The Treasure OfThe Sierra Madre

Dobbs played a trick to get the Indian to come near. He showed a growing excitement about what he pretended to see in the branches of the tree. He and Moulton pointed into the dense foliage and gesticulated like madmen. The Indian, as they expected, fell for it. His inborn curiosity got the better of him. Step by step he came nearer, his eyes fixed on the upper branches of the tree. When he finally stood beside the two, Dobbs made an exaggerated gesture and, pointing into the dense bush, yelled: “There, there he is, running away now.” He drew Moulton close to him as if he wanted to show him clearly the spot where some strange animal had disappeared. At the same moment he turned round and held the Indian by his arm so tightly that he could not escape.

“Listen, you,” he addressed him, “what do you want from us? Why are you trailing us?”

“I want to go there,” the Indian answered, pointing in the direction in which Dobbs and Moulton were going.

“Where to?” Moulton asked.

“Same place where you are going, senores.”

“How do you know where we are going?”

“I know where you are going,” the native said quietly. “You are going out to the oil-fields to look for work. That’s the same place I am going. Perhaps I can find some work there too. I have worked in the oilcamps before.”

Dobbs and Moulton smiled at each other, each silently accusing the other of being the bigger jackass and coward. No doubt what the native said was true. He looked like a camp worker and might well be after honest work exactly as they two were. Looked at closely, there was not a trace in his face or anywhere about him to remind one of a bandit.

To make absolutely sure, Dobbs asked: “Why don’t you go alone? Why do you follow us all the time?”

“To tell you the truth, caballeros,” the Indian explained, “I had been sitting by this road already three days, from sunrise to sunset, waiting there for some white men passing by with whom I might go to the camps.”

“Can’t you find your way alone?” Moulton asked.

“Yes, I could. Maybe. But the trouble with me is soy un gran cobarde, I am a big coward. I am afraid of going alone through the jungle. There are huge tigers, and snakes huger still.”

“We aren’t afraid of anything in the world, we aren’t,” Dobbs said with great conviction.

“I know you aren’t. That’s the reason why I was waiting for whites going the same way.”

“But whites may be eaten by tigers, too,” Moulton said.

“No, senor, there you are mistaken. Tigers and lions of our country don’t attack Americans; they attack only us, because we belong to the same country, we are sort of compatriots, and that’s why our tigers and lions prefer us and never bother an American. What is more, along the road to the camps there are also sometimes a lot of bandits sitting and waiting for someone to come along to rob. The shores of the Tamihua Lagoon is infested with these murderers.”

“It looks very promising,” Moulton said to Dobbs.

Dobbs replied: “What’s biting you now? What’s the joke?”

“I was just thinking how afraid we were of this pobre hombre here, this little piece of human being, and he was a hundred times more afraid of us.”

“Aw, shut up, you make me sick.” Dobbs wanted to forget.

“Besides,” Moulton continued, “sometimes it’s a good thing not to have a gun on your hip, or this poor devil would no longer be alive and we might find ourselves in a hell of a mess, for no one on earth would believe we acted in self-defense.”

From now on the Indian went along with them, hardly speaking a word, walking by their side or behind them, just as the road would permit.

Shortly before sunset they reached a little Indian village which consisted of only a few huts. The inhabitants, hospitable as they are at heart, were afraid of the strangers, owing to the many tales about bandits in the neighborhood. So with kind words and many excuses they persuaded the three men to go on and try to reach the next village, which, they stated, was bigger and had better accommodations—even a fonda, a little inn—and since the sun had not completely disappeared yet, they might reach that big village still with the last rays of daylight.

There was nothing else to do but go on. One mile they covered and there was no sign of a village. They marched another mile and there was still no village in sight.

By now it had become pitch-dark and they could no longer see the road. If they went on, they might easily get lost in the jungle.

“Those people in the village must have lied to us about that big place we were supposed to come across soon.” Moulton was angry. “We shouldn’t have left the village, but stayed there with or without their consent, even if we had to sleep in the open but still near the huts.”