Series: Smile

Chapter Twenty — Cortez And Pedro

We arrived in Hermosillo, a good-sized town and quite modern. I said to Chuck, “Take me to the Hotel Hermosillo and I’ll call Bill. You can have the Palace all to yourself until Bill gets here.” I had in mind that I d get some good sleeping in the hotel and wouldn’t have to listen to that terrible snoring.

I put my call through to Bill.

“You sure made good time,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to get there so soon. I can’t come down just now, but you go ahead and get the deal started and I’ll be there in two or three days with the gold buyer. There’s ten grand in the bank there in U. S. money, and I’ve arranged everything with the banker. He knows you’re coming, so show him your identification and he will give you the money.”

“I thought it was fourteen grand we needed.”

“They’ve agreed to take ten down on the first brick. We will pay them the other four grand when we get the second brick. Now be darn careful. Keep your mouth shut and don’t talk about gold to anyone but Cortez. He’s staying at the same hotel you are. Take an assayer with you and make darn sure they don’t unload a chunk of brass on you!”

Cortez was in his room and when I introduced myself he gave me a big smile-a golden smile. He had a mouthful of gold teeth and evidently liked to show them.

“The gold,” he said, “is back in the mountains and we can drive within several miles of the place. After that, the trip must be made on mules or horses.”

I told him I had a camper and a driver, and that I would like to take an assayer along. This was fine with him for he too had a man he would take along. Pedro something or other.

“We will leave the assayer with your man and Pedro to guard the camper while we go for the gold brick. One thing more, you must wear a blindfold over your eyes after we leave the camper. You can understand, mister Parker, that the hiding place is a deep secret. It is for your own protection as well as ours, that you do not know how to find this place.”

Chapter Twenty-One — Gold Bricks

The next morning about ten o’clock we were headed out of town. Chuck and Pedro were in the cab of the Palace, Cortez, the assayer, and I were riding in the rear of it. We drove by an airport where there were a couple of small planes then took a right turn on a rough, narrow, dusty road leading to the mountains.

At last we stopped. I opened the back door of the Palace, put down the ladder and Cortez and I climbed out. Two horses and a mule were tied to a bush. The horses were saddled and bridled ready to go. The mule wore a pack saddle. He would carry the gold, I concluded.

I had given Chuck his orders. “Don’t turn your back on these guys for one second. If they turn out to be crooks, our very lives are in danger.”

Chuck had his big forty-five strapped on. He grinned. “Don’t worry, Joe. I learned how to use this in Korea.”

Cortez obliged me to put a black handkerchief over my eyes. He helped me on a horse, mounted himself, and we started up the trail. We twisted and turned, uphill and down-more up than down. At last we stopped and I got down from my horse. The blindfold was taken off.

Cortez grinned. “Enjoy the ride?”

“Not bad,” I said. “I sure could never find my way here again.” We tied the horses to trees, then he led the way to a dense growth of very tall cactus. Cortez got down on his hands and knees and crawled. I crawled behind him. No one would ever stumble upon this hiding place, that was for sure.

Finally we came to the mouth of a cave barely big enough to allow a man to crawl through, but we made it. Cortez turned on a flashlight. My eyes almost popped out of my head. There it was, the Yaqui gold! Gold bricks! Hundreds, maybe thousands of them. I stood there speechless.

“The reason I brought you here is to prove to you that we have the gold; otherwise maybe you would buy only one brick for ten thousand dollars down payment and we might never see you again. Now that you see the bricks for yourself, it would be foolish for you not to buy many of them.”

“We will buy them all, if it takes a year!” I exclaimed.

We had a hell of a time getting that one brick out through those brambles. I was stuck with tiny thorns from one end to the other, but somehow I didn’t mind. Again the blindfold was put on me and we headed back down the trail.

Now I was worried about Chuck. I had hidden the ten thousand in the upper compartment of the refrigerator, because when Chuck needs ice, he always uses the lower one. I wasn’t worried about Chuck stealing the money, but he could have met with foul play. If so, I would be next. I began to sweat. It seemed a long way back but at last we arrived. The blindfold was taken off. I blinked my eyes and looked around. Chuck was standing in the doorway of the Palace, grinning from ear to ear. Everything seemed to be fine.

“Now,” said Cortez, “you have the gold, so we shall make the transaction.”

We put the brick on the table. The assayer had come prepared and he weighed it. It was a fraction over forty pounds. He took a small drill and bored several holes through it and put the shavings into a little glass, poured some liquid over them and for several minutes sat there watching it. Finally he smiled. “Very good gold,” he announced.

The Indians had come through. Now it was my turn, so I went to the refrigerator, brought out the ten grand and gave it to Cortez.

Soon we were all on our way back to town. We should reach the main road within a few minutes.

Suddenly we came to an old truck that blocked our way. Chuck blew the horn but there didn’t seem to be anyone around to move the vehicle. Chuck stopped the Palace and this brought a dozen or more Indians out of the bushes, all of them armed with rifles. Enough guns to blow us all apart!

They lined us up by the side of the Palace and searched us. They took the ten grand from Cortez, what few bills I had and the gold brick. It seemed to me that they knew what they were looking for and where to find it. Most of my money was in travelers’ checks so they didn’t take those. They got the keys to the Palace and threw them far back into the bushes, then they jumped into the old truck and drove off fast.

There was another set of keys on a magnet under the steel bed of the truck, so we managed to get them and drive back to town. We were a sick bunch indeed.

I felt terrible. Brother Bill had trusted me and I had let him down. There had been a slip-up somewhere. Cortez and Pedro seemed to feel as bad as I did. I wondered if the assayer had been in on it. Had Chuck done some talking the night before. I didn’t know. All I could think of was that I had lost Bill’s money. I felt like a heel.

I hated to call Bill but it had to be done. All he said was, “As long as you’re all right, Joe, it’s the only thing that matters. Stay where you are and I’ll be there tomorrow. Remember what Dad always said, ‘If you lose something, the best place to look for it is where you lost it!'”

Chuck and I were at the airport when the yellow and black plane came gliding in. With Bill was Orren Child. Chuck had a big stew on the stove. We opened some beer and had a good meal while I gave them the complete story of the robbery.

“Don’t feel bad,” Bill said. “I would have done exactly as you did.”

That somewhat revived my spirits.

“The only thing we can do,” he went on, “is buy another brick and keep on buying. Two transactions and we’ll be far ahead in this game.”

“Do you have another ten grand?” I asked.

“Just happen to have,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “Closed a deal yesterday. That’s what kept me from coming when you first phoned.”

After dinner we drove into town to see Cortez.

“We got off to a bad start,” Bill said to him. “We were both robbed, but you have proved that you have the gold. We have proved to you that we keep a bargain. There is no need for us to go to the cave again because we know the gold is there.”

Bill spread bills on the table. “Here’s ten thousand dollars,” he said. “Would you like to count it?”

Cortez shook his head. “Your word is good. I can see the money.”

“You will bring another brick tomorrow,” said Bill. “Bring it to the main road by the airport where there are no bushes for the bandits to hide in. If they intend to rob us again, they will be watching the camper. They want the U.S. money a lot more than gold.”

Cortez nodded. “We will meet you at seven o’clock tomorrow evening,” he said.

Around six o’clock we drove out to the airport.

Orren Child could fly the plane, so Bill began to give orders.

“There will be no slip-up this time,” he said. “Child, keep the engines warm, ready for a takeoff in case something goes wrong. Is the Palace full of gas?”

Chuck nodded. “Both tanks. We have enough to go at least six hundred miles.”

“Good. Do we all have guns?

Chuck looked ill at ease. The bandits had taken his gun and I had left mine under my bed. Bill had a couple of extra ones so he gave them to Chuck and me.

“If they try something today we’ll be ready.”

“Yes, but how are we going to test the gold, Bill?”

I asked. Shouldn’t we get an assayer?

“Maybe the assayer was behind the robbery. This time we aren’t taking chances,” Bill said frowning.

