“Say it now, for later you can say nothing.”
“I will be silent now, for I want to see what you decide in regard to us. If I speak later, you will see that Old Shatterhand is not a man whose word is to be despised.”
Intschu-Tschuna turned from us, and nodded to certain old warriors, who left the circle and gathered around him for consultation, while Tangua of course used every effort to turn the decision as he wished. The conference lasted but a short time; the old braves came back to their places in the circle, and Intschu-Tschuna announced in a loud voice: “Hear, ye warriors of the Apaches and Kiowas, what has been determined for these four pale-faces bound here. It had been previously decided in a council of the elders that we should drive them into the water and let them fight each other, and finally we would burn them. But Old Shatterhand, the youngest of them, has spoken words which have found favor with the wisdom of the elders. They deserve death, but it seems they intended less wickedness than we believed. So we have withdrawn our first sentence, and will let the Great Spirit decide between us.”
He paused for a moment, and Sam said to me: “Gracious! this is interesting, very much so. Do you know what he means?”
“I suppose a duel, an appeal to arms; don’t you think so?”
“Yes, but between whom?”
The chief, continuing, answered Sam’s question. “The pale-face called Old Shatterhand seems to be the foremost of them, so the decision shall be entrusted to him. He shall be opposed by the one on our side whose rank is highest; this is I, Intschu-Tschuna, the chief of the Apaches.”
“The mischief! He and you!” whispered Sam in the greatest amazement.
“Uff! uff! uff!” echoed through the Apache ranks, for they, too, wondered that he should fight with me when he could so easily have appointed another to the task; but his next words explained the reason for this. “The honor of Intschu-Tschuna and Winnetou has been sorely injured,” continued the chief, “they having been knocked down by the fist of this pale-face. They must wipe out this stain by fighting him. Winnetou must give way to me, for I am older, and to me belongs the right of killing Old Shatterhand.”
“You may be glad,” whispered Sam, “for your death will be quicker than ours.”