Winnetou, the Apache Knight - Karl Friedrich May (best books to read ever .txt) 📗

earth shovelled on the coffin, and lay in the ground a whole unbroken eternity, unable to move, till the lid of my coffin noiselessly slid off and disappeared. Was all this true? Could I be dead? I raised my hand to my forehead, and - ” Hallelujah! Oh, thank God! He comes back from death; he is alive!” cried Sam.

CHAPTER XIII. NURSED TO HEALTH FOR A CRUEL FATE.

AS I opened my eyes again upon this world I saw Sam Hawkins bending over me, his face radiant with joy, and a little behind him were Dick Stone and Will Parker, tears of happiness in their honest eyes.

Sam took both my hands in his, pushed away the forest of beard where his mouth should be, and said: “Do you know how long you have lain here? ” I answered only with a shake of the head.” Three weeks; three whole weeks. You have lead a frightful fever, and became rigid - to all appearance dead. The Apaches would have buried you, but I could not believe you were gone, and begged so hard that Winnetou spoke to his father, who allowed you to remain unburied until decomposition should set in. I have to thank Winneteu for that; I must call him.”

I closed my eyes, and lay still; no longer in the grave, but in a blessed languor, in weary content, only wishing to lie so forever and ever. I heard a step; a hand felt me over and moved my arm. Then I heard Winnetou’s voice saying: “Is not Sam Hawkins mistaken? Has Selki-Lata [Old Shatterhand ] really revived?”

“Yes, yes; we all three saw it. He answered my questions by movements of his head.”

“It is marvellous, but it were better he had not come back, for he has returned to life but to be killed.”

“But he is the Apaches’ best friend,” cried Sam.

“And yet he knocked me down twice.”

“Because he had to. The first time he did it to save your life, for you would have defended yourself, and the Kiowas would have killed you. And the second time he had to defend himself from you. We tried to explain, but your braves would not hear us.”

“Hawkins says this only to save himself.”

“No, it is the truth.”

“Your tongue lieth. Everything you have said to escape torture convinces us that you were even a greater enemy to us than the Kiowa dogs. You spied upon us and betrayed us. Had you been our friend you would have warned us of the Kiowas’ coming. Your excuses any child could see through. Do you think Intschu-Tschuna and Winnetou are more stupid than children?”

“I think nothing of the sort. Old Shatterhand is unconscious again, or he could tell you that I have spoken the truth.”

“Yes, he would lie as you do. The palefaces are all liars and traitors. I have known but one white man in whom truth dwelt, and that was Kleki-Petrah, whom you murdered. I was almost deceived in Old Shatterhand. I observed his daring and his bodily strength, and wondered at it. Uprightness seemed seated in his eyes, and I thought I could love him. But he was a land-thief, like the rest; he did not prevent you from entrapping us, and twice he knocked me in the head with his fist. Why does the Great Spirit make such a man, and give him so false a heart?”

I wanted to look at him as he spoke, but my muscles would not obey my will. Yet as I heard these last words my eyelids lifted, and I saw him standing before me clad in a light linen garment and unarmed.

“He has opened his eyes again,” cried Sam, and Winnetou bent over me, looking long and steadily into my eyes.

At last he said: “Can you speak? ” I shook my head.

“Have you any pain? ” I made the same reply.

“Be honest with me! When a man comes back from death he surely must speak the truth. Did you four men really want to free us?”

I nodded twice.

He waved his hand contemptuously, and cried excitedly: “Lies, lies, lies! Even on the brink of the grave, he lies! Had you told the truth I might have thought that at least you could improve, and ask my father to spare you. But you’re not worth such intercession, and must die. We will nurse you carefully, that you may be sound and strong to bear long torture. A weak or sick man would die quickly, and that is no punishment.”

I could not hold my eyes open any longer; ah, if I could but speak! The crafty little Sam Hawkins did not put our case very convincingly; I would have spoken differently. As I was feebly thinking this, Sam said to the young Apache chief: “We have told you clearly what our part was in this affair. Your braves would have been tortured, but Old Shatterhand prevented it by fighting Metan-Akva and conquering him. He risked his life for you, and as a reward he is to be tortured.”

“You have proved nothing to me, and the whole story is a lie.”

“Ask Tangua, the chief; he is in your hands.”

“I have asked him, and he says you lie. Old Shatterhand did not kill Metan-Akva; he was slain by our warriors in the attack.”

“That is outrageous. Tangua knows we befriended you and got the best of him, and now he wants to be revenged.”

