“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.”
The Indian nodded, meaning that there was nothing strange about it. He gave the packs another look of inspection. “How do you come to carry such tools across the mountains?”
Miguel became suspicious. He glanced around at his partners, squatting on the ground and smoking cigarettes rolled in common paper, seemingly not worrying about anything. “Oh, these tools—if you mean these tools—well—these tools, you see—”
Nacho came to his rescue. “We’ve been working for quite some time with an American mining company here in the state of Durango.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Miguel blurted out, relieved of a choking burden upon his breast.
“You mean to tell me, then, that you have stolen these tools from the American mining company you worked for?” The Indian, for the first time, changed the tone of his voice.
Miguel did not understand fully the meaning of this hard, cold tone. He winked one eye at the uncle as if he wanted to make him his accomplice. Then he grinned, showing all his teeth. “I wouldn’t say stolen, senor,” he said. “That is a harsh word, and it can easily be misunderstood by the wrong people. Fact is, the tools are not exactly stolen. We are no thieves. We are honest traders in burros, in pigs, in cattle, and also, if opportunity favors us, in second-hand goods and remnants of merchandise, you know. We haven’t stolen these tools. It was simply this way: we didn’t return them when we resigned from our work. We weren’t paid well, and so we considered these tools sort of back pay owed us by the rich company. It’s a gringo company anyhow, so what does it matter? All right, you may buy these tools for two pesos. All of them for two duros. I think that isn’t too much to ask. They are very good and useful tools. We’re selling them only because we don’t want to carry them to the depot. It’s a long way down.”
5
The uncle stroked his hair back with his hand. He rumpled his face, obviously thinking hard. Looking around, he seemed to count the villagers standing near by. He glanced at his nephew and at a few other men and nodded as if he had come to a decision.
Then he spoke very slowly, almost drawling: “I can’t buy all the burros. I don’t need that many. I shall call together all the people of this village. Each has some money. I can promise you that you will be relieved of the burros, as well as of anything else you have, and when I say anything else, I really mean everything you have. I shall do my best to make it a perfect deal. Won’t you sit down?” Having said this, he turned round and called back to the house: “Zeferina, bring the caballeros cool water and a package of cigarettes, marca Argentinas, and matches. Make yourselves comfortable,” he added, addressing the three men; “it won’t be long until I have called together the village.”
He looked as though he had still forgotten something. “Oh yes, Angel, you will do these caballeros the honor to keep them company so that they won’t feel lonely.” Angel was his nephew, who had seated himself near the strangers, a friendly smile on his lips.
The uncle also smiled at the strangers when he left them.
In less than half an hour the villagers had assembled near the uncle’s adobe house. They came singly and in groups of two or three. Some carried their machetes in a holster, others in their hands. Some of them carried no weapon at all. They came chatting about ordinary affairs as if they were going to market.