The Treasure of the Sierra Madre Page 26

  “So did I. And what of it? I’ve signed many receipts in my life.”

  “Doubtless. I’ve signed lots of things too, which I forgot about as soon as the ink was dry. This case I think is different. The old man hasn’t stolen the goods. They’re his honestly earned property. That we know only too well. He didn’t get that money by a lousy cowardly stick-up, or from the races, or by blackmailing, or by the help of loaded bones. He’s worked like a slave, the old man has. And for him, old as he is, it was a harder task than for us, believe me. I may not respect many things in life, but I do respect most sincerely the money somebody has worked and slaved for honestly. And that’s on the level.”

  “Hell, can your Bolshevik ideas. A soap-box always makes me sick. And to have to hear it even out here in the wilderness is the god-damned limit.”

  “No Bolshevik ideas at all, and you know that. Perhaps it’s the aim of the Bolsheviks to see that a worker gets the full value of what he produces, and that no one tries to cheat a worker out of what is honestly coming to him. Anyway, put that out of the discussion. It’s none of my business. And, Bolshevik or no Bolshevik, get this straight, partner: I’m on the level, and as long as I’m around you don’t even touch the inside of the old man’s packs. That’s that, and it’s final.”

  Having said this, Curtin squatted down by the fire, took out his pipe, filled it, and puffed lustily. He soon looked as if he had forgotten the whole affair—as if it had been only another of the many silly talks they had had during the long months when there was never anything new to talk about and they talked only for the sake of talking.

  Dobbs watched him for many minutes. Then he chuckled. “Uh-huh! You are a fine guy. I’ve always had my suspicions about you. Now I know that I’ve been right, brother. You can’t befuddle me. Not me, smarty.”

  “What suspicions are you talking about?”

  “Easy, my boy, hold it! Get this and weep. You can’t hide anything from me, brother. I know that for some time you’ve had it in mind to bump me off at your earliest convenience and bury me somewhere out here in the bush like a dog, so that you can make off not only with the old man’s stuff, but with mine into the bargain. Then having reached the port safely, you’ll laugh like the devil to think how dumb the old man and I were not to have seen through your hellish schemes. I’ve known for a long time what was brewing. I’m wise to you, honey.”

  4

  The pipe dropped out of Curtin’s fingers. His eyes had widened as Dobbs talked. He couldn’t think straight. His head ached and he felt dizzy in a strange way. When, after a while, he succeeded in getting command of his thoughts again, he saw for the first time a great opportunity to enrich himself as Dobbs had suggested. This struck him as alien because never before had he had any idea of the kind. He was in no way scrupulous in life. Far from being that, he could take without remorse anything that was easy to pick up. He knew how the big oil-magnates, the big financiers, the presidents of great corporations, and in particular the politicians, stole and robbed wherever there was an opportunity. Why should he, the little feller, the ordinary citizen, be honest if the big ones knew no scruples and no honesty, either in their business or in the affairs of the nation. And these great robbers sitting in easy chairs before huge mahogany tables, and those highwaymen speaking from the platforms of the conventions of the ruling parties, were the same people who in success stories and in the papers were praised as valuable citizens, the builders of the nation, the staunch upholders of our civilization and of our culture. What were decency and honesty after all? Everybody around him had a different opinion of what they meant.

  Yet, from whatever angle he looked at the accusation Dobbs had made against him, he found it the dirtiest he could think of. There was no excuse for such a thing as Dobbs had proposed.

  This brought him a new thought. If Dobbs could accuse his partner of such intentions, it was proof of Dobbs’s shabby character, now revealed in full for the first time. If Dobbs had such thoughts, then Curtin must look out for his own safety. Dobbs would not hesitate to try to get for himself all that he accused Curtin of trying to get.

  Curtin could now see that in the future he would have to fight constantly not only for his property, but for his very life. Realization of this dulled Curtin’s eyes as he stared at the fire. He saw danger lurking, and he knew he could not elude it.