He opened a small bag and took out a small hand operating drill, much like the one the assayer had used to test the gold. He also took out a pint bottle containing some yellow liquid. “I’m not an assayer,” he said, “but back home a friend of mine who’s a druggist sold me this bottle of acid. We tried it out and I know it works. You pour this on copper or brass and it will start smoking if you leave it on long enough it will eat up the metal. It’s powerful stuff and will dissolve anything but gold. I dropped some gold nuggets in some of it and nothing happened. I poured some over some copper and it immediately started smoking.”

Bill was smart, as I well knew. He had thought of everything.

A little before seven o’clock Orren had the engines warmed up. Chuck was sitting on the front bumper of the truck and Bill and I were up inside. We didn’t expect the Mexicans to keep their appointment with us at the time agreed. Mexicans are seldom on time. Maybe they wouldn’t show up at all. But at seven thirty they drove up in an old pickup. There were only two of them. They climbed down from the truck smiling. When Bill asked them to come inside the Palace. They did so quickly enough and we all followed them.

“Here is the brick,” said Cortez laying it on the table. “Now you will give us the money.”

“Not so fast!” said Bill. “I want to test it first!”

Cortez and Bill sat on one side of the table, Pedro and I on the other side. Bill took the little drill and started boring holes. He put the shavings into a glass. Then uncorked the bottle and poured some of the acid on the shavings as we all watched. A thin wisp of smoke came curling out of the glass! For a few seconds no one said a word.

A strange look came over Bill’s face. First it was one of amazement, then it slowly turned to anger. There were lights in his eyes I had never seen in them before. He seized Cortez by the neck, bent him backward over the table and snatched up the bottle of acid, holding it over Cortez’ face.

Bill was wild with fury. “You son-of-a-bitch!” he yelled. “I’ll pour this acid all over you!”

“Bill, no Bill, not that — not his eyes — his eyes!” I cried horrified.

“His eyes, hell! Trying to sell us a brass brick! We know who the bandits are now!”

“Bill please! Kick hell out of him, but don’t pour that acid on him! I begged frantically.

Slowly the fire in Bill’s eyes died. He put down the bottle, picked Cortez up as if he were a child and tossed him out to the road. The Mexican’s body must have skidded twenty feet. He started to get up but Bill was upon him.

I hadn’t been idle. My .45 was in Pedro’s ribs. I wished he would start something. Why not? I thought, he deserves punishment too. I threw my gun on the upper bunk out of reach, grabbed Pedro by the arm and gave him a heave toward the door.

He was strong and wiry. He lit on his feet like a cat. I jumped out after him and it nearly cost me my life. A big knife had appeared in his hand, and before I could move in any direction, the knife slashed out cutting the front of my shirt. I could feel the blood run down my stomach.

I kicked him in the crotch where it would do the most good, and the knife fell from his hand. Then I hit him in the belly. He looked sick and fell on his face. I sidestepped and aimed a kick at his jaw and almost missed. The brass toe of my miner’s boot slid along his jaw peeling the skin, almost tearing off his ear, left it hanging by a thin piece of flesh. He hit the hard road and rolled over. His ear laying in the dust. It looked like an oyster ready to fry.

I glanced at Bill now standing over the inert Cortez. A trace of a grin came over Bill’s face. “Good going, Joe. Quite a brawl, huh?”

The airplane engines were roaring ready to take off.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Bill. “Anything can happen now. You head south, Joe. Call me in a few days!”

He started toward the plane on the run, stopped, turned around and came back. “The brick!” he said. “I’m going to take the damned thing with me. Maybe it will remind me never to trust these s.o.b.s again!” He picked up the brick then raced to the plane.

I watched the mechanical bird take off. Then I jumped into the cab of the Palace. Chuck wasn’t there. I leaped out, and yelled, “Chuck?”

“Just a minute!” he answered.

I looked behind the Palace and saw him. He was on his knees beside the lifeless Cortez.

“Come on, Chuck, let’s get out of here! What the hell are you doing?”

“We came here to find gold, he said, “These teeth of Cortez look like the real thing to me, and I’m getting it.

Chapter Twenty-Two — Inca Treasure

The cut in my chest was about six inches long, but the knife had barely pierced the skin. I shuddered. Suppose I had been two inches closer to that Mexican assassin.

I put iodine on the wound and a gauze bandage, hoping it wouldn’t become infected.

Nobody around here knew we were bound for Nicaragua. If the Mexican cops were looking for us, they would probably be watching the northern border, at least we hoped so. Chuck and I had decided to take it easy for a day or so and stay off the main road as much as possible. We were not on the highway now, and didn’t know just where we were going, only that we were headed south.

After driving for several miles, we came to a fork in the road. The one going to the right looked seldom used, so we turned into it and went up a narrow canyon where suddenly the road came to an end. T his would be a good place to spend the night.

I thought I’d never been so tired, and in spite of Chuck’s snoring, I was soon sound asleep.

The sun was about an hour high when I awoke and sat up rubbing my eyes. Chuck was snoring away. We hadn’t drawn the curtains on the Palace, and as I looked out my eyes about popped out of my head!

Indians! Dozens of them! We were surrounded. They were lined up on all sides of us. The short men were in front and the taller ones behind, all looking into our widows. Now what in the devil was this? Were these Cortez’s men?

I slid off the bunk and stood up with dozens of beady eyes on me. The blank expressions on the faces told me nothing. I poked Chuck in the ribs.

“Wake up, boy, we’re surround by Indians. Take it easy. I think they’re friendly.”

Chuck came awake and looked out a widow. “Indians?” He turned pale and began to shake.

“Get up and dress,” I ordered. “If these guys were dangerous, they would have started something before now. Act normal and don’t show fear. A wrong move might be disastrous.”

I walked over to the stove, lit it and started to make coffee. The beady, black eyes followed every move I made. None of the visitors stirred a step, only their heads turned to watch me. Chuck and I ate breakfast and shaved, but still the Indians hung around.

There were a couple of cartons of cigarettes in the Palace’s cupboard. I ripped open the cartons and opened the door a crack. I threw the packs as far as I could down the road. There was a mad scramble as the Indians made a dive for the cigarettes. The packages were ripped apart, and most of the cigarettes torn in two.

But the Indians came back. How could we get rid of them?

I got out the quart of tequila in the cupboard. I opened the door again and motioned to a big fellow who seemed to be the leader, and handed him the bottle. He bit off the cap, took a big swig, then passed it to the men. In a few minutes the bottle was empty.

“Let’s go, Chuck,” I cried, “it’s now or never.”

Chuck started the engine and waved at the crowd. They grinned and waved back as we went down the road. They had only been curious.

Several days later we made our way to El Fuerte which was a good-sized town. I found a telephone and called Bill. Nell answered and said he wasn’t home, and wouldn’t be back for a few days.

Chuck and I found some good shade under a big pepper tree for the camper and decided to look the town over. We might stay here for a while until our nerves settled down.

The knife wound in my stomach wasn’t healing and was red and swollen. Chuck examined it. “You need a shot of penicillin. Lie down and rest. There must be a doctor in El Fuerte. I’ll go look for one.”

That’s how I met Doctor Swartz.

The doctor, who was close to seventy, was a German. He spoke perfect English and Spanish as well as German. I liked him.

“A knife wound, eh?” he said cheerfully when he examined me. “Who did that to you?”

I laughed. “Promise not to tell?”

“Sure,” he grinned. “There must be an interesting story here.”

He had a rather persistent way of questioning a guy, but somehow I couldn’t help but trust him. So I said, “A crook sold me a gold brick for ten grand that turned out to be brass. We had a fight. That’s how I got this.”

Doctor Swartz nodded his big head that sat on his short thick body, and looked serious. He gave me a shot in the arm and told me to rest and stay quiet.

All day long Chuck worked on something that seemed to require a lot of sweating and swearing. He had the little drill Bill had left with us and was drilling holes in something.

“What are you doing, Chuck?” finally I asked.

“Wait till I’m finished, then I’ll show you.

I slept most of the day. I felt lousy. That evening Chuck came to me with something in his hand. He was beaming all over. “Joe, I’ve really got a pretty thing here — the only one like it in the world, I’ll bet.”

“What is it?”

“My new watch-fob. Isn’t it a beaut?”

