WE set out the following morning, Winnetou and I, in pursuit of Santer. We hoped to overtake him shortly; we certainly did not dream that we should spend nearly a year in this pursuit, nor that the parting from Old Firehand was forever. We left Sam Hawkins there with the understanding that if we were not back before Old Firehand was ready to go East, he should make his way to Rio Pecos, where he could get tidings of us. For ten whole months Santer eluded us. Our wanderings took us from Mexico to the north west, and the adventures we met with in their course would fill more than one book, but this is the story of Nugget Mountain, and they cannot be told here. At last we had a clue to the murderer's whereabouts that led us back to the Sioux country, and we were following it with no less earnestness of purpose than when we had set out a year and a half before with the sorrow of the death of Intschu-Tschuna and Nscho-Tschi fresh in our hearts.

At that time the West was infested with lawless men, the refuse and scum of the East, who were a perpetual menace to the young settlers, and to the camps of workmen engaged on the railroads. We had with us now a young settler named Fred Walker, who had suffered

from these men, and who had joined us because there was so much likelihood of travelers meeting these outlaws, as well as hostile Indians in that section.

As evening closed in around us we reached the brow of a hill, and were about to descend on the other side, when Winnetou, who rode ahead, reined up and pointed onward. We looked in that direction, and saw a grassy plain on which was encamped a large band of Indians. They had been preparing meat, for the skeleton of a buffalo lay on one side, and ropes on which hung thick pieces of buffalo steak drying had been drawn between poles. Winnetou scanned the camp sharply." Thirty two tents; two hundred warriors," he said.

"And there are white men with them," I added.

The Apache pulled out the field glass which I had given him, to look more closely. "Ko-itse, the liar and traitor," he muttered." Winnetou will plant his tomahawk in his skull."

I looked through the glass with much interest. "Ko-itse" means Firemouth, and the bearer of this name was known throughout that section as a good orator, a daring warrior, and an implacable foe of the whites.

"My brothers may wait; Winnetou will find a place for them and him to hide." He disappeared underneath the trees, and soon returned to lead us along the top of the hill to a place where the trees were so thick one could hardly penetrate them. Inside the grove there was room for our horses to move about, and we lay till dark, ready to spring out at the slightest sound.

When night had really closed in we left Fred with the horses, and went out, Winnetou to the right, I to the left, to spy on the Indian camp, and try to learn

something of their intention. The wind was against me, which gave me an advantage over Winnetou, as there was no fear of my being discovered and betrayed by the horses. Half an hour passed, and at last I lay behind the buffalo skin tent of the chief. There were five white men and three Indians around the fire. The former talked loudly together, while the more cautious Indians communicated rather by signs than words. One of the whites was a big, bearded man, with a scar on his forehead as if from a knife wound.

"And how far is it from here to Echo Canyon?" one of the men asked him.

"It is easily reached in three days' march." "And how many people are employed there, Dawson?"

"About a hundred and fifty, all well armed. Besides there are valuable stores, and plenty of drinking saloons. It's worth going for. We'll start early in the morning, go a piece northward, and then divide into bands going in different directions, and unite at Green Fork; we'll be at Echo Canyon in four days. Even if all the workmen are in, we needn't worry; we outnumber them, and before they can grab their weapons the greater part will be done for."

I could not positively have had a better moment for spying than this. I had learned far more than I expected to, and there was nothing to keep me there longer, for I knew all there was to know, and any moment might betray me. Very slowly and carefully I crawled back, and when I reached the edge of the woods I put my hands to my mouth, and imitated the croak of the bull-frog, which was the signal between Winnetou and me. I wanted to recall him, for the work was done.

I was glad enough to get back to our thicket, and to Fred, who was as glad to see me. "Tell me what you discovered," he said. "I am burning with curiosity."

"Well, burn a little while longer till Winnetou comes; I can't tell my story twice."

At last we heard the bushes rustle, and Winnetou laid down beside me. "My brother Jack gave me the sign; was he successful?"

"I heard all we want to know."

"My brother is always fortunate in spying on our enemies. He may tell me about it."

I repeated what I had heard. "Now," I said, as I ended, "we can't let such a thing be done without an effort to stop it. We'd share their guilt if we let this rabble fall on those honest men who are building the railroad."

"That's so," assented Fred heartily. "But how shall we stop it?"

"There's no need of asking. We'll go ahead, and warn the people who are to be attacked."

"Ugh!" cried Winnetou, starting to his feet. "Let my brothers go now."

He untied his horse, and we did the same, led the beasts out of the thicket, and rode away. It was a dark, starless night, and only a Westerner would undertake to ride through such a difficult country. An Eastern man would have led his horse, but the denizen of the Wild West knows that the beast can see better than he. Here Winnetou showed his powers. He rode over brooks and crags, over stock and stone, and not for a moment was he doubtful of the direction to take. Swallow was his usual trusty self, and even Fred's old Victory, though she sometimes neighed her disapprove, kept step with us.

