Winnetou, the Apache Knight by Karl Friedrich May (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

will be harder for me to hit, but he is mistaken; I can hit him just as well. I might have shot without a word, but I’ll be honorable with him. He was to have a wound only in the right knee, but now that cannot be, for if he stands with his side towards me the shot will shatter both knees. That is the only difference; he can do as he likes; I have warned him.”

“Shoot with bullets and not with words,” he answered, ignoring my warning.

“Now Old Shatterhand shoots,” said Winnetou. “One - two -three.” My bullet whistled through the air. Tangua uttered a loud shriek, dropped his gun, threw up his arms, waved them about wildly, and fell.

“Uff! uff! uff!” echoed all around, and every one ran over to see where he had been wounded. I also went over, the Indians respectfully making way for me.

“In both knees, in both knees!” I heard on all sides.

Tangua lay moaning on the ground as I came up; Winnetou knelt by him examining the wound. He saw me coming, and said: “The shot has gone just where my white brother said it should; it has broken both knees. Tangua can never again ride out to cast his eyes on the horses of another tribe.”

When the wounded man saw me he began another torrent of abuse, but I compelled him to be silent a moment, and said: “I warned you, and you would not heed the warning; you alone are to blame.”

He dared not complain of the pain, for under no circumstances may an Indian do this; he bit his lip, looked sullenly around, and growled: “I am wounded, and cannot go home; I must stay with the Apaches.”

Winnetou shook his head, and answered decidedly: “You will go home, for we have no room for the thief of our horses and the murderer of our braves. We have not avenged ourselves with blood, but have accepted ransom in beasts and goods; more you cannot expect. No Kiowa belongs in our pueblo.”

“But I cannot ride.”

“Old Shatterhand was much more severely wounded than you are, and could not ride, yet he had to come with us. Think of him often; it will be good for you. The Kiowas must leave here to-day, and those of them that we find in our domains tomorrow we will treat as they wished Old Shatterhand to be treated. I have spoken. How!”

He took me by the hand and led me away, and I knew, though he said nothing, that he was pleased with the result of this last adventure and the punishment of his treacherous foe.

CHAPTER XVII. THE END OF RATTLER.

WINNETOU and I walked a little distance away from the Indians who were still assembling to see Rattler’s torture. When we had gone beyond their hearing, Winnetou asked me gravely why I had left the pueblo.

“We came back because we heard that Rattler was soon to die; is that so? ” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I do not see him anywhere.”

“He lies in the cart beside the body of his victim.”

“I was told that he was to be tortured, and I cannot look upon such a death.”

“Therefore my father, Intschu-Tschuna, took you back to the pueblo. Why did you not stay there? Why do you want to see something you cannot look upon?”

“I hope that I may be present at his death without being shocked. My religion teaches me to plead with you for Rattler.”

“Your religion? Is it not his also?”

“Yes and no; he was born a Christian, but not a Catholic Christian.”

“Did he keep its commandments?”

“Most certainly he did not.”

“Then it is not necessary for you to observe them in regard to him. Your religion forbids murder; nevertheless he is a murderer, so the teachings of your religion are not to be applied to our treatment of him.”

“I cannot be guided by what he has done; I must fulfil my duty without regard to other men’s shortcomings. I beg of you, modify your decision, and let this man die a speedy death.”

“What has been determined upon must be carried

out.”

“And is there no way to fulfil my request?”

Winnetou’s eyes sought the ground; he thought earnestly for a while, then said: “There is a way, but before I tell my white brother what it is I must beg him not to use it, for it would disgrace him sorely in the eyes of our warriors.”

“How would it? Is it a dishonorable action?”

“In the eyes of a red man it is. You would have to appeal to our gratitude.”

“Oh, no decent man would do that.”

“No. We owe you our lives. If you appeal to that fact you could force my father and me to do your will. We would hold a new council, and during it we would speak of you in such a way that our warriors must acknowledge our debt to you and grant your desire. But henceforth everything you have done for us would be valueless. Is this Rattler worth such a sacrifice?”

“Certainly not.”

“My brother sees that I speak frankly to him. I know the thoughts and feelings in his heart, but my braves would never grasp them. A man who appealed to gratitude would be contemptible to them. Shall 0ld Shatterhand, who can become the greatest and most renowned warrior of the Apaches, be driven away from us to-day because our braves despise him?”

It was hard for me to answer; my heart bade me press my request, my common-sense forbade it. Winnetou understood the struggle within me, and said: “I will speak to Intschu-Tschuna, my father. My brother may wait here.”