I looked up and could hardly believe my eyes. It was the most hideous object I had ever seen — the teeth of Cortez neatly bored and wired together and dangling from the stem of his big gold pocket watch! The teeth looked like they were grinning at me. “Beaut nothing!” I exclaimed. “Put the damned thing away.”

Chuck looked confused. He smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and proudly slipped the disgusting creation into his front pants pocket.

Dr. Swartz came to see me every day. He sat with me by the hour just talking. I had a feeling there was something he wanted to tell me and I was curious. So finally one day I brought out a bottle of Old Hickory and some ice. After we’d had a few drinks, I said, “We’ll probably be leaving tomorrow, I’m well enough to go now.”

“Don’t go,” said Doc, “Please don’t. I need your help.”

“I could tell there was something on your mind, Doc. Let’s have it.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I was born in Germany and there I learned medicine. In 1917 I fled for my life because I had been asked to do something very wrong and I refused. I went to Brazil and there I met Don Francisco; the greatest friend a man ever had. He was also an outcast from Spain. We were young and full of adventure. We had heard much of a ship that had gone down loaded with gold sometime around the year 1620. It was said to have carried Inca treasure and trinkets. We were both expert divers.” He paused for a moment.

“Mister Parker, we found that ship and we found gold treasure. Most of it we sold and we were rich men when we came here to Mexico. Don Francisco fell in love and got married. He bought hundreds of acres of land and cattle and built a nice home. Over the years they had many children. I returned to Germany and intended to spend the rest of my there, but in 1942 again I had to run for my life. Don’t ask me why, but I was forced to leave my fortune behind. I came back to Mexico and looked up my old friend Don Francisco, and I have been here ever since.”

He has helped me very much and now when he needs my help. What I’m trying to do for him, I cannot do alone.”

“Is he in trouble?” I asked curiously.

The doctor nodded and went on with his story. “Several years ago his wife passed away and after a time he was very lonesome, so he remarried. The woman he married is much younger and has a pretty face but is very wicked. She has taken all of his money and has sold most of the cattle. Don Francisco would like to go back to Spain to spend his last years. Although he has no money now, he still has part of the Inca treasure.”

I sat straight up. “He has? Where, where is it?”

“Only Don Francisco and I know where the treasure is buried. We have told nobody, not even the Señora, his wife.”

“Why doesn’t he sell it?” I asked, a little breathlessly.

“The Government here buys all the gold. If this treasure were turned over to them it would probably be seized as gold treasure, and Don Francisco would get very little, if any of it, so it must be sold to a private party. You mentioned that you had tried to buy gold here in Mexico. If it’s gold you want, I will take you to Don Francisco.”

“How much is there?”

“More than you can carry away at one time.”

“How much does he ask for it?”

“What were you going to pay for the brick?”

“Twenty dollars an ounce.”

“Could you buy twenty thousand dollars worth at this price?”

“That’s a lot of money,” I told him thoughtfully. “I don’t know whether I can raise that much at one time or not.”

“Neither do I know if Don Francisco will sell at that price, but I shall see you tomorrow and we will talk some more.”

Without another word, Doctor Swartz stood up, and hurriedly left.

Later I said to Chuck, “If the old boy is telling the truth, there’s a fortune to be made here. Real Inca gold! Inca trinkets are collectors’ items worth many times the price of plain gold!”

I thought to myself, “Good lord, we could make a fortune over night!

That evening I called Bill long distance. While waiting for the call to go through I was thinking to myself, “If only I hadn’t lost that ten thousand maybe, Bill could raise the twenty to swing the deal.”

Suddenly Bill was on the line. “Hello, Joe, how are you, old boy? I’ve been worried as the devil about you.”

“I’m fine, but still sick over losing that money for you. Outside of that, I’m okay.”

“If you have something to hang on to, be prepared for a shock,” he said. “That brick; the one I brought home. I got to looking at the darn thing. It sure looked like gold and seemed a lot heavier than brass. I took it to an assayer and had it tested and Joe, the thing ran eight hundred fine! Eighty percent gold and twenty percent copper! The copper in it is what made it smoke.”

I sat down speechless and closed my eyes. I could see Cortez lying on the ground and his gold teeth there in the road, and there was Pedro with his ear kicked off. I felt sick.

“Joe, you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here, Bill.”

He went on. “I sold the brick for eighteen grand so we did all right after all.”

I told him about Dr. Swartz and the Inca treasure. When I had finished, he said, “Stay right where you are and I’ll be down the day after tomorrow with the money.”

I walked slowly back to the Palace. Chuck was polishing his watch-fob with a toothbrush and toothpaste.

I told him, “Put that damn thing away, it gives me shivers!”

That night I lay on my bunk thinking of the gold bricks, rolling and tossing, and wondering who could have tipped off the bandits and a few other things. One thing for sure, I would never go back to find out any answers to such questions.

Chapter Twenty-Three — The Plan

Dr. Swartz came to see me next day. He had talked to Don Francisco and Francisco had agreed to sell us the gold.

I told him that my brother Bill would fly down with the money, and when he arrived we would make the deal.

“We have one problem,” said the doctor. “The Señora; she must not be there when we dig up the treasure. She would claim it and that would spoil the deal.”

“We won’t take her with us.”

“The treasure,” he said, “is buried under the patio. When Francisco built his home we dug a very deep hole, put the treasure in and laid the patio on top. We know which stone the treasure is beneath but it will take many hours to dig it up.”

“The Señora can speak English,” he said, “and when there are men around, especially men from the United States, it will be very difficult to get rid of her. She likes the American men and falls in love with about every one she meets.”

I told him not to worry because my brother Bill would figure out something. A little problem like this would be nothing for him to solve.

The yellow and black plane arrived, and with Bill was Orren Child. Orren was a good flyer and had wanted to come so Bill brought him along. “I don’t like to fly alone down here,” Bill said, “and besides, Orren is good company.”

That evening Dr. Swartz came back, and after introductions were over, we got down to business. The main problem was to get rid of the Señora while we were digging up the gold.

“We could take her out and shoot her.” Chuck said.

We all laughed and I suggested that maybe if I cracked open a bottle or so of Old Hickory we might think of a way. As I sat there looking at Chuck, an idea came to me. He was a big guy with baby-blue eyes, and he would even be handsome if he were dressed up.

“Look fellows, I believe I’ve got it! Old Chuck here is quite a handsome guy, correct?”

Everyone agreed.

“Do you have a good suit of clothes with you? I asked him. He shook his head.

“Bill, how is your wardrobe?”

“Fine. I brought plenty of clothes.”

“You and Chuck are about the same size. We’ll dress him up fit to kill and present him as a big shot from the U. S. He will make love to the lady, take her away for a few days and. . . .”

“Wait a minute! You haven’t asked me yet,” Chuck complained.

“Ask you, hell! You’re working for the company, drawing wages and what have you done in the last few days? Nothing. Nothing but eat. Now we ask you to do a little job and you balk!” I hoped I had shamed him.

Bill started grinning. “I thought you were joking Joe, but I believe you have the answer.”

“Does the Señora like to fly,” I asked Dr. Swartz.

“Oh yes, she loves to fly to Mexico City.”

“That’s it,” said Bill. “Chuck, you are now the owner of the Palace. You own a big yellow and black airplane with your own pilot, and plenty of money to spend. It won’t be bad. I hear she’s quite a looker.”

Chuck began to grin. “Okay, count me in. I’ll sacrifice myself.” Chuck would represent himself as a wealthy cattle man down here looking around. He might buy a ranch here and the rest of us were working for him.

Chapter Twenty-Four — The Big Shot

Probably all of his life Chuck had wanted to be a big shot. He took the part so well that we were proud of him. Dressed in Bill’s clothes with his hair trimmed and a manicure, He sure was indeed handsome.

When we arrived at the Don Francisco Ranchero everything was going smoothly. Chuck took the Señora for a long ride in the Palace.

Don Francisco was a stately sort of guy; tall and slender and he wore a gray mustache and goatee. He could speak no English. Dr. Swartz explained our plan to him and he seemed to like it. He cared nothing for the Señora and only wanted the money for his treasure. He asked if we would fly him to Mexico City after the transaction was made. Bill promised him that we would.

