THREE months passed in quiet and the effort to recover lost ground after the events set down in the last chapter.

The hope of saving Old Firehand which Winnetou's words had awakened, was fulfilled, but his convalescence was very slow; even at the end of this long time he was not able to stand. Harry's injury proved trifling; Winnetou was wounded in many places, though not dangerously, while my wounds did not bother me much, for I was getting as hardened to pain as an Indian. Sam had come out best of all, but the grief of the faithful little man over the loss of his comrades Dick and Will counted for more than mere physical pain.

It had been decided that as soon as Old Firehand was well enough for the journey he should settle down in the East with Harry, for he was too old a man ever to recover sufficient strength to resume his life of a trapper. Harry too would be better off where he could be properly trained and educated. But in order to do this he must first dispose of a quantity of skins which he had accumulated, and we were at a loss how to bring it about, when we opportunely heard of a trader beyond the hills who would probably buy them.

The next difficulty was how to get at this man, which

I solved by offering to go for him, and Winnetou insisted on accompanying me, for the region through which I must pass was infested with hostile Indians. It was the third day after our departure when we reached that part of the country where he would be likely to be met with. Should we find him? If he were among the Indians we must be extremely cautious, but there were also white settlers' houses scattered along at intervals through this region, and we determined to try to discover one of these, and there ask for information of our trader.

Just as it was getting toward night, and we were beginning to give up hope of a house that day, we saw a field of rye, surrounded by other fields of grain. Beside a brook whose waters flowed into a river, rose a strong, rough block house, with a garden enclosed by a stout fence, and an enclosed clearing where horses and cows were grazing.

We turned in here, dismounted, tied our horses, and went toward the house, which had little gun hole windows. From two of these we saw double-barreled guns pointed at us, and a harsh voice called out: "Stop! Stay where you are. This is no inn; what do you want?"

"We come from Old Firehand, and we want to know where we can find a certain trader."

"Go look for him. You've got an Indian with you, and in these times no one lets in people of that color "

"You'd be honored by a visit from this Indian; he is Winnetou, the Apache chief."

"You don't say so! I wonder if that's so! In that case you must be Old Shatterhand."

"That's precisely who I am."

"Then come in, quick. Such people as you are most welcome. You shall have everything you want if I can give it to you."

The guns were withdrawn, and the settler appeared in a moment at the door. He was a big-boned, strong old man, who, one could easily see, had found life a struggle. He shook hands heartily, and led us into the house where his wife and two sons were sitting. "You mustn't take it ill that I spoke somewhat roughly at first. We have to be on the lookout for Indians, and few white men come here who haven't been driven out of the East. But this makes us all the more glad to see the other sort. So you're after a trader?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to do business with him?"

"Yes; I want to sell a lot of skins to him for cash."

"Well, I know the man, and the only one hereabouts."

"Is he honest?" "Oh, honest! What do you call honest? He's in business for what he can make; if you let him get the best of you it's your own fault. He's called Burton, and has four or five agents. One of 'em's staying here to-night; he'll be here soon. His name's Davis. Hark! I hear some one now."

A horse's hoofs sounded outside, and our host went out to meet the new-comer, with whom he presently returned. "This is Mr. Davis, who, as I told you, is Burton's agent," he said.

The trader was a middle-aged man of ordinary appearance with nothing striking about him either in a good or a bad sense, yet I did not quite like the expression with which he looked at us. He did not seem as

glad to see us as he should be, considering the profit likely to be derived through meeting us. He had as good a supper set before him as we had already done justice to, but he did not seem very hungry, and soon rose from the table, and went out to look after his horse. I cannot call it exactly mistrust, but it was something very like it that made me follow him. His horse was tied in front of the house, but he was nowhere to be seen. After a long time I saw him coming around the corner of the fence, and when he saw me he stood still for a moment, and then came toward me quickly.

"You like moonlight walks, Mr. Davis?" I asked.

"No; I'm not so romantic," he replied.

"Yet you go rambling off alone." "

But not for love of the moon. I don't feel just right; I've had indigestion all day, and long sitting in the saddle has made it worse. I had to move around a little."

He untied his horse, and led him into the enclosure with ours, and then joined us in the house. He was his own master, and why should I bother about what he did? Still, the reason he had given me for his moonlight promenade was rather flimsy.

We discussed business until we went to bed, and he showed such knowledge of skins, and seemed so square that even Winnetou approved him, and talked to him more than was his wont with strangers. It was arranged that he was to go with us in the morning to look at the skins, and estimate their value.

