He looked around invitingly, but no one laughed, and he said: “You are afraid of him, but I will show you how I mock him. Come, let us measure the paces.”
While this was being done I got my gun, examined it, and found it in good condition. Both barrels were loaded, but to be sure of them I discharged and reloaded them. Sam came up, and said: “I have a hundred questions to ask you, and can’t get a chance. However, there’s one thing I must ask you, and that is if you’re really going to shoot this fellow in the knee?”
“Yes.”
“Only there?”
“That is punishment enough.”
“No, it certainly is not. Such vermin ought to be stamped on. Only think of what he has been guilty, and everything has come from his having stolen the Apaches’ horses in the first place. If I were in your place I would put a bullet into his head; he’ll do his best to get one into yours.”
“Or in my heart; I know that perfectly well.”
“But he won’t succeed; these Kiowas are no good at shooting.”
The ground has been measured by this time, and we took our places. I was quiet as usual, but Tangua poured out a stream of abuse upon me, till Winnetou, who stood on one side between us, said: “Let the Kiowa chief be silent and pay attention. I will count three, and then he may shoot; he who shoots before the time shall have my bullet in his head.”
Of course all the Indians were watching us with intense interest. They had divided into two files, to right and left of us, so that a broad path ran between them, at the end of which we stood. The deepest stillness reigned. “The chief of the Kiowas may begin,” said Winnetou. “One—two—three.” I stood still, presenting the entire width of my body to my antagonist. At Winnetou’s first word he raised his gun, aimed carefully, and at “three” fired. The shot went over me, close to my head. No one uttered a sound.