The Treasure OfThe Sierra Madre

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.”