We set out in the early dawn, and Davis fell behind us like a footman, which we thought rather queer, but we were glad to have him do so, as it left us free to talk without restraint. We went back the way we came,

but although we knew the region perfectly, we had to keep a sharp lookout for the trails of men and beasts, either of which might prove dangerous. It was owing to this that we fell on a trail that otherwise might have escaped us, for great pains had apparently been taken to conceal it. While we were examining it Davis came up, and also sprang from his saddle.

"Is this an animal, or a man's trail?" he asked.

Winnetou did not answer, so I said: "You can't have had much experience in reading such records, or one glance would have answered your question. It is the trail of men."

"I should think it would be plainer if there were horses."

"Yes, but there were no horses."

"No horses! I don't see how a man who wasn't mounted could exist in this region."

"Did you ever hear of a man losing his horse?"

Winnetou cut this conversation short by asking: "Does my brother Old Shatterhand understand what this means? They are three pale-faces without horses; they have no guns, but carry sticks. They have gone on from here stepping in each other's footprints, and the last one has tried to wipe out the tracks; they seem to have feared being followed."

"But isn't it curious to find unarmed white men here in this dangerous section, unless they have been robbed?

"My white brother has reached my own conclusion. These men lean heavily on their sticks; they need help."

"Does Winnetou wish to find them?"

"The chief of the Apaches is glad to help any one

who needs him, and never asks whether he is white or red. We will go after them."

We remounted, but Davis grumbled, saying complainingly: "Why shouldn't we leave these people to themselves? It can't do any good to go after them."

"Not to us, certainly, but it may to them," I said.

"But we waste so much time."

"We're not so pressed for time that we must refuse help when it is required," I answered sharply.

Davis muttered something in his beard, and threw himself on his horse. I had very little confidence in him, but it never occurred to me that he could be the wretch he was.

The trail led us into the open Savannah, and soon we saw those whom we sought. They stood still when they first caught a glimpse of us, as if they were afraid, and then ran for their lives. We easily overtook them, being mounted, and called out to them reassuringly. They were entirely unarmed, and one had his head tied up, another carried his arm in a sling; the third was uninjured.

They told us that they had been attacked by Indians early in the previous day, had lost their horses, and were in constant dread of another meeting with the savages. As their way lay with ours we proposed that they should travel with us, and gave them food, and sat down with them while they ate, and rested.

As they had no horses they would necessarily retard our progress, and Davis seemed highly displeased with our arrangement, but we did not stop to ask his opinion, though his unsympathetic behavior made me dislike him more than ever, and watch him more closely. The result of this observation was most unexpected.

I noticed that when he thought no one saw him a scornful smile passed over his face, and he would hastily glance at Winnetou and me. I saw too that when he caught the eye of one of our new companions a quick glance passed between them, and it seemed to me they had a secret understanding. Did they know one another? Was the trader's sullen manner merely a mask? What reason could they have for deceiving us? The men we had rescued were certainly under obligations to us. Could I be mistaken?

The wonderful sympathy, the interchange of thought and feeling between me and my Apache brother showed itself anew. Even as I was puzzling over this problem, Winnetou dismounted, and said to the oldest man, who called himself Wharton: "My brother has walked long enough; he must take my horse. Old Shatterhand will gladly lend his also. We are well, and strong, and can easily keep up with the horses." Wharton protested against this kindness, but was none the less glad to accept it, and his son took Swallow. Winnetou and I fell behind too far to be overheard, and were careful besides to use the Apache tongue. "My brother has given up his horse less from compassion than for some other reason," I began.

"Old Shatterhand has guessed it."

"Have you too been watching these four men?"

"I saw that Old Shatterhand was suspicious, and kept my eyes open. I have seen that the strangers are not wounded, and as their bandage and sling is a lie, so is it a lie that they were attacked by Indians. Does my brother Old Shatterhand think that this trader is their enemy?"

"No, he is feigning."

"Yes; I too saw that. He knows them, and perhaps belongs with them."

"Shall we tell them to their faces what we think of them?"

"No, for their secret may have some reason that does not concern us. In spite of our mistrust of them these four men may be honorable ones. We could not tell them that we thought they were bad."

"Sometimes my brother Winnetou shames me. He is often more kind and tender-hearted than I am."