“He has sworn by the Great Spirit, and I believe him, not you. I say to you, as I have just said to Old Shatterhand, if you had been honest with me I might have pleaded for you. Kleki-Petrah, who was our father, friend, and teacher, showed me the beauty of peace and gentleness. I do not seek blood, and my father, the chief, does as I desire. Therefore we have not killed one of the Kiowas whom we captured, and they will pay us for the wrong done us, not with their lives, but with horses, weapons, skins, and vessels. Rattler is Kleki-Petrah’s murderer, and must die.”

Sam answered this, the longest speech I had heard from the silent Winnetou, very briefly: “We can’t say we were your enemies when we are your friends.”

“Silence!” said Winnetou sternly. “I see that you will die with this lie on your lips. We have allowed you more liberty than the other prisoners that you might attend Old Shatterhand. You are not worth such consideration, and henceforth you shall be more restrained. The sick man needs you no longer, and you must come with me.”

“Don’t say that, don’t say that, Winnetou,” cried Sam in horror. “I can’t leave Old Shatterhand.”

“You must if I command it,” said the young chief. “I will not hear a word. Will you come with me, or shall my braves bind you and take you away?”

“We are in your power, and must obey. When shall we see Old Shatterhand again?”

“On the day of his death and yours.”

“Not before?”

“No.”

“Then let us say good-by now, before we follow you.”

He grasped my hands, and I felt his beard on my face as he kissed my brow. Stone and Parker did the same, and then they went away with Winnetou.

I lay a long time alone, till the Apaches came and carried me I knew not where, for I was too weak to see, and then I was left alone again, and slept. When I awoke I could open my eyes and move my tongue a little, and was far less weak than before. I found to my surprise that I lay in the furthest corner of a large, square room, built of stone, which received its light from an opening on one side which served as door. The skins of grizzly bears had been piled on top of one another to make a comfortable bed, and I was covered with a beautifully embroidered Indian blanket. In the corner by the door sat two Indian women, one old, the other young. Like all Indian women after they are past their youth, the former was ugly, bent, and seamed by the hard work that falls on the squaws when the braves are on the war-path or hunting. But the younger was very beautiful, so much so that she would have attracted attention in any civilised society. She wore a long, light blue garment, gathered about the neck, and held around the waist by a girdle of rattlesnake-skin. Her only ornament was her long, splendid hair, which fell below her hips in two heavy black braids. It resembled Winnetou’s, and the girl looked like him. She had the same velvety black eyes, which were half concealed by long, dark lashes, and there was no trace in her, nor in him, of the high cheek-bones of the Indian; her soft oval cheeks curved into a chin with a mischievous dimple. She spoke softly to the old woman, not to awaken me, and as her pretty, red lips parted in a laugh, her even, white teeth flashed between them. Her delicate nose was rather of Grecian than of Indian type, and her skin was a light copper bronze, with a silvery tint. This maiden looked about eighteen years old, and was, I felt sure, the sister of Winnetou.

I moved, and the maiden looked up from her work, rose, and came over to me. “You are awake,” she said, in perfectly good English to my surprise. “Is there anything you would like? ” I opened my mouth, but closed it again, realising that I could not speak. However, I had been able to move by an effort; perhaps I could speak if I tried. I made a great effort, and said: “Yes - I - want - much.”

I was delighted to hear my own voice after more than three weeks’ silence, though the words came indistinctly and painfully.

“Speak slowly or by signs,” said the young girl. “NschoTschi sees that speech is painful to you.”

“Is NschoTschi your name?”

“Yes.”

“It is fitting; you are like a lovely spring day when the first, sweetest flowers of the year are blooming.”

NschoTschi means ” Fair Day,” and she blushed a little at my compliment.

“Tell me what you desire,” she said.

“Tell me first why you are here.”

“My brother Winnetou commanded me to nurse you.”

“You are very like that brave young warrior.”

“You wanted to kill him.” These words were said half as a question, half as a statement, while she looked searchingly into my eyes, as if she would read my very soul.

“Never!” I said emphatically.

“He does not believe that, and considers you his enemy. You have twice struck down him whom no one has conquered.”

“Once to save his life; once to save my own. I loved him from the moment I first saw him.”

Again she looked long at me, then she said: “He does not believe you, and I am his sister. Does your mouth pain?”

“Not now.”

“Can you swallow?”

“I can try. Will you give me a drink of water?”

“Yes, and some to bathe in; we will bring it to you.”

She went away with the old woman, leaving me to wonder why Winnetou, who considered me his enemy and utterly refused to credit any assurance to the contrary, should send me his own sister as nurse.

After a time Fair Day came back with the older woman. The former carried a vessel of brown clay, such as the Pueblo Indians use, filled with fresh water. She thought me still too weak to drink without assistance, and held it to my lips herself. It was dreadfully painful to me to swallow, but it must be done. I drank in little mouthfuls and with long rests between, until the vessel