When dawn broke we found ourselves ten miles away from the camp of the Ogellallah Sioux, and by the next day had put forty miles behind us, and were delighted with old Victory's pluck. We rode just before sunset between two hills close together, looking for a suitable camping place. Suddenly the hills separated, and we found ourselves on the side of a rock-bound valley, in the midst of which was a little lake, fed by a stream flowing from the east, and leaving the lake again to flow out through the rocks on the west. As we saw this valley we paused in surprise, not because of the valley, but what it contained. Among its bright verdure wandered horses, sheep, goats, cows and children. Five big block houses, with out-houses stood at the foot of the hill, and just above on a cliff stood a little chapel, over which rose a carved wooden crucifix. Beside this chapel there were several people who did not seem to see us. They looked toward the west where the golden ball of the sun was every moment sinking lower, and just as it touched the river whose waters were tinted with its glorious color, there pealed from above the silver voice of a bell. Here in the Wild West, in the midst of the forest, a crucifix! Between the war-paths of the Indians a chapel! I took off my hat, folded my hands, and said the Angelus.

"Ti-ti -- What is that?" asked Winnetou.

"That is a settlement," answered Fred sagely.

"Ugh! Winnetou sees the settlement, but what is that sound?"

"That is the vesper bell; it rings the Ave Maria."

"Ugh!" repeated the Apache. "What is vesper bell? What is the Ave Maria?"

As the last peal of the bell died away a hymn rose

softly on the sunset air. I listened, amazed at the words. It was a little hymn I had written when in college, and sent to a Catholic magazine:

It was really my Ave Maria; how did it get here on the edge of the Rocky Mountains? The simple, touching melody flowed down over the valley like a dew from heaven; it overcame me completely. My heart seemed to expand to infinity, and the tears fell on my cheeks.

As the last note died away over the valley I snatched my gun from my shoulder, fired twice, and spurring Swallow, clattered down toward the settlement, and over the river without stopping to see whether my companions were following. The two shots had not only wakened the echoes of the valley, but recalled it to life. The doors of the houses opened, and everybody came out to see what it meant. When they saw a white man, they were reassured, and waited my coming quietly. Before the door of the nearest block house sat a little old woman. Her garments were simple and clean; everything about her spoke of hard work, but over her face framed by its white hair, played a sweet smile of that contentment which can only be possessed by a soul which lives in an unshaken trust in its God.

"Good evening, grandmother. Don't be afraid; we are honest men. May I dismount?" I said.

She nodded smilingly: "Welcome, sir, in God's name. An honest man is always welcome. There is my oldest son, and my Will; they will look after you."

The singers had come down from the chapel, attracted by my shots. They were a lusty graybeard; beside him a younger man; behind them six others of varying ages, and all had the strong, hardy bearing of backwoodsmen. The oldest extended his hand to me, and greeted me cordially. "Welcome to Helldorf Settlement, sir. It's a pleasure to see a stranger."

I sprang from my horse, and shook his hand. "Thank you; there's no pleasure in life like the sight of a kindly face. Have you a night's lodging for three tired riders?"

"Of course we have. My name's Hillman, and this is my son Will."

"And I'm Jack Hildreth at home, and out here I'm Old Shatterhand. The other two coming along now are Fred Walker, a frontiersman, and Winnetou, the Apache chief."

"Is it possible? I've heard of him a hundred times, and always the finest things," cried Hillman. "And are you Old Shatterhand? I won't tell you what I've heard of you."

"There's one thing you can't have heard, and that is that I wrote that Ave Maria you sing. I never was more surprised than in hearing it here."

When I said this the entire little community hardly knew how to show their pleasure, and give me welcome. To these simple people the author of a hymn must be a very great and learned man indeed, and I was relieved

that Winnetou and Fred came up just then to rescue me from their embarrassing enthusiasm.

The elder Hillman greeted Winnetou as cordially as he had me, and the Apache responded with less reserve than he usually showed. A friendly contention arose as to who should entertain the guests, which Hillman settled by saying: "They dismounted before my house, and they all belong to me."

In the block house we were received by a pretty young woman, Will's wife. As we sat at supper the elder Hillman told us how they came there and bought this land, because they had heard that precious stones abounded in that region, and he was a stone cutter by trade. They had been disappointed, and though they lived peacefully, and contentedly, still the failure to find gems where they had sunk all their little capital had left them poor. Winnetou knew every angle in the mountains of the West, and though I knew that an Indian very rarely and unwillingly speaks of the treasures of the hills, I resolved to lay the case before him, and I did so, speaking in Apache.

He looked thoughtfully before him, then his dark eyes rested on our hosts, and at last he said: "Will these men fulfill a wish of Winnetou's?"

"What is it?"

"If they will sing again what Winnetou heard from the hill as we came, he will tell them where they can find stones."

I was astonished to the last degree. Had the Ave Maria made such an impression on him that to hear it again he was willing to betray the secret of the hills?

"They will sing it," I said, having appealed to them.

"Let them look in the Gros Ventre hills; there is

much gold. And in the valley of the Beaver River, where its waters flow into the Yellowstone Lake, there are many such stones as they seek."

While I repeated this to the settlers, and explained the location of these two points, the neighbors came in, and interrupted us. By degrees the room filled up, and we spent such an evening as I had never had in the West. They sang all kinds of songs, for they were of German blood, and feasted in music.

