“Where did you buy the burros?”
“In Durango, senor, in a fonda where the American stopped for the night.”
“That seems rather unbelievable. The American could hardly have been in Durango when you were there to buy the burros. Not with these heavy packs and not plodding up the steep trails back up here, as you had to do. You can’t very well have met him in Durango and then already reached here again.”
“We marched the whole night through, senor. Didn’t we, companeros?”
His two partners vehemently admitted this.
“What I cannot understand,” the alcalde said, searching the faces of the three, “is that this American should have sold you his burros while he was in Durango, where he could find enough buyers and could wait a few days until he could get the price he expected. In Durango he would not have had to sell such good animals for twelve pesos.”
Nacho, who wanted to show his cleverness and perhaps even to outsmart Miguel, came close to the mayor. “How do we know the reason why that goddamned gringo sold us the burros and didn’t want to trade with anybody else?”
Said Migueclass="underline" “Yes, how can we know? Gringos are funny that way, they sure are. They don’t act at all as we do. They are often cracked in their brains, see?”
“All right. If the American sold you the burros, where is the bill of sale? You must have it with the brands of the animals written in, the sex, the color, and the name they are called by, if any. If you have no bill of sale dona Rafaela may at any time claim the burros as her own, since they carry the registered brand of her ranch.”
To this Nacho answered: “He didn’t write out a bill of sale because he didn’t want to pay for the stamps on the document, as required by the government.”
“That’s right,” Miguel said, and Pablo nodded his head.
“In that case you would have paid the few centavos for the stamps yourself, just to avoid any complications. What are a few centavos compared with the many pesos you paid for the burros?”
“Well, we hadn’t the centavos to buy the stamps in the public tax office.”
“You mean to tell me you could buy the burros and pay, let’s say, in the neighborhood of about ninety pesos, and that you hadn’t the one peso and eighty centavos left to pay for the stamps? You mean to tell me this?”
Miguel, realizing that the net in which he and his partners were caught was tightening, flew into a rage. He yelled like mad: “Damn it to hell and chinganse sus madres and I don’t know what else! This is going too far. What do you want of us?” He swung both his fists and looked at the men around him as if he were threatening them all. “We are walking peacefully on our way, pass this place quietly, and you people come up, surround us as if we were funking bandits, and keep us by force from going on our way. What does this mean? We’ll send in our complaints to the state governor and make him dismiss you from office for abusing your authority, that’s what we’re going to do.”
“Well, this is beyond my comprehension.” The alcalde smiled at the villagers, then turned again to the three thieves: “You come here to our village without having been invited and offer us burros for sale. We are willing to buy the burros and we are agreed upon the price. Don’t you think we have the right to investigate your ownership of these animals? If we did not and should buy them and they should later prove to be stolen, we might have the federal soldiers here in no time and they would shoot every man found to possess one of these burros as a just punishment for rustling and banditry. We might even be accused of having killed the former owner of the animals. What then?”
Miguel gave his partners a quick glance. “We don’t want to sell the burros at all. Not even for ten pesos each. We want to be on our way.”
“You might sell us the hides and the tools?” the alcalde suggested cunningly.
Miguel hesitated. He was not sure that another trap was not being laid for him. Then he remembered that the hides and the tools carried no brand. “All right, senores, if you wish to buy the hides and the tools. What do you say, companeros?” he asked his partners, hoping to shift attention from himself.
“We might,” they answered.
“They belong to you?” the alcalde asked.
“Of course, what do you think?” Miguel replied.
“Why didn’t the American sell the hides in Durango? Why did you bring them up here to sell? Do you also carry water to the river?”
“The prices were not so good in Durango.”
“So you thought they might be better up here in the mountains, where we can get them without paying for them in money?”
Miguel was trying to think of an answer, but before he succeeded the alcalde said curtly: “Did the American go to the depot naked?”
“What do you mean by that crack?” Miguel’s face paled until it was a dirty gray.
“Don’t you have on your feet the American’s boots? And isn’t this man by your side wearing his pants? Why is no one wearing the American’s shirt, which was fairly good, as I know from the reports? It was far better than any of yours.”
None of the three rascals spoke.
“Why didn’t one of you three take his shirt? Well, I can tell you why.”
The thieves did not wait for the next sentence. With one jump they broke through the circle formed by the villagers and escaped down the main street of the village.
The alcalde gave a signal and in half a minute a group of villagers were after them, not even waiting to saddle their horses. The thieves did not get far. Their pursuers caught them before they passed the last huts and marched them back to the plaza in front of the house of the mayor. Here they were allowed to squat under the trees, lashed together and guarded by five Indians sitting close, with their machetes on their laps.
The alcalde came out, leading his horse, which had been saddled in the meanwhile. Before mounting he spoke to the thieves. “We shall go now and look for the American and ask him at what price he sold you the burros, and why he stripped himself to give you his boots and his pants. We shall bring with us his shirt and find out why none of you wanted that. Make yourselves comfortable here; we won’t be gone long. We won’t have to go to Durango.”
The men who were to form the posse had gone for their horses. They put some tortillas and cooked beans wrapped in corn leaves in their little bags, made of bast, hung the bags on their saddles, mounted, and went on their way.
The posse did not follow the trail by which the thieves had come. They looked for the one Dobbs had used when he had passed by this village at a distance. Soon the posse found the trail of the American. The tracks left by the hoofs of the burros could still be seen, as there had been no rain.
Since the men were riding animals used to these hard trails, they soon reached the place where Dobbs had rested under the trees. Here they noted that not all the burros had strayed down the road to town. It was plain that the burros had been led back to the trees and from there had returned to the mountains.
The Indians realized that at this place something must have happened to prevent Dobbs from keeping his burros together. The tracks left by Dobbs’s boots going from the trees half a mile toward town were found to be different from those on the road coming from the mountains and ending near the trees. The boots could not well leave the same imprint as before, because the feet inside them were shorter.
The alcalde decided that the boots had been changed near the trees. He sent a man to look for footprints on the road to town— Dobbs’s footprints. They would be of naked feet, for he no longer had his boots. There were no such prints.
“Then the body must be near here somewhere,” the alcalde said.