CHAPTER XIII.
NURSED TO HEALTH FOR A CRUEL FATE.
As I opened my eyes again upon this world I saw Sam Hawkins bending over me, his face radiant with joy, and a little behind him were Dick Stone and Will Parker, tears of happiness in their honest eyes.
Sam took both my hands in his, pushed away the forest of beard where his mouth should be, and said: “Do you know how long you have lain here?” I answered only with a shake of the head. “Three weeks; three whole weeks. You have had a frightful fever, and became rigid—to all appearance dead. The Apaches would have buried you, but I could not believe you were gone, and begged so hard that Winnetou spoke to his father, who allowed you to remain unburied until decomposition should set in. I have to thank Winnetou for that; I must call him.”
I closed my eyes, and lay still; no longer in the grave, but in a blessed languor, in weary content, only wishing to lie so forever and ever. I heard a step; a hand felt me over and moved my arm. Then I heard Winnetou’s voice saying: “Is not Sam Hawkins mistaken? Has Selki-Lata [Old Shatterhand] really revived?”
“Yes, yes; we all three saw it. He answered my questions by movements of his head.”
“It is marvellous, but it were better he had not come back, for he has returned to life but to be killed.”
“But he is the Apaches’ best friend,” cried Sam.
“And yet he knocked me down twice.”
“Because he had to. The first time he did it to save your life, for you would have defended yourself, and the Kiowas would have killed you. And the second time he had to defend himself from you. We tried to explain, but your braves would not hear us.”