This was an outrageous insult, but the Indians acted as though they had not heard it. Stooping down over the bear, Kleki-Petrah admired it, calling Winnetou’s attention to its size and strength. “It was killed by a knife and not a bullet,” he said as he rose.
Evidently, I thought, he had heard the dispute and wished me to have justice.
“What does a school-master know of bear-hunting?” said Rattler. “When we take the skin off we can see what killed him. I won’t be robbed of my rights by a greenhorn.”
Then Winnetou bent down, touched the bloody wound, and asked me in good English: “Who stabbed the beast?”
“I did,” I replied.
“Why did not my young white brother shoot him?”
“Because I had no gun with me.”
“Yet here are guns.”
“They are not mine; they were thrown away by these men when they climbed the trees shrieking with terror.”
“Ugh! the low cowards and dogs, to fly like tissue-paper! A man should make resistance, for if he has courage he may conquer the strongest brute. My young white brother has such courage.”