  He was helpless, Curtin was. He had no means of protecting himself against Dobbs. For four or five, perhaps even six or seven days, they would still be alone together here in the mountains, wild, desolate, and forsaken as few other mountain regions in the world are. The two might meet somebody on the trails, but that would not mean security for Curtin. For a few pesos Dobbs could easily persuade anyone to take his side. If they met no one, so much the better for Dobbs. Curtin might pass one night on guard against Dobbs, but during the next night he would surely fall asleep and sleep harder than ever. Then Dobbs would not even need to waste a bullet on him. He could bind him tight or knock him cold and then dig him in. He need not even trouble to crush his head; he could just bury him alive if he wished.

  5

  There was only one way out of this danger. Curtin had to do to Dobbs what Dobbs had in mind against Curtin. There was no other way of escape.

  “I don’t want to have his dirt,” Curtin thought; “his dirt may rot in the bush for all I care. My life is worth just as much to me as his is to him.”

  He looked for his pipe, which had dropped on the ground. His right hand rested on his right knee as he bent down to pick up his pipe. With a slow gesture he moved his right hand toward his body and let it slide toward his hip. But before his hand reached the holster, Dobbs had his own gun out.

  “Another move, brother, and I pull the trig.”

  Curtin kept his hands where they were.

  “Stick ’em up! Up, up!” Dobbs shouted.

  Curtin raised his hands to his head.

  “Higher, please, or I’ll pluck you off like a shot from hell.”

  Dobbs smiled, satisfied, and nodded his head. “Was I right or was I? Didn’t I judge you right, son of a stinking dog? Talking big, hi? Talking Bolshevik Sunday school. You can’t smoke me, brother, with sweet love-songs. Nope, not me. Protecting other people’s goods. You!” Dobbs changed his tone and yelled: “Stand up, you skunk, and take it like a man.”

  Curtin rose slowly to his feet, and, with his hands still up in the air, turned round. Dobbs reached for Curtin’s gun. And as Dobbs grabbed the gun, his own gun went off, because he had had the trigger rather loose. For a fraction of a second Dobbs was surprised, and Curtin, feeling by instinct that Dobbs was off his guard for a quarter of a second, jerked about and landed Dobbs a good hook on the jaw, knocking him to the ground. He threw himself upon Dobbs quickly and disarmed him. Then he sprang up and stepped a few paces back with two guns pointed at the rising Dobbs.

  “Cards are now dealt the other way, Dobby,” Curtin said, and laughed.

  “So I see.” Dobbs was on his feet. He knew Curtin would not shoot him when he had no gun in his hand. It gave him a curious taste in his mouth to realize that Curtin would play fair, whereas he knew that he himself would not give the other a chance. He wanted to win, no matter how. To admit, even to himself, that Curtin had nobler feelings than he only made Dobbs hate him the more.

  “Now look here, Dobby,” Curtin said in a calm and conciliating voice, “you are all wrong. Not for a moment did I ever mean to rob you or to harm you. I would fight for you and your stuff just as I shall for the old man.”

  “Yes, I know. Fine. If you really mean what you say, then hand over my cannon.”

  Curtin laughed out loud. “I’d better not. Little boys shouldn’t play with matches and scissors. Mother spank.”

  “I understand,” Dobbs said shortly. He went over to the fire and squatted down.

  Curtin emptied Dobbs’s gun, weighed it in his hand, threw it up in the air and caught it cowboy-fashion, and then held it toward Dobbs, hesitated for a sec
ond, looked Dobbs in the face, and then put the gun in his own pocket on his left hip. He squatted down by the fire, taking care not to get too close to Dobbs. He took out his pipe, filled and lighted it. After he had taken a few puffs he looked at his pipe as though examining it and said in a casual way: “And that was another day.”

  6

  Curtin knew he was not any better off than half an hour before. He could not watch Dobbs day and night for the next five or six days. He would fall asleep sooner or later and Dobbs would get the better of him. Dobbs would show no mercy—now less than before.

  Only one of them could survive this trip. He who fell asleep would be the victim of him who kept awake. There would come a night when one of the two would kill the other for no other reason than to gain one night of sleep.

  “Wouldn’t it be better under these circumstances,” Curtin finally began, “yes, as I said, wouldn’t it be better, the way it stands, to separate tomorrow, or right now this very night? I earnestly believe that would be the best way of solving this tough problem.”