That evening Chuck and the Señora were late getting home. She had a new dress and Chuck’s face showed smears of lipstick. The old boy was really enjoying his work.

The ranch had many servants and the Señora believed in having every possible luxury. It was a very large house with many rooms. The Don had been a rich man when he built the place.

The next day Chuck took the Señora and his pilot, Orren, to town in the Palace. They flew over the ranch house several times. Chuck was really spreading it on thick. In the afternoon when they came back he got me aside and said, “The deal is all set. We are flying to Mexico City tomorrow and that will give you two days to dig up the gold.”

The plan was working. We were all smiles, especially the Señora.

That evening at dinner the servants brought in many bottles of wine and a huge roast. We had a dinner fit for a king, and Chuck, of course, was the center of attraction. One of the servants, a cute little Señorita about sixteen or seventeen, kept making eyes at him and smiling. Chuck smiled back.

Later I took him aside and said, “Listen, old boy, lay off that little Señorita. She’s making eyes at you and you’re paying her too much attention.”

“Have no worries,” he said, “I only smiled. I’ve never spoken to her at all.”

After dinner more wine was brought in and plenty of tequila. We look like a big happy family, I thought, and almost every damned one of us thinks he is putting something over on somebody else.

About ten o’clock we called it an evening and went to bed. Don Francisco had left earlier, so drunk the servants had helped him to an outside guest house to sleep it off. We didn’t see him again that night, or ever. Each of us had our separate room. The drinks and the dinner had been relaxing and I was soon asleep.

Along toward morning a scream shattered the air — a woman’s scream! Then another! It sounded like two women screaming. I jumped up, turned on the light and got into my clothes as fast as I could.

Then I heard shouting and more screaming. It sounded like it was coming from — yes, Chuck’s room! Just then along came Bill and we hurried down the hall. We were almost to Chuck’s room when the body of the Señora came sailing toward us. Chuck had thrown her out. She lay unconscious on the hall floor.

We ran past her, and found Chuck stark naked in his room with a big bleeding wound in his chest. Blood was running down to his belly. Beside him, also in the nude, stood the little, screaming señorita servant that Chuck had been exchanging smiles with at dinner.

Lights were on all over the house by now and everybody was getting up.

“What the hell goes on here?” yelled Bill. “What’s the meaning of this, Chuck?”

“The old bitch, the Señora, she stuck a knife in me!”

One look was enough, “You rat,” I said. “You’ve sure as hell messed things up!”

“Get your clothes on!” yelled Bill. “Let’s get the hell out!”

As we were leaving, the servants were milling about and a couple of the women were working over the Señora. Some of the men had guns. We were scared. They didn’t understand what was going on, so anything could happen now. The alarmed Dr. Swartz said, “Your man is bleeding badly. I will sew up the wound.”

“On the way to town,” said Bill. “Let’s get out of here!”

So we went. And that was the last of the Inca treasure.

Dr. Swartz sewed up Chuck’s wound. It was a nasty cut all right but if we took care of it he thought Chuck would pull through. Bill and I were furious with Chuck, and we felt we had good reason.

For a couple of days we stayed in El Fuerte because Dr. Swartz advised us to let the wound have a chance to heal a little before we started out again.

Late on the second day, Bill and I were having a bottle of beer and hadn’t offered Chuck one, as we were ignoring him. Chuck rose from his bunk. “All right, fellows, I know you’re sore at me. You think it was all my fault, but let me tell you what happened.”

“We’re listening,” said Bill grimly.

“I did the best I could. I’d made a date with the Señora to come to my room, so I left the door unlocked. Anything the matter with that?”

We shook our heads.

“But it was the little Señorita that came sneaking in, and right behind her came the Señora. I had no date with the Señorita, so how in hell can you blame me?”

Yes indeed, Chuck had done his best. Bill and I got up and stuck out our hands. “Sorry, Chuck,” I said. “We were jumping at conclusions.”

He started to smile. It was good to see him smile again.

Chapter Twenty-Five — Mexico City

The engine of the Palace was pleasant to hear and the tires were singing sweetly on the hot pavement. We were headed south toward Nicaragua. The cactus was taller and greener; and, as we sped along even the buzzards looked blacker.

“Chuck, tomorrow we ought to be in Mexico City.” I said thoughtfully.

He nodded. “It’ll probably be late when we get there, Joe, but I think we can make it.”

It started to rain and it poured! Ahead were high mountains and down on the other side of them was Mexico City. Now we were out of the cactus belt. The mountains we climbed were covered with dense forests of pine and other trees we couldn’t name. It continued to rain in torrents but we didn’t care. It was sure better than looking eternally at sunburned cactus.

How high those mountains were, I didn’t know, but they seemed to reach to the sky. Mexico City has an elevation of about seven thousand feet, yet we went a long way down before we arrived there.

Mexico City! Approximately five million people lived there. The downtown section reminded me of Chicago. There were many new and modern looking buildings that stood ten to twenty stories high. Beautiful architecture. We registered at a hotel then took the Palace to a garage to have it serviced.

I asked the English-speaking hotel clerk if we could get a guide to help us with our passports and visas, and he assured me he could find one for us.

Promptly at nine o’clock the next morning we met our guide and he gave me his card. “Dick Domonick, Passports, Visas. . . .”

Dick was a handsome Mexican, about six feet-four and he must have weighed about two hundred and twenty pounds. His first words were, “Who are you. Where are you going. Where do you come from.”

This was a little confusing but probably standard for the beginning of a conversation south of the border, I thought.

I told him we already had our passports but must get our visas.

He took us to his car, a highly polished late model Chrysler, and drove us to the Guatemala Embassy. He showed himself to be very efficient. In no time at all he obtained our visas and permits to drive through Mexico. Then we went to the El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaraguan Embassies where we got more visas and permits.

As we left the Nicaragua embassy and approached Dick’s car parked in front of the building in an ordinary restricted time zone, we saw a police officer walking away from the car with a bunch of license plates under his arm. Dick saw that his own license plates were gone and he yelled something to the officer in Spanish. They stood arguing angrily for several minutes. Then Dick gave the officer a hand full of pesos, and the officer handed him the plates and walked on.

“What was that all about,” I asked.

Dick’s dark eyes were flashing. “We couldn’t have been more than a minute overtime in that parking place, but I had to give that bandit twenty pesos to get my license plates back!”

“How come?”

“He said I’d better give him twenty pesos because the judge would charge me fifty. He said he needs the money more than the judge because the price of beans and meat is so high it’s harder to buy enough food for his family.”

Chuck and I tried to help him replace the license plates, but, it was impossible as the bolts had been broken off. After some expressive and eloquent language Dick tossed them on the floor of the car, and we got in and drove on.

Soon we heard the familiar high-pitched wail of a siren and I noticed that were being crowded to the curb by a police car. “Now what?” I thought.

Two policemen got out of their car and came up to us. After much spirited arm waving and highly colorful Spanish, along with Dick pointing to the license plates on the floor of his car, he finally handed them ten pesos.

“How come?” I asked after they left. “Do those fellows also need pesos more than the judge does?”

“Something like that,” grumbled Dick. “More damned bandits.”

Dick took us to the garage where we had left the Palace, then suggested that he guide us through the city as it would be too hard for us to find our way around alone. So he took the wheel of the Palace and off we went.

What a wild ride! Everyone should have the experience of driving or riding through Mexico City in an automobile for it would dispense all fear of any kind of traffic hazards they might ever encounter.

In the middle of the streets, too dangerously close to the lines of traffic, young fellows stand as if to dare a car to hit them. But just before it can, they wheel aside quickly and slap the side of the car. I asked Dick why they acted so reckless.

“They are practicing to be matadors,” he said.

“What a hell of a way to practice,” I said, being unable to comprehend the workings of such minds.

Finally we made it to the edge of the city. Dick’s fee added up to forty American dollars which I knew must have included his fines. He was another bandit, but he had been an excellent guide.

“Anytime you need passports and visas just call for me, Dick Domonick, and I can fix you up.” He gave us a merry smile as he waved us good-bye.

Chapter Twenty-Six — Juanita

Again we headed south. “There are two ways to go,” Dick had told us, “but I would advise you to go through Veracruz. The road is much better and not so crooked.”