"No one should give a man pain unless he deserves it. It is better to suffer an injustice than inflict one. There can be no motive for Davis to treat us badly, for his employer will make a good trade with Old Firehand. It may be that they are all traders, and mean to rob us after they are in the valley."

"Winnetou has had the same thought I have; I believe that is their scheme. We must watch them day and night."

"Yes, for it is certain their horses are near here. Only one of us may sleep; the other must watch, and yet not let these people see it."

Winnetou's keenness had discovered the truth, but not all of it. Had we guessed it we should hardly have remained so cool, and continued to tolerate our companions.

We should have preferred camping that night on the open prairie, where we could see on all sides, but a strong wind arose, bringing rain with it, and we were obliged to seek shelter in the woods.

After we had eaten our supper our companions showed no inclination to sleep, but entertained one another with stories, even Davis becoming talkative, and

relating adventures he had met with in his wanderings. It struck me there was some object in this sociability; was it to distract our attention? I looked at Winnetou, and saw that he had the same thought, for he had laid all his weapons ready to hand, and kept a sharp lookout on all sides, though only I, who knew him so well, could see it. His lids drooped as though he slept, but I saw that he watched everything from under his lashes, and I did the same.

The rain ceased, and the wind died down. We lighted no fire, and sat with our faces turned toward the woods, whence, if there were an enemy, he would come. The slender sickle of the young moon arose, and shed its soft light over us through the tree tops. Winnetou lay stretched out in the grass, resting on his left elbow, his face pillowed in the hollow of his hand. I noticed that he slowly drew his right leg nearer his body, so that the inside of his knee made an angle. Could he be intending a knee shot, the most difficult of all shots? Yes, actually! He reached for the handle of his silver studded rifle, and laid it, as if with no special intention, in the angle formed by his knee. I followed with my eyes the direction in which it pointed, and saw under a bush in front of the fourth tree from us a soft phosphorescent light which would not have been noticed by a less experienced eye than the Apache's. It was a pair of human eyes watching us from the bush. Winnetou meant to shoot between them the only sure place and with the difficult knee shot. A little, little higher and the eyes were within range. I waited with strained expectation the next moment; Winnetou did not miss his aim, even at night, and in this way of shooting. I saw him lay his finger on

the trigger, but he did not pull it. He lifted his finger, dropped his gun, and stretched his leg out again; the eyes had disappeared.

"A wise fellow," he said to me in Apache.

"At least one who knows the knee shot," I replied.

"He knows also that we saw him."

"Yes; more's the pity."

"I'll crawl after him." "

It's dangerous; let me do it, Winnetou."

"Shall I send you into danger I would avoid myself? My brother may help me get off so the spy will not suspect I am after him."

We waited a while, then I said: "Would you fellows mind keeping quiet? We start early, and need sleep. Did you tie your horse well, Mr. Davis?"

"Yes," he replied with a snarl.

"Mine is still free," said Winnetou aloud. "I will tie him now. Shall I tie my brother's with him?" "

Yes, if you will," I answered, as if that were the real object of his going. He rose slowly, threw his blanket over his shoulder, and went out to where our horses were grazing. The interrupted conversation was resumed, at once to my annoyance and satisfaction. I could not hear what happened to Winnetou, but on the other hand it kept the man he was after from hearing him. I dropped my lids, and waited. Five minutes passed, ten, a quarter, yes, half an hour. I should have been worried about Winnetou, only I knew how long such a task as his required. At last I heard a step behind me in the direction in which he had gone. Turning my head a little I saw him coming; the blanket still hung over his shoulder, and I hoped he had dealt with our hidden foe. I turned my head back, and

waited for him to take his place again beside me. The steps came nearer, paused behind me, and a voice that was not Winnetou's said: "Now this one."

Looking up I saw the blanket indeed, but he who wore it was not Winnetou, but a bearded fellow. As he spoke he raised the handle of his gun to strike me. Quick as a flash I turned aside, but too late; the blow fell, not on my head, but on my neck; a second stroke followed on my skull, and I lost consciousness.

When I came to myself, and with a great effort raised my heavy lids, I saw that it was dawn. It seemed to me I was dead, and my ghost listened from eternity to the speech around my body. I could not understand a word until I heard a voice whose tones would have waked me if I had really been dead, saying: "This dog of an Apache will say nothing, and I've killed the other one. What a nuisance! I meant to have had some fun out of him, and teach him what it means to fall into my hands."

That voice restored me completely. I stared at the man, whom I had not recognized in the first glance because of the beard he now wore. It was Santer!