  “Of course it would be the best. I see the whole thing. That would suit you fine.”

  “What suit me more than you?” Curtin asked, rather perplexed.

  “So that you could fall on me from behind. Stab me or shoot me in the back. Or perhaps tip off bandits and send them after me. You’re a great pal. My pal! Shit!”

  “If you think that, then I can’t see any way out of this fix we are in.” Curtin shrugged. “There seems nothing to do but tie you up every night, and during the daytime too.”

  “Yes, agreed upon. I think you must, brother of mine,” Dobbs sneered, and stretched his arms as if to show his strength. “Come on, you lousy yellow skunk, come on and tie me up. I’m waiting. Waiting I say; hear me?”

  Curtin realized that it would not be easy to tie up Dobbs. He realized also that the only chance he had to overpower Dobbs was now, and that this chance most likely would never come again. But he was afraid to take what he knew was the only road to save himself. In situations like this, Dobbs was the stronger, because he would act upon his impulse and think afterwards.

  21

  A night of horror began for Curtin. Not so for Dobbs. Dobbs had discovered Curtin’s weak spot. Now he felt absolutely safe. He could play hide-and-seek with Curtin.

  Curtin had lain down where he could watch Dobbs, and yet far enough away to have sufficient room and time should Dobbs try one of his tricks.

  It was difficult for Curtin to stay awake. The march during the day, all on foot, climbing up the steep trails, wading in mud, driving the burros, reloading packs that came loose, and helping the animals over the barrancas, would make the strongest man weary.

  When sleep almost overcame him he got up and walked around. He found that this made him still more sleepy. So he tried sitting up. Then he thought it might be better to roll himself in his blanket and keep still, and so give his body a rest. He might make Dobbs believe that he was still watchful while he got a few winks of sleep.

  An hour later, when Curtin had not moved for a long time, Dobbs rose and started to crawl over to him. Curtin, however, had seen Dobbs’s move and at once drew his gun and yelled across the flickering fire: “Not another foot toward me or I pull the trigger.”

  Dobbs laughed. “Excellent night-watchman. I have to hand it to you. You should try a bank for a job.”

  Shortly after midnight Dobbs was wakened by the braying of one of the burros that seemed to smell a tiger around the camp. Dobbs again began to crawl, but again Curtin had the gun up and shouted his warning.

  Dobbs knew now that he could not win this night, and so he enjoyed a good sleep. These two little tricks he had played on Curtin were not meant to overpower him. He had used them only to keep Curtin awake, so that the next night he would be asleep the moment he lay down.

  2

  The following day Curtin ordered Dobbs to lead the train so that he could have him in sight most of the time.

  Late in the afternoon camp. Evening. And then night once more.

  Shortly after ten Dobbs rose, went over to where Curtin slept like a bear in winter, and relieved him of his gun.

  After he got the gun, he kicked Curtin hard in the ribs. “Up with you, you lousy rat. Cards are dealt once more in another way. This time for the last time. No more shuffling.”

  “What cards do you mean? Oh hell, I am so tired!” Curtin tried to rise.

  “Keep seated,” Dobbs said, and sat near him. “Let’s have a last talk before I ship you to hell. Your funeral has come. Because I can’t stand living in constant fear of you. It gets on my nerves, and on my stomach too. So it must be finished up now between you and me. No other way. I won’t be your watchman as you were mine for the last twenty-four hours. No more orders from you such as I had to swallow today. Get me?”

  “In other words: murder. Is that what it means?” Curtin asked drowsily. He was far too sleepy to comprehend the full meaning of what was going on about him. All he wanted was sleep.

  Dobbs kicked him again to arouse him. “No, brother, no murder. Your mistake. I don’t mean murder. I only want to free myself from you and from your intention to kill me whenever I may not be looking.”

  Curtin tried to shake off his drowsiness. “Oh yes, I know you mean to bump me off right here and now. But don’t think it will be that easy. The old man will look after this. Just wait and see.”