I will never forget Veracruz. We parked for a while near the beach and watched the ships, some moving slowly and others at anchor. As we sat languidly gazing at the giant waves rolling in, Chuck said, “Joe, our love life has gone to pot. The only gal I’ve had out since we left home is the old Señora at El Fuerte. Don’t you think it’s about time we looked up somebody to keep us company. Today is Saturday, and in this fairly big town things should be lively. A party is long overdue for us.”

“That’s the most intelligent thing I’ve heard you say in days,” I said laughing.

We shaved, showered and dressed in the best clothes we had, which weren’t much. My mind had been on gold for such a long time I hadn’t given much thought to good grooming, and Chuck had never bothered too much about it either.

We drove around town surveying different areas and considering the prospects, but had no luck in finding any unattached girls. We went in and out of bars, had a few drinks, and finally found a guy that could speak English. “Where are all the lovely Señoritas around here,” I asked.

“Señoritas? Sí! There are many of them. I will take you where there are many — beautiful and willing.”

He led us to a place that looked like a fort. It was surrounded by a great high wall and a policeman was standing guard in front of it. We went through a large patio and on into the building. In the lobby we sat down and ordered drinks. It was still early in the afternoon and we were the only customers. Several girls were sitting around sewing and knitting and chatting in Spanish. “These girls all look pregnant to me,” I said to our guide.

“Sí, Señor, we are too early for the working girls, but they will come when they know we are here.”

He was right. In a few minutes a group of girls walked slowly by us and smiled. I slipped the guide a handful of pesos, thinking he might need some spending money.

“See the three over there,” he said. “Do you like them?”

“The one on the right looks good to me,” said Chuck.

“I like the one in the middle,” said the guide. That left the one on the left for me. I shook my head. “Go get’em boys. Have fun but take them to another table. If something I like comes by, I’ll join you.”

Chuck and the guide were off. The party had begun.

I sat there in a dreary mood feeling that I’d rather be alone instead of in a Mexican whorehouse. My thoughts drifted back to Maria. I had disapproved of her for kissing Olsen. Maybe a few kisses was as far as the affair had gone. Maybe I had jumped at conclusions and condemned her unfairly. Didn’t the Bible say, “Judge ye not lest ye be judged.” I reminded myself that we have no right to judge others carelessly. Sometimes we become victims of circumstance. There is always a reason for everything we do. It may be a darn poor reason, but still it is one.

“Good afternoon, sir,” said a small voice that tore me out of my reverie.

I looked up in amazement. I must be dreaming. The girl was about five feet tall and couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. Her golden hair hung to her shoulders and an enchanting smile sparkled from her deep blue eyes.

A blond! A blond down in this country? I stood up. “My name is Joe Parker.”

“I’m Juanita — Juanita Murphy.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say and a juke box was now blaring out a tune, so I invited her to dance.

She was as light as a feather. The party was looking up. I’d never been much of a dancer — never really cared much for it, but now it seemed pretty swell. I kept wondering what a beautiful girl like this was doing here.

“How come you’re in a place like this?” I finally asked her.

“I was born here,” she said. “My mother was born here. This is the only place I know.”

I was amazed. Good lord, could that be possible?

I said, “Juanita, I have a camper outside. It’s a small house on wheels — on a truck. Can you go out there with me?”

“Sometimes they let me go to town, but only for about two hours. If I go with you, you will have to pay the guard at the gate.”

“How much?”

“Ten pesos.”

I took her by the hand and we walked outside. I handed the guard twenty pesos and winked. He smiled, looked at his watch, then held up two fingers.

Juanita and I drove in the Palace for several miles. When we came to a grove of trees, I parked and helped her out of the cab. Then I unlocked the rear door of the Palace, pulled down the ladder down and we went inside.

She looked around in astonishment. “Joe, it’s beautiful!”

“Sure,” I said. “It’s the Palace.” And to her it was indeed a palace.

“Would you like a drink?” I asked.

“No, I do not drink.”

I put an arm around her and she laid her head on my shoulder and began to cry. “Hold me close, Joe, hold me very close. There’s something I must tell you.”

I picked her up, set her down on my bunk, and dropped beside her. She linked an arm through mine and snuggled up to me.

“Will you listen to me, Joe? Listen for just a little while.”

“Sure,” I said. “Sure, Juanita.”

“The place where I live is a prison and not many of the girls ever get out to live anywhere else. My father planned for a long time to take my mother out and marry her, but he was drowned at sea when his ship went down. He was a fisherman, and one of his friends who managed to survive brought the news of his death to my mother.”

“My father went to the United States from Ireland, then he came here and met the girl who was to be my mother. They were very much in love, although he and my mother were never married. My mother learned to speak English, and she taught me English before I could speak Spanish. She bought many books and taught me how to read. She was a very wonderful mother. Only last year she died. ‘Someday,’ she told me, ‘you will meet a very nice American and he will get you away from here — he will take you to the United States and you will be a lady!'”

“I have studied very hard and I have waited. When I saw you today I knew my prayers had been answered. You will take me from here, Joe. You will take me to the United States?”

My eyes were stinging with sympathetic, unshed tears. “Juanita,” I said hoarsely, “I’m not going to the United States. I am going to Nicaragua.”

“Then take me to Nicaragua. Take me with you, Joe.”

I knew I couldn’t take her to Nicaragua with me, but I swore to myself that I would help her. I would get her out of the prison she was in.

She said no more for a while, but her soft fingers ran gently through my hair, and her lips were warm, moist and passionate. She was no longer a child.

“Make love to me, Joe. I want you to make love to me like you really mean it. I know you will come back for me. I know you will get me out of that prison. . . .”

Chapter Twenty-Seven — The Cock Fight

The next day Chuck and I started west from Veracruz which is on the Gulf Of Mexico but still only about a day’s drive to the Pacific Ocean. Through this narrow part of Southern Mexico the country it is quite flat and a jungle of cactus. It rained like hell!

“Chuck, that girl that I took out, you saw her.” I couldn’t get her and her problem off my mind.

“Sure, a real doll. She didn’t look Mexican at all.”

I told him her story. “Someday, Chuck, I’m going to get her out of there.”

“I don’t blame you, Joe. She’s a beauty all right.”

I thought to myself, here is a real woman, born under the worst conditions in the world. Her mother, a prostitute, born in a whorehouse. The daughter is born there, yet somehow the mother had educated herself and her daughter, and had given her hope and courage to go on. The mother had died dreaming she could finally be able to escape from that dismal prison. Now little Juanita had the same dreams. Life is a game, but a bitter game. Somehow I couldn’t convince myself that this little girl was playing a game. She looked like twenty-four carat gold to me, and twenty-four carat was what I had come here to get — in gold anyhow.

As I sat there listening to the hum of the motor and taking cat naps, I thought I was lucky to have a good driver like Chuck, and how patient he was to do all the driving and let me sleep. He never complained. I guess maybe he figured his snoring at night kept me awake and he would make up for it by letting me snooze.

Then suddenly and abrutly I was awakened from my peaceful nap by a stabbing pain! My foot! My left foot! Had it been cramped on the floorboard? Connie! I jerked up straight, stamped my foot and the pain was gone.

Chuck was just as surprised as I was, and with genuine concern asked, “Are you okay?”

Now that I was awake I decided to tell Chuck the story of how Connie had put the hex on my left foot. The pain left when I was at Bill’s house after I brought out her picture. “Today when my mind is on Juanita I get a pain. How do you account for that, Chuck?”

“I can’t, but odd things happen — things we can’t understand. Guess the best thing to do is, not try to understand them. For instance, I have an uncle who can remove warts.”

“You’re kidding,” I laughed.

“No, if you have a wart you want to get rid of, go to my uncle. I know his hocus-pocus works. He took a wart off for me.”

“What does he do?”

“He puts his finger on the wart, closes his eyes and says something mysterious, and in a few days the wart is gone.”

“What does he say?”

“I don’t know. He just sort of mumbles something. I guess it’s his secret.”

That night we stayed at Tehuantepec, and the rain came down with such a vengeance that it was frightening. Next day the road took us up over more high mountains, and there were countless slides of dirt and rock that threatened to cause us trouble. But we made it safely and came down out of the mountains into the town of Arrigua.

