“Yes, and the name of the old gun which he calls his ‘Liddy.’ When you were ill I used to go to him every day to tell him you were progressing. He is a funny man, but a good hunter.”
“Yes, and he is far more than that. He is a true, self-sacrificing comrade, whom you can’t help loving. Now will you answer a question truthfully?”
“Nscho-Tschi does not lie,” she replied, simply and proudly, “and least of all would I lie to you.”
“Then why did your warriors leave the contents of my pockets untouched when they took everything away from my comrades and the Kiowas?”
“Because my brother Winnetou ordered it so.”
“And do you know why he gave such an order?”
“Because he liked you.”
“Although he considered me his enemy?”
“Yes. You said a little while ago that you liked him from the moment you first saw him; he had a similar feeling for you. It grieved him to be forced to hold you his enemy, and not only an enemy—” She stopped, evidently because what she was going to say would have wounded me.
“Say on,” I said.