  “Yeah? Will he? And who else? I’ve had the answer for that ready for a long time. You want to know what I’ll tell him? You tied me to a tree and made your get-away with all the goods, yours, mine, and the old man’s. Then he’ll be looking for you, never for me. You are the criminal, not me.” Dobbs laughed as if at the best joke he had heard.

  Curtin fought hard to keep awake and get a clear understanding of what Dobbs said. He moved his shoulders jerkily to shake his sleepiness out of his system. In this he failed.

  Dobbs pushed him violently in the chest and yelled: “Up now, and march where I tell you. Today I had to march to your music, now you have to march to mine. Go on!”

  “Where to?” Curtin asked, his eyes now wide open. “Where to?”

  “To your funeral. Or did you think I’d take you to a wild party with booze and hussies undressing to please ye? Want to say your prayers? I might let you. It won’t help you much anyhow. You are going to hell.” Dobbs paused, watching his victim’s movements.

  In his mind Curtin had the sensation that he was dreaming. And it came to him that once somebody had said to him, or that he had read somewhere, that in a dream one might see revealed the true character of a person more clearly than when awake. And he decided, in what he thought to be a dream, to be more careful against Dobbs in the future and to warn Howard against Dobbs also.

  While he was trying harder and harder to get out of this haze and drowsiness, Dobbs lost patience, grabbed him brutally by the collar, and yelled: “Now stand on your feet, god-damn it, and have it over!”

  “Oh, why can’t you let me sit here for a while and have just another hour of sleep? I’m all in. I can’t march now. Let the poor beasts have an hour more rest too. They are all overworked, and their backs are sore.”

  “Get up, damn it! You’ll have time enough to sleep in a minute. Come, come, and I don’t mean maybe!”

  Curtin felt Dobbs’s harsh commands in his brain like piercing stabs, and he thought he would go mad if he could not stop his yelling. It hurt him all over. He stood up heavily and staggered off in the direction Dobbs indicated as if acting in a dream. He obeyed merely in the hope that Dobbs’s yelling would cease if he did as ordered.

  Dobbs kept close behind him, pushing and kicking him forward. He drove him some hundred and fifty feet into the bush, then shot him down without saying another word.

  Curtin dropped like a felled tree. Once on the ground, he made no other move.

  Dobbs bent down and listened for a few seconds. When he heard no breath, no moan, no sigh, he rose with a satisfied gesture, put
the gun back into its holster, and returned to the glowing fire.

  There he sat for half an hour, thinking what to do next. But no thoughts would form in his mind and take definite shape. He stared into the flames, shoved more sticks in, and watched them catch fire. He thought for a moment that he saw a huge red face in the fire that ate and swallowed the flames. Then he filled his pipe and lighted it with a burning twig.

  3

  He puffed for a few moments.

  “Maybe,” he was thinking, “I didn’t bump him off at all. Perhaps he only staggered and dropped to the ground without being hit. Let’s figure that out. How was it?”

  He turned his face around toward the woods where Curtin lay. For a good while he stared into the darkness as though he expected Curtin to appear at any moment.

  He felt that he sat uncomfortably, so he rose, walked several times around the fire, and looked again toward the dense bush which hid Curtin. He stood for a while staring into the fire, pushed with his feet more sticks into the flames, and then squatted down.

  After a quarter of an hour he knocked out his pipe, rolled himself in his blanket, and stretched himself full length near the fire. He hoped to fall asleep instantly by taking a long, deep breath. But in the middle of this long breath he stopped. He was sure that he had not hit Curtin, and that Curtin would appear before him the next minute, gun in hand. This idea kept him from falling asleep.

  He now became restless. Throwing off his blanket, he crawled close to the fire and scratched his arms, his legs, his back, his chest. He felt chilly. Again he turned his face toward the bush.

  With a nervous gesture he pulled a thick piece of burning wood out of the fire to use as a torch. He blew it into bright flames and hurried into the bush.

  Curtin was lying motionless in the same spot where Dobbs had left him. Dobbs wanted to kneel down and press his hand against the breast of his victim. But, feeling uneasy, he jerked up, and then bent down, carefully listening for any sign of breath.