Winnetou listened silently, and at last asked: "When will these men keep their promise?"

I reminded Hillman of it, and they began the Are Maria. They scarcely had started to sing than Winnetou stretched out his hands, and cried: "It does not sound well in the house. Winnetou will hear it on the hill."

"He's right," said Will. "It should be sung in the open air. Come outside."

The singers went up the hill a little way, while we remained in the valley. Winnetou stood beside me, but soon disappeared. Then from the darkness floated down in sweet pure tones:

We listened in silence. Darkness veiled the singers, and it was as if the hymn came from heaven. When it was over we all went back to the house, but Winnetou was missing. More than an hour passed, and he did not come, so I went to look for him, asking that no one follow me unless he heard a shot. I found him be-

side the little lake, sitting as still as a statue. Softly I came up to him, and sat down beside him without speaking. For a long time the silence was unbroken, then he raised his arm, and pointed to the water, saying: "This lake is like my heart."

I was afraid to speak, and he relapsed into silence, and when he spoke again it was to say: "The Great Spirit is good; I love Him."

Again I feared to disturb his thoughts by a word. In a little while he spoke again: "My brother Jack is a great warrior, and wise in council; my soul is like his own, but I shall not see him when I enter the Happy Hunting Grounds." This was said so sorrowfully that it was a new proof to me how dear I was to Winnetou.

"Where is my brother's heaven?" he asked.

"Where are the Happy Hunting Grounds of my friend?" I answered.

We had been comrades for nearly two years, and stood by one another through danger, joy and sorrow, yet never had the promise I had given him to be silent in regard to my faith been broken. I knew that he appreciated this, and that now when he himself had broken this silence, what I said would have double effect. "Manitou is the Lord of all things," I continued. "But let my brother consider which is the true God, the Manitou of the red man, or the white man's God. The white man says He is Father of all, red and white alike, and calls them at last into eternal blessedness and love. But the red man thinks Manitou commands him to kill all his foes, and after a life of fighting he goes into that gloomy Hunting Ground where murder begins anew. Which is true?"

Winnetou was silent. After a time he said: "Why

are not all white men like my brother Jack? If they were Winnetou would believe their priests."

"Why are not all red men like my brother Winnetou?" I retorted. "There are good and bad men among all races. The earth is far more than a thousand days' ride long, and quite as wide. My friend knows only a little corner of it. The whites rule over it all, except a few small places, in one of which, where my brother lives, the wicked pale-faces, whom the good turn away, take refuge. This is why Winnetou thinks there are so many wicked pale-faces. My brother wanders through the hills; he hunts the buffalo, and kills his foes; is there happiness for him in this? Does not death lurk for him behind each tree and bush? Has he ever been able to give all his love and trust to an Indian? Is not his life all labor, care, vigilance and suspicion? Does he find rest, peace, confidence and refreshment for his weary soul under the ugly scalps, or the treacherous camps of the wilderness? But the Savior of the white men says: 'Come to Me, all ye who labor, and are heavy burdened, and I will refresh you.' Why will not my brother go to that Savior, as his brother does?"

"Winnetou does not know Him," he said simply.

"Shall I tell my dear Winnetou about Him?" I asked.

His head sank, and after a long pause he said: "My brother Jack has spoken truly. Winnetou has loved no man like him; Winnetou has trusted no man but his friend, who is a pale-face and a Christian. My brother knows all lands, and their dwellers; he knows all the books of the pale-faces; he is daring in combat, wise at the council fire, and gentle to his enemy. He loves

the red man, and studies his good. He has never deceived his brother Winnetou, and today also will tell him the truth. The word of my brother is worth more than the word of all the medicine-men. The red men howl and shriek, but the white men have a music that comes from heaven, and echoes in the heart of the Apache. My brother may explain to me the words these men sang."

I began to explain the Ave Maria. Then in simple words, my voice full of my love for him, and longing to teach this noble soul as it should be taught, I told him the faith of the pale-face. Winnetou listened speechlessly.

When I ended he sat a long time in profound silence. At last he rose, stretched out his hand to me, and said with a long sigh: "My brother has spoken words which can never die. Winnetou will not forget the great, good Manitou of the pale-faces, the Son of the Creator, who died on the cross, nor the maiden who dwells in heaven, and hears the hymn of the settler. The faith of the red man teaches hatred and death; the faith of the white man teaches love and life. Winnetou will choose between life and death. I thank my brother Jack. How!"

We returned to the block house where they were becoming anxious about us. We slept in Hillman's soft bed, and in the morning parted from the worthy people with hearty gratitude, and with the promise to return if we could do so. They accompanied us a short distance, and before we said good-by the eight singers drew aside, and again sang the Are Maria for the Apache.

When they had finished it, he gave his hand to each

one, and said: "Winnetou will never forget the voices of his white friends. He has sworn never again to take the scalp of a pale-face, for they are the sons of the good Manitou, who loves the red men too."

And so we rode away to save the camp of the railroad builders at Echo Canyon. The last ride, but one, alas, that I should ever take beside my friend, my devoted Winnetou.