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

An ineffable expression came upon his face, and he murmured in a faint voice: “My leaves are cut off, not fading; it is - wiped out. I die - as - I - wished. God, forgive - forgive. Jesus, mercy - mercy - Mary, pray - mercy -” He folded his hands, a flood of blood burst from his wound, his head fell back: he was dead.

Now I knew what had led him to unburden his heart to me - the inspiration of God, as he had said. He had wished to die for Winnetou; how quickly had his wish been fulfilled! The last trace of his sin had been washed away. God is love and infinite compassion; the contrite He will in no wise cast out.

Winnetou laid the dead man’s head in the grass, slowly rose, and looked interrogatively at his father.

“There lies the murderer where I have struck him down; he is yours,” I said.

“Fire-water!” Only this brief reply came from the chief’s lips in contemptuous tones.

“I will be your friend, your brother; I will go with you.” The words burst from me involuntarily.

Intschu-Tschuna spat in my face. “Miserable cur!” he said, “thief of our land, dare to follow us, and I will crush you!”

I let the insult pass, awed by the presence of the dead and my promise to him.

The white men stood dumbly waiting to see what the Apaches would do. They never glanced at us again. Placing the corpse on the horse which Kleki-Petrah had ridden, they bound it fast, took the bridle, and, mounting themselves, rode away.

They spoke no word, and as Sam Hawkins watched them disappear he said: “That is more dangerous than the most dreadful threats. We shall see trouble, and there lies the cause, with no mind or soul; what shall we do with him?”

I did not wait to hear the answer; I saddled my horse and rode away. I wished to be alone to escape hearing this last awful half-hour discussed. It was late in the evening when, weary and exhausted in body and soul, I returned to the camp.

CHAPTER VII. A COMPACT WITH THE KIOWAS.

IT was decided by our party that we were not able, under the circumstances, to punish Rattler for his crime, which was most unsatisfactory to my youthful sense of justice. Sam pointed out, however, that his punishment was swift and certain at the hands of the Apaches; but the drawback to this consolation was that we who were innocent were likely to suffer with the guilty. We knew that the Indians would return to avenge Kleki-Petrah’s murder as soon as they could summon their warriors, and the most important thing for us was to discover where the main body of the braves were, how far the chief and his son must ride to come up with them, and consequently when we could expect their return. Bancroft was most anxious to finish our work before we left, provided there was time before the anticipated attack, and calculated that it would require five days to complete our task. So Sam Hawkins volunteered to ride on the trail of the chiefs who had visited us, to discover, if possible, all that we needed to know, and took me with him, partly for protection, because I had earned such a reputation for being able to strike a hard blow with what Sam called my” lily lady-fingers,” partly that I might have experience in the art of following a trail, and partly, I hope, because he liked to have me with him.

I had not been able to eat or sleep the night after the murder, for I could not cease going over the dreadful scene. I saw myself seated by Kleki-Petrah, heard his story, which had become to me a dying confession, and thought again and again of his last words, expressing a presentiment of his coming death. Yes, the tree of his life had not fallen naturally, but had been violently cut down, and by what an assassin, for what a reason, and in what a manner! If there was any consolation to be found in the bloody work of that day, it was that Kleki-Petrah had died on Winnetou’s heart, and he had received the shot intended for his beloved pupil.

But what of his request that I should cling to Winnetou and fulfil the work that he had begun? Only a few moments before he had said that we should probably never meet again, and indeed my path in life lay far enough from the Apaches, and yet he had left me a problem the solution of which would bring me into the most intimate relations with that tribe. Was this request but chance words? Or was the dying man in the last moment of his life, as his soul fluttered on the border of the next world, given a glimpse of the future? It seems so, for events enabled me to fulfil his wish, though then it appeared extremely unlikely that I should ever be brought into friendly contact with Winnetou.

But why above all had I so quickly given my pledge to the dying man? Through pity? Yes, undoubtedly; but there was another reason. Winnetou had made an impression upon me such as I had never received from any other man. He was exactly my age, yet of greater parts, and this I felt from the first glance at him. The proud earnestness of his clear, velvety eyes, the quiet certainty of his bearing, and the profound sorrow on his fine young face had revealed it to me. How admirable had been his conduct and that of his father! And what a lesson for many a white man lay in Intschu-Tschuna’s one word of explanation of Rattler’s crime:” Fire-water!” These thoughts, and the dread of meeting as enemies, returned to slay me and my comrades, these two whom I not only liked, but whom I had promised to befriend, kept all sleep from my eyelids, and it was with a heavy heart that I set out with Sam on the following morning to ride on their trail.

