“Hold on,” he said. “Leave that gun here. It’s true the frontiersman should never go out without his weapons, but this is an exception, because we must not seem to have any suspicion of danger. We’ll appear to be gathering wood to make our fire, and the Apaches will conclude we are going to stay here all night.”
We sauntered out, apparently wandering carelessly in and out among the trees and bushes, breaking off the dry branches. We strained our eyes, but could discover no one; yet later I learned from Winnetou himself that fifty feet at most away from us he was hidden behind a bush watching us. We gathered more wood for the camp-fire than we needed, for Sam wanted enough in reserve to enable the Apaches to kindle the fire quickly when they discovered we were gone.
Darkness fell, and we gathered in the camp for the eventful night. Sam, as the most experienced, sat at the end of the grassy plain nearest the savanna, where he could see the coming of the spies for whom we were waiting, knowing they could not be far off. The fire blazed up, lighting the plain and the savanna. How foolish and inexperienced the Apaches must think us! This great fire was the very thing to guide an enemy to us from afar. We ate our supper, and lounged about as if we were far from suspecting any danger. The guns lay at some distance back of us towards the peninsula, ready to be seized by us later in our flight.
Three hours after dark Sam stepped back to us and said softly: “The spies are coming; two, one on this, one on that side. I heard and saw them.” Then he sat down with us, and began to talk in a loud voice on the first subject that occurred to him. We answered, and kept up a conversation intended to show the spies how secure we felt. We knew that they were there watching us, but by a strong effort we kept ourselves from glancing towards the bushes concealing them.
The most important thing now was to know when they had gone. We could neither hear nor see anything, and yet we dared not waste a moment after their departure, for in a short time the whole band would be upon us, and in that interval the Kiowas must come over from the peninsula. Hence it was best not to wait until they had withdrawn, but to force them out. So Sam rose as if he were going to get more wood, and went into the bushes on one side, while I took the other.
We were now sure that the spies were gone. Sam put one hand to his mouth and thrice imitated the croaking of a bull-frog. This was the signal for the Kiowas to come; it would not be noticed by the Apaches, as we were beside the stream. Sam then resumed his office of watchman to warn us of the approach of the whole body of the enemy.
About two minutes after the signal was given the Kiowas came over, in close single file—a long line of two hundred warriors. They had not waited in the woods, but had come down to the bank to be ready for the signal, and on receiving it had instantly sprung across the stream. They crawled behind us in our shadow like snakes, lying close to the ground, near the peninsula. This was done so quickly and silently that in three minutes, at the most, the last one had joined us. In a short time Sam came and whispered to us: “They’re coming on both sides. Don’t put on any more wood; we must let the fire die down, and take care that an ember is left for the Indians to kindle another.”
We piled what wood we had left around the fire, so that no light would fall upon our retreat. After this was done each of us had to be more or less an actor. We knew that fifty Apaches were close to us, yet that we must not betray our knowledge by the slightest sign. We expected them to wait until we were asleep; but what if they did not wait, but fell upon us at once? Of course we had two hundred allies in the Kiowas, but in that case there would be a bloody struggle that might easily cost some of us our lives.
The time had come, and it was interesting to watch the various effects it produced on my comrades. Rattler lay face downward on the ground as if asleep, the fear of death gripping his heart with an icy hand. His trusty friends glanced at one another with blanched faces; they could not utter a word to help on our forced conversation. Will Parker and Dick Stone sat there as calmly as if there were no such thing as an Apache in the world. Sam Hawkins made jokes, and I laughed in spite of myself at his nonsense. For now that the danger was upon us I was as calm as if we were about to play a game of whist. And so we waited.