Winnetou, the Apache Knight

by Marion Ames Taggart; Karl May

As he bounded around the bush he saw me, and exclaiming: “Land-thief!” raised his silver-studded rifle to knock me down. I cried out to him that I was not his enemy, but he would not listen, only redoubling his efforts to strike me. There was but one thing to do: if I would not be overcome, perhaps killed, I must disable him. As he raised his arm again for a blow I threw away my gun, with which I had parried his strokes, hung on his neck by my left arm, and with my right fist gave him a blow on the temple. His rifle dropped, he staggered and fell. Then behind me a joyful voice cried: “That is Intschu-Tschuna, the chief of the Apache dogs. I must have his scalp.”

Turning around I saw Tangua, the Kiowa chief, who had come upon the scene just as all this happened. He dropped his gun, drew his knife, and stooped over the unconscious Apache to scalp him. I seized his arm and said: “Take your hands off. I have conquered him; he is mine.”

“Be silent, white vermin!” he snarled. “What have I to do with you? The chief is mine. Get out, or—” He finished his sentence by striking at me with his knife and seizing me with his left hand. I did not want to stab him, so did not draw my own knife, but threw myself upon him and tried to free myself from his grasp. Failing in this, I choked him till he could not move, and then bent over Intschu-Tschuna, whose face was bleeding from my knuckles. Just then I heard a rustle behind me, and turned to see whence it came. This movement saved me, for I received on the shoulder a violent blow which had been intended for my head, and would certainly have broken it. It came from Winnetou. He had been behind his father, as I have said before, and coming around the bush he saw me kneeling over the chief, who lay bleeding and apparently lifeless, and he promptly gave me the almost fatal blow with the butt of his gun. Then he dropped the gun, drew his knife, and fell upon me.

My position was as bad as it could be. The blow had shaken my whole body and lamed my arm. I tried to explain to Winnetou, but he gave me no chance for a word. He stabbed me, and the point of the knife struck the edge of the tin box in which I carried my papers, glanced up through my neck, and pierced my tongue, but for which it would certainly have entered my heart. Then Winnetou withdrew the knife, and held it ready for the second stroke, his hand at my throat. The fear of death doubled my strength; I could use only one arm and hand, and he lay across me sidewise. I caught his right hand, and squeezed it till he dropped the knife; then I seized his left arm at the elbow and pulled him over till he had to let go of my throat. Then I lifted his knees, and with all my strength pushed myself from under him, which threw the upper part of his body on the ground. The next moment I was on his back, and our positions were reversed.

The question now was how to hold him down, for if he got up I was lost. Setting one knee on his thigh and one on his arm, I caught him around the neck with my one useful arm, while with the other hand he was feeling for his knife, fortunately in vain. Now followed an awful struggle between us; yet could I have spoken, one word would have sufficed to clear up the situation, but blood flowed in streams from my mouth, and when I tried to speak with my pierced tongue I could only stammer unintelligibly.

Winnetou exerted all his strength to throw me off, but I lay on him like a mountain not to be gotten rid of. He began to gasp, and I pressed my fingers into his windpipe so tight that he could not breathe. Must I kill him? Not in any case. I freed his throat for a moment, and he instantly raised his head, which gave me the chance I wanted. One, two, three good blows with my fist in quick succession, and Winnetou was unconscious: I had conquered Winnetou the unconquered. I drew a deep, deep breath as well as I could and not draw down my throat the blood which filled my mouth and streamed as fast from the external wound. As I tried to rise I heard an angry howl from an Indian behind me, and received a blow on the head which knocked me senseless.

When I came to myself it was evening; so long had I lain unconscious. Everything seemed to me like a dream; I felt as though I had fallen down beside the wall of a mill-wheel, which could not turn because I was wedged between its paddles and the wall. The water rushed over me, and the force which should have turned the wheel pressed on me stronger and stronger till I thought that I should be crushed. All my limbs were in pain, especially my head and one shoulder. By degrees I realized that the mill was not a reality, but delirium, and the roaring and rushing was not water, but the result of the blow which had felled me. And the pain in my shoulder was not caused by a mill-wheel crushing me, but by the blow which Winnetou had given me. The blood flowed from my mouth; it rushed into my throat and choked me, and I awoke fully to myself.

“He moves; oh, thank God, he moves!” I heard Sam say. I had opened my eyes, but what I saw was far from consoling. We were still on the spot where the fight had taken place. Over twenty camp-fires were burning, between which certainly five hundred Apaches were moving about. Many were wounded, and a large number lay dead on two sides, the nearest being the Apaches, and those on the opposite side, a little farther away, the Kiowas. Around us were the captive Kiowas, all strongly bound; not one had escaped, and Tangua, the chief, was among them. At a little distance apart I saw a man lying with his body drawn together in a ring, for the evident purpose of being tortured. It was Rattler. His comrades were no longer alive, having been shot at once; but he, as the murderer of Kleki-Petrah, was reserved for a slow and agonizing death. I was bound hand and foot, as were Parker and Stone, who lay on my left. At my right I saw Sam Hawkins, who was fastened by his feet, and his right hand was bound against his back, but his left hand was free, as I learned later, in order to tend me.

“Thank Heaven, you are conscious again, my dear Jack,” he said, stroking my face lovingly with his free hand. “How do you feel? Do you want anything?” I tried to answer, but could not. I saw Sam bending over me with anxious eyes, but I heard and saw no more, for again I sank into unconsciousness.

Upon regaining my senses I felt myself in motion, and heard the tread of many horses’ feet. I opened my eyes. I was lying on the skin of the grizzly bear I had killed, which was drawn together into a hammock and hung between two horses, which were thus bearing me somewhere. I lay so deep in the skin that I could see only the heads of the horses and the sky above me. The sun shone down on me, burning like molten lead, and swelling my veins. My mouth was swollen and full of blood; I tried to move my tongue, but could not. “Water, water,” I tried to say, for I was consumed with thirst, but I could only utter a hoarse groan. I said to myself that it was all over with me, and tried to think of God, and make a true act of contrition, and ask the mercy I was so soon to need, and turn my eyes to the land on the shore of which I stood; but again weakness overcame me. This time I fought with Indians, buffaloes, and bears, rode for life-and-death over scorching plains, swam for months over shoreless seas—in short, had a fever, caused by my wounds, in which I struggled hard and long with death. Occasionally I heard Sam Hawkins’ voice, but far, far away; occasionally, too, I saw a pair of dark, velvety eyes—Winnetou’s eyes. Then I died, was laid in my coffin and buried. I heard the earth shovelled on the coffin, and lay in the ground a whole unbroken eternity, unable to move, till the lid of my coffin noiselessly slid off and disappeared. Was all this true? Could I be dead? I raised my hand to my forehead, and—“Hallelujah! Oh, thank God! He comes back from death; he is alive!” cried Sam.