Arrigua is another place that will always be vivid in my memory. The streets have cobblestones nearly the size of footballs. Anything smaller would be washed away by the water pouring down the steep slopes.

At a service station we found a fellow who could understand our English and speak a fairly good imitation of it.

“You cannot go on,” he said. “The roads are washed out. Even the railroad is under water. This is more rain than we’ve ever had.”

I could believe that all right. Well, here we were trapped in the town of Arrigua. The road we had come over was impassable by now and probably all the other road in just about any direction.

“Chuck, old boy,” I asked, “what do we care? We have a comfortable place in our Palace to sleep and plenty to eat, so we can take it easy until the rain stops and the roads are cleared out.” We found a place to park the Palace at a railroad siding and settled in it to wait. What a deluge! In eight days thirty-six inches of rain came down.

When at last the rain had quit, the sun came out bright and hot. The country was steaming and it was like being in a Turkish bath.

Then one day Chuck said, “This stew is getting very thin. We’d better go down the street and see if we can find some fresh meat.”

I agreed.

A street market ran through the middle of the town and there you could buy most anything. For blocks there were tables piled with all kinds of fruits, vegetables and meats. The rain should have drowned out the flies; but no, they were thicker than ever — millions of them crawling all over the food stuff. Just to look at it nauseated us, so we decided that the canned goods in the truck were really delicious.

That night Chuck’s stew tasted mighty fine.

After we had eaten, Chuck suggested taking a drive around town to snap a few pictures. This seemed like a fine idea, so we started up the Palace’s engine and set out. On the outskirts of town we saw a crowd gathered in front of a cantina.

“Looks like something going on, Chuck. Let’s stop.” I suggested. And there was really something going on — a cock fight! I had often heard of cock fights but had never seen one. We parked and walked over and joined the crowd.

Wooden stakes had been driven in the ground every few feet making a circle about ten feet in diameter, and a piece of canvas about three feet high was stretched around them forming a fence. This was the fight ring, or pit. Inside the ring were two roosters jumping high in the air kicking hell out of each other on the way up and on the way down; feathers were flying wildly. The excited spectators were shouting and yelling, each for his favorite bird.

The natural spurs on the bird’s legs had been sawed off and replaced by some very wicked looking spurs. These artificial spurs were as sharp as needles and about an inch and a half in length.

Suddenly one of these long steel spurs found a vital spot in one of the birds, and killed it, ending the fight. A big Mexican with shiny gold teeth started passing out pesos to the grinning winners. We decided that he must be the stake-holder.

Chuck and I went into the cantina, bought a couple of beers and came back out to watch the proceedings. Steel spurs were being taped on a couple of angry cocks in preparation for the next fight. Before the birds were turned loose in the ring the owners held them near together, letting them peck, and pull at each other so that the instant they were set on the ground the fight would be on.

The fellow we had met at the service station came over to me, asking, “You wish to bet on the fight, Señor?”

“I wouldn’t know which bird to bet on.”

He shrugged. “Who knows, one bird is as good as another. But one of them will be lucky.”

“How do we go about making a bet?” I asked.

“Pick the bird you wish to bet on and give to the stake-holder the amount you wish to bet. He will get it covered for you.”

“What do you say, Chuck? Shall we give it a whirl?”

“Might as well. Maybe we’ll be lucky.”

“Let’s each bet ten pesos on each fight,” I said. “If we lose, it won’t be a hell of a lot.”

Chuck agreed. We picked a bird and handed the stake-holder twenty pesos.

Being in the game with a bet made it more exciting and stirred our enthusiasm to where we were yelling for our bird just like everyone else. We were in good voice. I don’t know if the shouting helped or not, but our bird won!

“Shall we collect or let it ride?” I asked.

“Let ‘er ride,” Chuck said. “Let’s go whole hog.”

On the next fight we really got into the spirit of the thing and looked both birds over carefully before betting. We didn’t know what we were looking for, but we argued a bit then agreed on a bird.

Again, our bird won!

The guy from the service station told us that the next fight would be the last one for the day.

“Shall we collect or let it ride?” I asked Chuck again.

“Let the tail go with the hide,” he grinned. “If we lose, we are out only twenty pesos, and if we win, we’ll have a hundred and sixty pesos.”

We went into the cantina again, drank a couple more beers. I brought a bottle with me when we came back out to select our bird. We put on quite a show examining the next birds for the round, but finally came to an agreement.

The service station man. being our interpreter, said, “The stake-holder says you are too lucky. He can get no one to cover your eighty pesos, but he himself will bet you fifty against your eighty that you lose.”

It would spoil the fun if we didn’t bet on this last fight, so we told him it was okay with us, and we bet eighty against the fifty.

The fight was on.

The birds stood there for a few seconds, eyeing each other. The feathers on their necks bristled out; each waiting for the other to start something. Abruptly our bird lay down his bristling neck feathers and walked across the pit, clucking like an old hen calling her chicks; scratching and pecking at the ground. The stake-holder roared with laughter and our interpreter told us that if a bird refuses to fight, the bet is lost, and the bird will be killed to make sure that he leaves no little cowards to grow up in its place. Even the owner of the bird feels embarrassment on such occasions.

All of a sudden our bird stood up straight, flapped his wings and crowed. The other one came at him with a rush. Ours jumped high in the air. As the other passed beneath, he came down on top of him with his legs shuffling and slashing. He grabbed the top of his opponent’s head with his beak. Now they began dashing around the ring with our bird riding piggyback. The bird underneath went faster and faster trying to unseat this devil on top of him.

Finally he made a sharp turn. Our bird fell off, and without a backward glance the other bird kept going. He jumped the fence and took off on the run cackling like a hen. Our bird hopped up, shook his feathers and crowed! It was our turn to laugh; and laugh we did.

I tipped back my head to take a drink of beer from the bottle, and in the middle of the gulp, a fist took me under the chin. I staggered back and Chuck caught me. There were bells ringing and bright spots in front of my eyes. I saw two of everything. I laughed, because everything seemed crazy. I shook my head and could feel and see the blood fly from the cut under my chin. The grinning face of the stake-holder wok my head and could feel and see the blood fly from the cut under my chin. The grinning face of the stake-holder was in front of me, and his right hand with the big gold ring on it was drawn back. I knew I couldn’t take another blow and stand up.

The bottle was still in my hand, so I threw it at the face of the stake-holder, and caught him in the mouth with it. He staggered back, and spit out some gold teeth. “Another watch-fob for Chuck,” I thought.

I shook my head again, trying to get rid of the cobwebs. All at once everything was clear. The guy had a knife in his hand now, and a sneer on his toothless face. I grabbed the bottle Chuck was holding and tried once more. This time with better results. The bottle hit the guy over the right eye, glanced off and hit the door glass in the cantina, shattering it.

The fellow’s eyes rolled back. I kicked him in the groin for good measure, stepped in closer and hit him in the solar plexus with my right with everything I had. I landed a right and left to his face as he was going down. He hit the dirt, and rolled over. He lay still.

His hands had been full of pesos when our fight started. Now these were scattered on the ground. Just then a stiff breeze came up and pesos were blown all around and down the street. Pesos were everywhere — our pesos. The fight was over and everybody was chasing pesos.

I yelled at Chuck, “let’s get the hell out of here!”

Chapter Twenty-Eight — The Train Ride

We hurried back to our camping ground by the railroad tracks. I took off my bloody clothes, had a shower and felt better. The cut under my chin had quit bleeding, and I leaned back on the bunk. Chuck came over and looked at it.

“You’d better have that sewed up,” he said.

“I wouldn’t trust any doctor around here, not after what happened down the street. You’ll have to be the doctor.” He boiled some water and cleaned the cut, pulled the skin together the best he could and put some gauze and tape on it.

“You’re going to carry a scar there for the rest of your life,” he informed me, “and every time you shave you’ll remember this day.”

That clumsy guy had put enough gauze and tape on my lower jaw to bandage an entire broken arm. Trying to assume a professional manner he surveyed his work with great dignity and admiration, then said, “You’ll have to be quiet now, and I’m sure you’ll be all right.”

