He dared not complain of the pain, for under no circumstances may an Indian do this; he bit his lip, looked sullenly around, and growled: “I am wounded, and cannot go home; I must stay with the Apaches.”
Winnetou shook his head, and answered decidedly: “You will go home, for we have no room for the thief of our horses and the murderer of our braves. We have not avenged ourselves with blood, but have accepted ransom in beasts and goods; more you cannot expect. No Kiowa belongs in our pueblo.”
“But I cannot ride.”
“Old Shatterhand was much more severely wounded than you are, and could not ride, yet he had to come with us. Think of him often; it will be good for you. The Kiowas must leave here to-day, and those of them that we find in our domains to-morrow we will treat as they wished Old Shatterhand to be treated. I have spoken. How!”
He took me by the hand and led me away, and I knew, though he said nothing, that he was pleased with the result of this last adventure and the punishment of his treacherous foe.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE END OF RATTLER.
Winnetou and I walked a little distance away from the Indians who were still assembling to see Rattler’s torture. When we had gone beyond their hearing, Winnetou asked me gravely why I had left the pueblo.
“We came back because we heard that Rattler was soon to die; is that so?” I asked.
“Yes.”