The Empty Trap by John D. MacDonald

recognized as his own wallet. Lloyd halted himself just in time before looking in it. He sensed that would be rude. He put it casually aside and said, “Thank you.”
    “It contains thirty-four American dollars and eleven hundred and ten pesos. It is a great deal of money,” Armando said.
    But not enough, Lloyd thought, even to tempt Tulsa or Benny to take it. That was part of the window dressing if the accident was discovered. “I thank you for saving it for me.”
    Armando nodded gravely. He told the story. When it was Roberto’s turn, he took over. They both spoke slowly for Lloyd’s sake. Roberto had been gathering charcoal after a mountain fire. He had his two burros with him. He had looked down into a valley and seen a glint of metal. All the way home he had wondered about it, and, two days later, had gone down into the valley with one burro. He had found the Señor Lloyd in madness, very close to death. Roberto had waited for death to come, but it did not. Finally he had placed the Señor Lloyd on the burro and had brought him back to this place. He did not die on the seven hour trip as Roberto had expected. They were mountain people here, accustomed to the breaking of bones and the fixing of bones. They fixed the jaw and the wrist and the ankle, not as well as a doctor could do it, but as well as they could. The fever was very bad. He was like a bed of coals. They gave him remedies and waited for him to die. It was a curious problem. If the Señor Lloyd should die, then the money and the things fromthe automobile would properly belong to Roberto, and to Armando who was his cousin. This was fair because it had been Armando who, hearing Roberto’s story, had urged him to go back to the valley. But it was not permitted to kill the Señor Lloyd. They were not murderers in this valley, except for a true cause, and to make profit was not a true cause. It was equally murder to neglect a man’s wounds. The honorable thing was to care for the Señor Lloyd. If he died, there would be no question of taking his money and possessions. If he lived, such a thing could not be done. They were not thieves in this valley. The Señor Lloyd had lived and now was stronger each day. When the time came, they would bind his eyes and Roberto would take him to a place where he could easily walk to the village of Talascatan. It was regrettable the binding of the eyes was necessary, but a vote had been taken, and though it would appear the Señor Lloyd had reasons for being grateful, it was best that no one should worry about such a matter.
    And now, in fairness, it should be explained why no doctor was brought to the Señor Lloyd. There are twenty-eight persons in this valley, counting the children. There was political trouble in the village of Pinal Blanco, a village which is two villages beyond Talascatan. There was a tax matter and killing, and powerful enemies made. A price was placed on the heads of certain men. The choice was to become bandits, or live in a hidden place in peace. They were not thieves, nor murderers. This is a hidden valley. The trail is very difficult. Roberto, who is not wanted by the law, goes to Talascatan for their needs. It is a way to live in peace, but there are difficulties. No doctor, no schools, no church. But that is better than being a bandit, no?
    Armando said, into the silence, “And you have strong enemies too, Señor Lloyd.”
    It was statement, not question. They would have seen the burns on chest and feet. They had been frank, and expected an equal frankness.
    “They are enemies from my country. They followed me here. They found me at a hotel in Talascatan. Theystrangled the woman, put us in my car and pushed us over the edge.”
    There was a gasp of horror and interest. “I do not know how it is you live,” Armando said.
    “They believe me dead.”
    Armando fingered his chin. “If they did this thing, why did they not take your money?” he said suspiciously.
    “They took money. They took