“Ay, como no?” Howard answered. “Why not? It’s a pleasure to have your company. No, no bother at all, caballeros. Feel quite at home, es su casa. Want to have some hot coffee with us?”
The coffee was accepted, and the four natives helped themselves, all drinking out of the same cup, which Curtin offered them. Dobbs offered his tobacco-pouch, which the men also accepted. They each took a pinch of tobacco and rolled it in corn leaves which they carried with them. In return they offered the partners tobacco of their own.
Silently they watched Howard and Dobbs roast their pork and cook their rice. Curtin was taking care of the burros.
Then, after a long wait, one of the Indians seemed ready at last to come to the point of their visit. It is not considered polite among them to make their wishes clear during the first halfhour.
“I presume,” the speaker began, “you caballeros come from a faraway country, and I trust you will travel a long way from here. I think, and my companeros think the same, that you are very clever, very intelligent, and highly educated men.”
“Fairly.” Howard took up their way of talking. “We can read books and also papers with all the news, and we can write letters and also count with written figures.”
“Figures?”
“Yep, figures,” Howard repeated. “To say it more plainly, ten, five, twenty—those are figures.”
“But,” said the Indian, “that would be only half of it. You can’t say ten or twenty. You have to add what ten you mean, ten goats, or ten centavos, or ten horses. Ten alone means nothing.”
“Ta! vez, maybe you’re right.” Howard had never looked at figures this way.
For a quarter of an hour more the Indians watched the partners preparing their food.
Then the man spoke again: “You see, caballeros, it is like this. My boy fell into the water today. We fished him out soon enough. I do not think he is dead. I think he is not dead at all. But he simply won’t come to, see? He can’t move and he doesn’t know it. He doesn’t wake up. That’s the whole trouble with him. Now, I understand you have read many books in which much is said about all the wisdom of doctors and medicine. And so I came with my dear friends here to find out if perhaps one of you, having read all the clever books written by great men, might know what is the matter with my boy who fell into the river, not very wide, but right now very deep.”
“When did your son fall into the water? Was it yesterday?” Howard asked.
“No, senor, he fell into the water only today—this afternoon. But he does not wake up. When he did not come to and we no longer knew what to do, along came don Filberto, my friend here and neighbor. He is the man, you will remember, who met you today in the bush and whom you asked how far away the next water might be. So we thought that you might know what we can do to bring my son back to life.”
Howard looked at the four Indians. Then he looked at the supper, now almost ready. And he said: “1 will go with you, friends, and have a look at the boy. I don’t know if I can do anything. But I’ll do my best to help you.”
The Indians stood up, politely took leave of the two remaining partners, and with Howard in their midst went to their little village. Howard had been given a horse, while the owner of the horse took his seat behind the saddle of one of the others.
It was a poor adobe house which they entered. A petate, a palm mat, was spread over the only table in the house, and on this mat the boy lay.
Howard examined him carefully. He lifted the boy’s eyelids and held a lighted match before the eyes. Then he pressed his right ear against his heart. He put his hand against the upper part of the skull to see if it was still warm. Then he pressed the fingers and the toes of the youngster, watching to see if the pressed nails reddened quickly.
All the people assembled in the house seemed to expect that the American would now perform a great miracle such as raising the dead by sheer command. Howard stood for minutes silent, hesitating what treatment if any he should try first. “I will see if I can bring him back this way,” he finally said.
There was little water coming from the body. The old man tried artificial respiration, something these Indians had never seen before. This treatment made a deep impression and added to the belief that Howard was a great medicine-man, even a magician. They looked at each other approvingly, and once more became convinced that those goddamned gringos could do things they had thought only God Himself could do.
Howard, examining the boy again after fifteen minutes of this work, was sure that he showed slight signs of life. He asked for a little mirror, and when he held it to the boy’s mouth, he thought he could see a trace of mist on the glass. He had the women bring him all the hot water that was in the house and in the neighborhood and boil as much more as could be had. He got towels and made hot compresses to put on the boy’s belly, and when they were in place he rubbed and slapped the patient’s hands and feet. Then he forced his mouth open, pulled the tongue out as far as he could, and poured a teaspoonful of tequila into the mouth. Next he began to massage the heart. When he listened again with his ear close to the breast, the heart had begun to pump feebly. Howard could hear it very distinctly. And just then the boy began to cough.
Half of all this procedure, Howard knew, was unnecessary. He had gone through it merely to impress the Indians with his great wisdom, for he noted that the Indians were watching every move he made. He admitted to himself that the boy if left entirely alone might, perhaps, have come to just as well. Why he put on this show he could not explain. He had the feeling that the more he acted, the more these people would respect and admire him; though why, again, he should yearn for the admiration and respect of these poor folk he would not have been able to explain, even to himself.
All the people present considered that he had performed a miracle. Even now, when the boy opened his eyes and began to recognize his surroundings and his father and mother, the onlookers acted as if under a spell. They did not utter a word, but simply looked at the awakening boy and at Howard in awe.
When Howard had made sure that the boy was all right and that there would be no bad reaction he took his hat and said: “Buenas noches! Good night!” and went to the door. The father of the boy followed, shook hands, and muttered: “Muchas, muchas, mu gracias, senor, thousand thanks!” Then he returned to the table, where the boy was trying to sit up.
It was now pitch-dark. Howard had some difficulty in finding his way back to camp. No one accompanied him, but the faint light of the camp-fire flickering in the distance guided him.
“Well, what did the great doctor achieve?” Dobbs asked when the old man came near.
“It wasn’t anything to speak of. Artificial respiration and some boy-scout tricks and he came along fine. I think it was more shock than drowning. He hadn’t swallowed much water, as far as I could tell. Perhaps he was stunned when diving. Now what about my part of the supper? Any meat left?”
“Plenty. Don’t you worry,” Curtin laughed and heaped his plate.
Dawn saw the partners already on their march again. They wished to reach the village of Tominil, where they would try to cross the high passes of the Sierra Madre.
At noon they stopped to give themselves and the animals a rest, as the sun was mercilessly hot.
They were just ready to pack up again when Curtin exclaimed: “Now what the devil is coming? Looks as if we have something on our heels.”
“Where?” Dobbs asked. At the same moment he had caught sight of a group of Indians on horseback.