The following day we drove up to the filling station and inquired about the roads.

“The rain has caused many landslides. It will be many days before the roads are cleared,” the fellow said.

We sure wanted to get out of this town. “Isn’t there any other way?” I asked. “How about the railroad. Can’t we ship the Palace by rail?”

“I do not know,” he said, but I can find out for you.”

We drove him down to the depot. A fellow came out with a yardstick, measured the truck very carefully and nodded.

“We can haul you as far as Tapachula. That is as far as we go,” he said.

That would be almost to the border of Guatemala. We paid him fifty dollars in American money for our railroad tickets. There was also another charge. One hundred pesos for loading and unloading the truck. We must pay that here, so I gave him the one hundred pesos.

The guy from the station said, “Park your camper by the loading ramp. They will load you at six o’clock in the morning.” That was fine. Tomorrow we would be on our way. I had a feeling that we weren’t too popular in this locality and it made me nervous.

At six o’clock the next morning a switch engine brought in a flat car. The Palace was loaded on and tied down. We stayed with it. The engine pulled us down the track a bit and went on switching. We were told that the train would hook onto us about ten o’clock. We looked around and found ourselves on that flat car beside a dead cow that had probably been hit by a train and left for the buzzards to feast on. At ten o’clock right on schedule, the train came whistling by, but it kept right on going in spite of our shouting and frantic waving.

For three days we were stalled with the Palace on that flat car. We had nothing to do but watch the buzzards pull that dead cow to pieces! It was gruesome.

Chuck said, “I’ll bet that stake-holder works for the railroad.”

Maybe he was right, but we will never know.

On the afternoon of the third day a young fellow came walking down the track. As he approached he called, “Hello you guys! Who are you. Where are you going. Where do you come from?”

An American!

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?” I asked as we shook hands.

“I’m Frank Weaver from Seattle, Washington,” he said, “and I’m representing the World’s Fair in Seattle. It’s my job to call on the Central American countries to try to get them to put up a display.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

“Sure,” and he rattled off a flow of words for us. We invited him into the Palace.

I asked him how long he had been here and he told us he had come in on the last bus. That was about a week ago.

“Now, I can’t get out,” he said, “I’ve been staying up at the hotel and getting so sick of the food I can hardly eat it. In fact, for the last two days, I’ve eaten nothing but bananas. That stew,” he took a deep breath, “sure smells good.”

Chuck dished him up a big bowl of it. When he had finished it, he assured us it was the finest stew he had ever eaten. Chuck was all smiles.

“We’re going to Managua, Nicaragua,” I told him, “and you might as well go with us. We have an extra bed, plenty to eat, and it will cost you nothing. Besides that, you speak the language and you’d be a great help to us.”

“The pleasure will be all mine. When do we start?”

“Your first job is to go up to that depot, raise some hell, and get us out of here!”

Frank left and was soon back with his suitcases.

“We’ll leave in the morning at ten o’clock.” He wore a puzzled look. “They told me they forgot to tell the train crew to pick you up. That’s damned peculiar.”

“Probably the depot agent was a relative of the stake-holder,” I thought.

The Palace swayed and bounced as we clanked along on the narrow-gauge railroad. The coal-burner puffed and snorted, and the engineer kept blowing the whistle like hell. We went over covered bridges with roofs so low I thought the top of the Palace would be torn off. It seemed to clear only by inches. Every time we saw a low bridge ahead we held our breath. Chuck let part of the air out of the tires to lower the body. It was a nerve-shattering ride.

We finally arrived in Tapachula. Before they would unload us, the agent said we must pay one hundred pesos for loading and unloading.

“I paid that on the other end!” I exclaimed.

“No,” the agent said. “You pay on this end. If you paid on other end, they have robbed you.”

I agreed with him there all right. So, I paid the hundred pesos once more. These people get you going and coming.

Chapter Twenty-Nine — Guatemala

The following morning we crossed the Guatemalan border. Frank’s knowledge of the Spanish language had made the entrance into the country simple and we were thankful we had him with us.

The rain had caused considerable damage to the roads, and the sky still looked dark and threatening. Many of the bridges had been washed away and we had to make long detours, some of them far back into the jungle.

We were now entering the land of the ox carts for which Guatemala is famous — huge two-wheel carts pulled by thick, sturdy oxen. We got stuck in the mud many times, and if it hadn’t been for the natives with their oxen and their big two-wheelers, we never would have gotten out. The natives seemed to enjoy rescuing us by means of their ancient mode of transportation. They wore big grins that seemed to say, “Look who’s pulling whom!”

After about three days of this our surroundings began to change. The country was not so flat, the hills around us were turning into mountains. The roads were getting much better, and the sun was shinning.

“Tonight we will be in Guatemala City,” said Chuck expectantly.

Frank shrugged. “I’ve never seen so damn much mud in all my life! Everything is covered with mud. My shoes are full of mud, the Palace looks like a big mud ball inside and out.”

I glanced down at the floorboard where there was at least two inches of the sticky stuff. “It will all wash off,” I said cheerfully. “It’s nothing a little soap and water won’t cure.” I gave them the once-over. Their filthy shirts and trousers, their dirty, bewhiskered faces made them look like bums. I began to laugh.

“You guys look like hell!” I chuckled.

“If I look any worse than you do, it’s because I’m bigger than you,” snorted Chuck.

“If only my mother could see me now,” sighed Frank.

We were a pretty dirty trio all right, but this didn’t dampen our high spirits as we approached Guatemala City. I had landed at the airport twice before, but I’d never had a chance to look the city over thoroughly. In fact, I hadn’t left the airport.

I remarked, “Fellows, this is a beautiful city — anyhow it looks beautiful from the air. I suggest we take the Palace to a garage or service station, have it oiled, greased and cleaned, then get rooms at the finest hotel in town and throw a party.”

I thought to myself. “Brother Bill is a grand guy for sure. He gets a hold of an old history book, reads it, then flies to Dallas, Texas. Then he convinces a couple of millionaires there is gold in Nicaragua. They fly down, have a swell time and decide it would be a good idea for me to go there and locate a fabulous gold mine! Just like that! Easy — nothing to it!”

Bill had gone on a reconnoitering trip for several weeks and the Texans probably had paid all the bills. Maybe Bill hadn’t put out more than his gasoline from Reno to Dallas and back. Some soft snap.

I hated to admit to myself that Bill was a great deal smarter than I. On arranging a deal perhaps he was. But as I thought about the incidents of the last few months, I couldn’t help but ask myself questions. “Who had done all the work? Who had found the gold?”

I felt of the scar on my chin. It hadn’t fully healed. There was a big scar on my belly where the knife of Pedro had almost cut me wide open. I thought of those millionaires from Texas — big shots wanting a gold mine in Nicaragua, so they could fly down every so often and play with the beautiful Señoritas. Money meant very little to those guys. “What’s a few thousand dollars to them?” I asked myself. If they do lose money, they can deduct their losses from their income tax, and in the end what can they lose? Very little.

So here I was, doing all the hard work. I had found the gold; and several times it had nearly been the end of me. How much had it cost those millionaire Texans? A measly few thousand dollars! I had spent very little of their money and I had a receipt for most of it. Yes, I was supposed to keep track of everything, but a written receipt is damned hard to get sometimes, especially if the gas station operator can’t read or write. I guess I was feeling resentful. Just then a road sign appeared, “GUATEMALA CITY, 20 KILOMETERS.”

I grinned at Chuck and Frank. “Fellows, tonight we celebrate. We’ll have a party at the expense of a couple of millionaires from Texas!”

“What do you mean by that?” Frank asked. There was a puzzled look on his face.

“It’s a long story,” I told him, “and don’t ask a bunch of foolish questions because I don’t feel like answering them.”

Chuck was grinning from ear to ear. “You’re the boss, Joe. Count me in.”

Frank shook his head. “You guys go ahead and have your party. My expense account is very moderate and I can’t afford…”

I cut him off. “We’re throwing a party tonight, and you are in on it. Forget about the expense. It won’t cost you a cent. We are going to throw a first-class party, Texas style. Just pretend you’re a big shot from Texas and own a flock of producing oil wells. The sky will be the limit.”

