Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/The Honest Muleteers
THE HONEST MULETEERS
ROUGH and ignorant as are some of the mountain men, honesty is no rare virtue. Old José of Coquimbo had been guide, freighter, and messenger across the Cordilleras since boyhood, and the priest was not more surely trusted than he. The mines had been worked as never before one summer, and there were many laborers up there in the mountains awaiting their pay. "It will be a heavy bag for you to carry this time, friend José," said the superintendent. "I am putting two hundred gold doubloons in your charge."
"They shall be safe with me, señor."
"I know it, José. To hide it the better we will put half the weight at one end of the bag and half at the other, for we can tie the mouth of it secure. Now, put it across your mule's back, under the saddle and the blanket, so it shall not be seen, then wear your longest poncho, and I'll warrant there'll be no danger."
Three thousand dollars in gold is not so great a burden, yet it is not a thing to exhibit to the covetous and lawless; so the best place for it was under the saddle, no doubt. José rode away toward the snowy peaks; he reached the desert at the rise of the moon and rode on, enjoying the vastness, the silence, and the stars until his mule began to go heavily. "Anita, girl, we're not so light on this trip as usual, eh? Come, then. We'll rest. There's no forage for you but this handful of oats, and no water till we reach the hills, but you shall sleep. Only, you must wear the saddle this time, for there's something under it—aha!—something to make the eyes of the peons sparkle when they shall see it." He put his hand under the saddle. Yes, the doubloons on the right side were safe. He went around to the other side, reached up, and—the money was gone! The string had untied, and the gold had been spilt among the desert sands. Lost! And his good name! Would they not believe him to be a thief? Or, if they thought him honest, would they ever trust money to him again? His heart sank until he felt a sickness. Nothing could be done until day, and he would spend the rest of the night praying that he might find the missing gold. With the rise of the sun he started back afoot, leading his mule and examining every foot of the way. He had gone only two or three miles when a cloud of dust appeared away out on the plain. It drew nearer. It was a pack-train with ten drivers. He knew them all, for they had been his pupils in the business,—true-hearted lads every one. They were laughing and calling. "They would not laugh if they knew how ashamed and miserable I am," he said.
"Ho, friend José," called the first, as he galloped up to the old man, "why are you pulling so long a face?"
"I have lost half a bag of doubloons, and my reputation, and my peace of mind."
"I cannot return the peace of mind, but here are ten of the doubloons. I found them in the sand."
"Thanks to God. My sorrow is by so much the less."
Then came the second muleteer. "Father José," he cried, "what is lacking with you?"
"Ninety doubloons," said José.
"Tut! It is only eighty, for here are ten."
Then followed Domingo and Carlos and the rest, each with his question and his ten coins, until the last, who had but nine,—for so they had divided the treasure. The missing piece had been trodden into the sand and lost. Between them all they made up the hundredth doubloon. José went to his knees, and with wet eyes raised toward the sky he thanked God that his prayer had been heard, that neither the treasure nor his honor had been lost. The bag was now so tied and sewed and twisted that its contents could not possibly be spilled again; then, with lightened heart, José rode on at the head of the train, singing. "Boys," he said, after a time, "I taught you to ride, to swim, to ford, to pack, to make camp, to splice and hitch, and all the rest of it; but I've got my reward now when I find that all of you are honest."