The Treasure of the Sierra Madre: A Novel

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre: A Novel

Language: English

Pages: 320

ISBN: 0809092972

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Little is known for certain about B. Traven. Evidence suggests that he was born Otto Feige in Schlewsig-Holstein and that he escaped a death sentence for his involvement with the anarchist underground in Bavaria. Traven spent most of his adult life in Mexico, where, under various names, he wrote several bestsellers and was an outspoken defender of the rights of Mexico's indigenous people. First published in 1935, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre is Traven's most famous and enduring work, the dark, savagely ironic, and riveting story of three down-and-out Americans hunting for gold in Sonora.

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someone coming. At last he could sit no longer. He had to stand up and walk about the fire. He told himself he did so only because he felt cold and had to walk to get warm. But the truth was that he wanted to look around freely. He would have felt better had he had a high brick wall against his back, to be sure that no one could be behind him. As he stood quietly for a moment, he thought he felt somebody behind him, so close that he had the sensation of breath on his neck. He imagined he felt

that the visitors may see you, get their medicine, and leave our village peacefully.” “There you see, partner,” Howard said to Curtin, “what an important person I am, and I want you to respect me properly.” “I certainly will, senor doctor.” Curtin laughed mockingly and shook hands with Howard. “And hurry up, old boy, and get well.” “I’m feeling fine already. I’m sure I will be okay inside of three days. As soon as I can sit in a saddle, I shall come over to your village to see the great

been brandishing lottery tickets right under his nose. The little merchant, barefooted and wearing a torn shirt and ragged cotton pants, did not mind; he was used to being yelled at. “It’s the Michoacan state lottery, senor,” he said; “sixty thousand pesos the main premium.” “Scram, you bandit, I don’t buy tickets.” Dobbs soaked his bread in the coffee. “The whole ticket is only ten pesos, senor, and it’s a sure shot.” “Son of a poacher, I haven’t got ten pesos.” “That’s all right by me,

the Monterrey lottery. A twentieth costs you only twenty centavos. Main premium, five thousand pesos cash. There, take it. It’s a plumb sure winner—an excellent number. Add the figures up and you’ll get thirteen. What better number could you buy? It’s bound to win.” Dobbs weighed the twenty-centavo piece in his hands. What should he do with it? More coffee? He didn’t want any more. Cigarettes? He didn’t want to smoke; he liked the taste of coffee on his tongue better just now, and smoke kills

They might, if only for fun, start to grill us about what we’re doing up here and they might nose around. I wouldn’t have liked it so very much, would you, partners?” “It’s better this way, I figure,” Dobbs said. “Let’s take in the second act of the picture.” Curtin was again watching the valley eagerly. The soldiers had taken up the trail. There could no longer be the slightest doubt. When still half a mile away from where the trail entered the base of the mountains they divided up in three

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