“We don’t want mercy; we want justice,” Sam interrupted.
“Will you be silent, dog?” thundered the chief. “I am through with you. But since you speak of justice, Tangua, the Kiowa chief, may testify. Are these pale-faces our friends?”
“No,” said the Kiowa, evidently rejoicing that things were going so badly for us. “No; they begged me to kill you, to kill you all.”
This was too much for me. I broke the silence around us, crying: “That is such a shameless lie that I would knock you down if my hands were free.”
“Dog!” he shrieked, “I will knock you down.”
He raised his fist, but I said: “Strike, if you are not ashamed to strike a man who cannot defend himself. You have been talking here of justice, and letting us testify. Is that justice when a man can only say what you have made up your mind he shall say? How can we testify if we are to be whipped for speaking one word more than you want to hear? Intschu-Tschuna is an unjust judge; he puts the questions so that our answers must prove us guilty, allowing us to give no other, and when we would speak the truth which would deliver us, prevents us with abuse. We don’t care for such justice. We’d rather you began the torture. You won’t hear a sigh from us.”
“Uff! uff!” I heard a woman’s voice cry, and knew it was Winnetou’s sister.
“Uff! uff!” cried many Apaches round her, for courage is what Indians most respect, and they praise it even in an enemy.
I continued: “When I first saw Intschu-Tschuna and Winnetou I said to myself they were brave men and just ones, whom I could love and honor. But I was mistaken; they are no better than others, for they listen to the voice of a liar and will not hear a word of truth. Sam Hawkins has allowed himself to be silenced, but I do not care for your threats, and despise a man who oppresses a prisoner only because he is helpless. If I were free I’d talk to you differently.”
“Dog! You dare to call me a liar!” cried Tangua. “I’ll break your bones!”