“I always wondered what it would be like to be a big oil man.” Frank laughed. “So if you insist…”

We came to another signboard, reading, “GUATEMALA CITY, 10 KILOMETERS.” We were almost there. Suddenly Chuck blurted out, “What the hell is that ahead of us?”

I looked down the road. Indeed it was a startling sight. The highway ran between hundreds of acres where there stood all sorts of statues.

“A marble orchard!” Chuck exclaimed. “Must be a cemetery. I’ve seen a lot of ’em in my day, but never anything like this.”

“What a sight!” said Frank. “Look at the size of those monuments — the colors. I wonder where they found so many different colored rocks.”

“They sure must think a lot of the dead.” I remarked. “Flowers — fresh ones on each grave. Every day must be Decoration Day around here.”

It was a remarkable sight. The smallest markers were at least three feet high and many of them eight or ten feet. They were beautifully carved and sunshine on the rainbow hued stones made them look like precious works of art. This burial ground must have been use for hundreds of years.

As we approached the city we began to pass gasoline stations that reminded me of home — Standard Oil, Texaco and others. We stopped at one and filled up a thirsty Palace, and it could drink plenty. There were nice, clean rest rooms behind all the stations; one for men, and one for women.

Chuck remarked, “the last time I remember seeing a rest room in a service station was back in Arizona.”

The attendant checked our water and oil, and even washed the windshield! I paid him with a U. S. Bill. He gave me back change in quetzals — Guatemalan money. Here the quetzal was worth the same as a United States dollar.

The station attendant could speak some English. I asked him which was the best hotel in the city. He directed me to the Hotel Internacional.

As we entered the city’s main street, I found it reminded me of Managua, Later I discovered that it was much larger with a population of about three hundred and seventy-five thousand. Here, most of the ox carts seemed to have somehow managed to escape the reckless automobile drivers. We drove down Market Street. This too was much the same as Managua. Nearly anything is offered for sale here, and natives seemed to prefer to carry everything on top of their heads.

The whole downtown district was very modern, with many beautiful buildings and several swanky hotels. All I had heard about the beauty of this city seemed to be true, and I decided that any kind of good time could be had here.

We left the Palace in the Hotel Internacional’s parking lot and went in. The desk clerk could speak English. I told him we would like three of the finest rooms available. Also I told him that our camper was in the parking lot and we would like it cleaned inside and out. He assured me everything would be taken care of.

We went from the lobby to the Palace to get some things. I suggested to Frank and Chuck. “We’re going on a first-class party tonight, so let’s dress in our best.” Our clothes were a mess. My best suit looked like it had been slept in for a week. Chuck’s and Frank’s were in the same sorry condition.

“This damp, humid climate sure raises hell with clothing,” said Frank. “Just look at this!” He held up his best suit. It resembled my own. I glanced at my wristwatch.

“It’s only six in the evening, fellows. We’ve plenty of time. We’ll take our suits over to the hotel and send them out to be pressed. Meanwhile we can shave and take baths.”

We gathered up our clothing, walked back to the hotel and over to the elevator. A bellhop was waiting. He took us up to the second floor, opened the door to a room and we stepped inside. “These are the best rooms in the hotel,” he said in excellent English. “The two others adjoin this one.”

They were well-appointed rooms with deep carpeting on the floor. The beds were enormous with box springs and thick mattresses. A handmade bedspread covered the blankets. The walnut furniture, complete with bureaus, dressers and comfortable lounge chairs and sofas, was as fine as any I’d ever seen in the States.

“Mighty nifty,” I told him. Already, I was beginning to feel like a tycoon from Texas!

“We plan to paint the town red tonight,” I went on.

“Our suits are in terrible shape, and look like they just came out of a rag bag. How long will it take to have them pressed? “Not cleaned, just pressed.”

“Only a short while,” said the bellhop. “I’ll send them out immediately.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Jesús,” he replied.

“All right, Jesús, get going.”

He started for the door with the suits over his arm. “Wait a minute!” I turned to Frank. “What do you like to drink? I know Chuck here drinks any old thing.”

“Same with me,” said Frank.

“All right, Jesús, bring up a case of cold beer,” I ordered, “also a bottle of good scotch, a bottle of your best rum, some Coke, and plenty of ice.”

I tossed him a dollar and he was gone.

We shaved, showered and put on clean skivvies. Soon Jesús soon came back pushing in a four-wheeled cart loaded down with the refreshments.

Then the party began.

“I am here to serve you,” said Jesús. “I will be the bartender.”

“Good! Give me a scotch over the rocks — make it a double shot. How about you guys? The same?”

They nodded.

“Have one yourself, Jesús,” I suggested.

He smiled and poured himself a big slug.

“Here’s to Texas!” I held up my glass. Chuck and Frank grinned. “Yes, here’s to Texas” they echoed.

After we had drunk to Texas three or four times, I asked Jesús, “Where are all the beautiful Señoritas? You must find each of us a beautiful Señorita.”

“That will be no problem,” he said. “Down the street and only a few blocks away there are many beautiful Señoritas. When your clothes return I will take you there.”

“Is it a whorehouse?” I asked.

“No, it is a very nice night club. There are many beautiful girls that work there. They wait tables, also they sing and dance. When you see one you like, smile at her and she will go with you.”

“Is it all right to bring them up here?” asked Frank.

“Sure,” said Jesús. “There will be an extra charge, but if you don’t mind paying the bill, it will be all right.”

“Bring on the girls!” yelled Chuck.

“Bring on my pants!” yelled Frank. “What are we waiting for?”

“They will not be ready now,” said Jesús. “It will be a little while yet.”

The bottle of scotch was empty. “How about a rum and coke, fellows?” I asked.

“I’ll have a cold beer,” said Chuck.

“Me too,” came from Frank.

Jesús opened a beer for himself too. I took a rum and coke.

Chuck took a drink from his glass. “This sure tastes weak after drinking all that scotch,” he remarked. “It sure needs something done to it.”

He picked up the bottle of rum and poured about half the contents into the three partially empty beer glasses. “Here,” he grinned. “That should sweeten it up a bit!” He paused for a moment then, “here’s to Texas! Drink ‘er down!”

I shuddered as the glasses were drained. I looked at my watch, it was almost nine o’clock! I looked at Jesús. He must be getting pretty drunk, and there seemed to be two of him. “No more drinks for you,” I yelled at him. “Get down that elevator and find our clothes!”

He seemed to be wobbling as he went out the door. I felt a bit woozy myself, so I flopped across the bed. A few minutes of napping would do me good, I decided.

Sometime later I was awakened by great puffing sounds followed by a series of grunts. I sat up and looked around. Chuck and Frank were on their hands and knees bent over a small end table. They were “turning arms,” each twisting with all his might, trying to turn the other’s arm down. It was quite a game.

“Have our clothes come yet?” I asked.

They didn’t seem to hear me. I slipped on the pair of trousers I had worn when I landed in this place.

They were too dirty, so I took them off and threw them in a corner. There was a mighty wrath burning inside me. I didn’t bother to put on shirt or shoes. I had only one thing in mind and that was to get my hands on that Jesús.

Clad in nothing but my skivvies, I stepped into the hallway and glanced toward the elevator, decided it would be too slow. I went down the stairway six steps at a jump. The lobby clerk had a startled look on his face as I came down the home stretch. I must have been quite a sight.

I ran up to him and shook my fist under his nose. “Where the hell are our clothes?” I bellowed.

He looked scared.

“Where the hell is Jesús?” I roared at him.

The guy was shaking all over.

“Jesús has gone home.” he wailed. “He was very drunk and passed out on the floor. We sent him home in a taxi.”

I grabbed the clerk by his shirt. “I want my clothes. Jesús took our clothes! Now what th’ hell did he do with ’em?”

“Please, mister,” said the clerk, “don’t blame me. He took them out somewhere to get them pressed and I do not know where. He will be here in the morning and I am sure he will get them for you.”

I could see I was getting nowhere with this guy. I would have to settle with Jesús in the morning. I released him and started slowly back up the stairway. “Party . . . party? Where was our party?”

When I got back to our suite I sure was disgusted. There on the floor lay Chuck and Frank. They had passed out cold.