We started early, before the sun had risen. It was my very first scouting expedition, and, though I have since taken many such rides, I can never forget this first one. The trail was easily followed, a fact which made Sam doubt its being trustworthy; for he said that when an Indian left his course so easily traced by an enemy the chance was it was done only to lead that enemy info a trap. But I felt sure that in this case it was only because the chief and Winnetou were too heavily encumbered by the corpse of Kleki-Petrah, and in too great haste to avenge his murder, to obliterate the trace of their course, and rode on with no fear of an ambush.

It was an hour before mid-day when we came to a thicket of young oaks where the Indians had evidently halted to cut saplings for a litter or drag for the body of Kleki-Petrah, for we saw the leaves and twigs which they had stripped from the young trees in its construction lying on the ground. Here Sam reined up, saying:” Now we’ve gone far enough; we’ll rest awhile. Winnetou rode all night to this point; do you see that the trail goes on from here in single file? That means that they rode this way to cover the fact that one has gone on alone, for greater speed, leaving the other to follow with the body. The one in advance is probably the chief, and Winnetou has taken charge of his murdered teacher. This will enable Intschu-Tschuna to summon his braves quickly, and we may expect their return very soon, perhaps before the five days are up which you need for your work.”

We let our horses, or rather my horse and Nancy, drink at a stream which flowed between the saplings, and we lay down to rest for half an hour before we turned to go back. We lay silent, I thinking of the approaching struggle with the Apaches, while I saw by the regular heaving of his breast that Sam slept. If I needed a proof of the intelligence of animals, and the keenness attained by the senses of both man and beast in a life in the wilds, I was to receive it now. The mule was tethered in the bushes, where she could see nothing, nibbling the leaves and grass; she was not a sociable beast and preferred to be alone, while my horse grazed close to my elbow. Suddenly Nancy uttered a short, sharp, I might almost say warning, note, and in an instant Sam was awake and on his feet.

“I was asleep, but Nancy woke me. Some man or beast is coming. Where is my mule?” he cried.

“Here in the bushes; this way.”

We crawled through the undergrowth, and saw only Nancy looking out through the branches. Her long ears waved excitedly, and her tail swung from side to side; but when she saw us coming she quieted down; ears and tail were still.

We peered out, and saw six Indians coming on the trail single file. The first one, a short but muscular man, kept his head down, apparently never raising his eyes from the trail. They all wore leather leggings and dark woollen shirts, and were armed with muskets, knives, and tomahawks. Their faces shone with grease, and across each one ran a red and a blue stripe.

“What a lucky meeting! They are Kiowas, and they’ll save us,” said Sam. “The one ahead is Bao, which means Fox , a daring and crafty warrior, as his name indicates. The chief of the band is called Tangua, a bold Indian, and a good friend of mine. They have their war-paint on, and apparently they also are reconnoitring.”

The six warriors drew near while I was wondering how they could save us. Six Indians would not be much help, but it was a comfort to find that Sam knew them, and that at least we had nothing to fear from them. Sam stopped forth from the bushes, put his hands to his mouth, and uttered a peculiar sharp cry which they seemed to recognise, for they reined in their horses and shouted back. Again Sam called to them and signalled, and they understood both cry and signal, for, returning them, they galloped toward us.

“Is our white brother Sam here?” asked the leader as he came up. “How comes he in the path of his red friend and brother?”

“Bao, the crafty fox, has met me because he came upon my tracks,” answered Sam.

“We thought they were the tracks of the red dogs we seek,” said the For in broken but perfectly comprehensible English.

“What does my brother mean?”

“The Apaches of the tribe of Mascaleros.”

“Why do you call them dogs? is there enmity between them and the brave Kiowas?”

“There is war between us and these scurvy coyotes.”

“I am glad to hear it. My brothers may sit down with us, for I have something important to tell them.”

The Fox looked at me searchingly, and said ” I have never seen this young paleface; is he one of the warriors of the white men? Has he won a name?”

If Sam had told him my own name it would have made no impression, so he fell back on the name Wheeler had given me.” This is my dearest friend and brother, and though he is young he is a great warrior among his own people in the rising sun. Never in his life had he seen a buffalo, yet two days ago he fought with two bulls to save my