“Don’t do anything foolish,” said Sam as he left us. “You don’t know how much may depend on this; maybe life itself.”

“Oh, that couldn’t be,” I said.

“Indeed it could easily. The red man so greatly despises any one who asks a favor on the strength of what has been done for him that we actually could not stay here if you did it; and if we left here we should surely fall into the hands of the Kiowas, and there’s no need of telling you what that means.”

Intschu-Tschuna and Winnetou talked earnestly together for a while, then they came to us, and the former said: “Had not Kleki-Petrah told me so much of your faith, I should feel you were a man to whom it was a disgrace to talk. But I can understand your wish perfectly; though if my warriors were to hear it they would never understand, and would only despise you.”

“It is not a question of my wish alone, but of Kleki-Petrah’s, of whom you speak,” I said.

“How is it a question of his desire?”

“He believed in this same faith which commands me to make this plea, and he died in it. His religion bade him forgive his enemies. Believe me, if he could speak he would not consent to his murderer dying such a death.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know it.”

He shook his head slowly. “What kind of men are you Christians? Either you are bad, and then your wickedness is so great that no one can understand it, or else you are good, and then your goodness is equally incomprehensible.”

He and his son looked at each other, and spoke together privately, but only for a moment. Then Intschu-Tschuna turned back to me and said: “This murderer was your enemy also?”

“Yes.”

“And you have forgiven him?”

“Yes.”

“Then hear me. We will see if there is the least, tiniest spark of goodness in him. Should we find one, we will try to do as you wish without disgracing you. Sit here and wait. If I give you a signal, come over to the murderer, and tell him to ask your pardon. If he does this, he shall die quickly.”

“And may I tell him so?”

“Yes.”

Intschu-Tschuna went back with Winnetou to the circle of braves, and we sat down where we were.

“I never dreamed that the chief would listen to you,” said Sam Hawkins. “You must stand well with him.”

“That is not the only reason; it is the influence of Kleki-Petrah, powerful though he is dead. Thase Indians have absorbed more real, interior Christianity than you suspect.”

We looked over towards the cart wherein the doomed man lay, and saw a long box-like object, on which a man was bound.

“That is the coffin,” said Sam, “made of hollow logs with wet leather drawn over them, which will be air-tight when the leather has dried. Kleki-Petrah’s body has been embalmed, you know.”

Not far from the head of the valley rose a cliff on which an open square had been newly made of great stones piled on top of each other, and many more stones had been gathered together around it. The man bound on the coffin was now carried to this square. It was Rattler.

“Do you know why those stones have been collected there?” asked Sam.

“To build a tomb, I suppose.”

“Yes; a double tomb.”

“For Rattler, too?”

“Yes; they will bury the murderer with his victim.”

“Horrible! Think of being bound alive to the coffin of the man one killed, knowing that is to be one’s last resting-place!”

“I really believe you are sorry for this man. I can understand your interceding for a quick death for him, but I certainly can’t understand your pity for him.”

The coffin was now raised so that Rattler was placed on his feet, and he was bound fast by strong ropes to the one wall of the tomb. The Indians, men, women, and children drew near to the place, and made a half-circle around it. Profound, expectant silence reigned. Intschu-Tschuna stood before the coffin and spoke. “The Apache braves are gathered here because their people have suffered a great loss, and he who has caused it must pay for it with his life,” he said. He then spoke in the figurative Indian manner of Kleki-Petrah, telling them of his character and work, and the way in which he had met his death, and concluded by announcing that it had been decided that Rattler was now to be tortured, bound as he then was to the coffin, and should be buried with his victim. Turning to me at this point, he gave me the expected signal, and we went forward and were admitted into the circle. I had been too far away before to see Rattler clearly, but now as I stood before him, wicked and godless as he was, I felt the most profound pity for the wretch. The coffin was twice the width of a man’s body and over eight feet long. Rattler was fastened with his back to it, his arms behind him, and his feet stretched apart. He showed that he had suffered from hunger and thirst. A gag was in his mouth, and he could not speak; his head, too, was fastened so that he could not move it. As I came up, Intschu-Tschuna took the gag out of his mouth, and said:

“My white brother wished to speak to this murderer; now he may do so.”

Rattler could see that I was free and must be on good terms with the Indian. I thought, therefore, that he would ask me to speak a good word for him; but, instead of this, as soon as the gag was removed he said to me bitterly: “What do you want of me? Get out of here! I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“You have heard that you were doomed to die, Rattler,” I said gently. “There is no way out of that; die you must, but -”

“Get out, you dog, get out!” he shrieked, trying to