in until the trumpets call you to check up the register of your sins.”

  “Tell us all this later,” Dobbs broke in. “We’ve got other worries now. I move that we tell him to check out the minute he pops up, and say to him in a straightforward manner that if we see him around here just once more, we’ll fill his belly up with plums hard enough for him to digest.”

  Howard was against such a measure. “That would be foolish. He’d sit around for an hour, play the innocent, and then go down to the nearest town and put the mounted police on our track. Then what? What do the police know about us? We might be escaped convicts, or rebels against the government, or bandits. The police would be here in no time if that guy told them we’ve got stolen treasure with us. Once the police are here, even if they didn’t find anything, we couldn’t stay any longer and we couldn’t take home with us what we have.”

  “All right,” Dobbs said, “then there’s nothing else to do but pull the trigger the very minute he comes. Or we might hang him. Then there’ll be peace again.”

  “Mebbe,” was all Howard had to say to that. He took the potatoes from the fire to see if they were done. Potatoes were the greatest luxury they had had since they had been here, for they were seldom to be found in the village. This time the grocer had ordered a few pounds from the town because he knew that Curtin would buy them.

  Placing the pot of potatoes back on the fire, Howard began to speak: “We can’t shoot him. That’s out. He may be just a tramp, a guy that likes to roam about this great country without any special aim, just to thank the Lord for these beautiful mountains. We can’t shoot him for that. He hasn’t done us any wrong, and we don’t know by a lost penny whether he means to nose into our business. Some fellows are working themselves to death in the oil-fields or in the copper mines to make a living or to pile up dough, while others prefer to go hungry sometimes rather than miss the opportunity to contemplate the wonders and the beauty of nature. It’s no crime to visit these mountains with an open heart; at least it’s no crime against us.”