CHAPTER XV.

MY BRAVE WINNETOU.

WE rode furiously, not resting even during the night. In the entire ride I doubt that there were a hundred words spoken. Winnetou never spoke at all, but in his eyes glowed a fire that said more than any words. It was the second noon when we stopped our sweating horses on the edge of the valley in which Helldorf Settlement had stood. We saw at the first glance that Dawson had spoken the truth, and we had come too late. The entire settlement was a smoking wreck.

Winnetou pointed to the hill. "The Son of the good Manitou is gone. I will rend these wolves of Ogellallahs."

It was true; the chapel had been burned, and the crucifix cast down.

We galloped into the valley, and dismounted. We could not discover a trace of a living being, and though we searched the smoking ruins we found no human remains, which was a great consolation.

Winnetou had gone at once to the site of the chapel, and now returned with the bell in his hand. "The Apache chief has found the voice on the hill," he said. "He will bury it here till he returns victorious."

"There isn't a moment to lose," I cried. "The prisoners have been carried away. We must not delay, but must follow the trail while we can see. When it is dark we will rest, but now let us hasten after them."

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With these words I remounted poor Swallow, and we started again, Winnetou leading, his keen eye fastened on the trail. He might die, but he would never turn from this path, such wrath filled him, and filled us all. We were forty against eighty men, but in such a cause one does not stop to count numbers.

We had still three good hours of daylight, and made such distance in them that we were delighted with our horses' extraordinary endurance, and allowed them their well-earned rest. For the first two days we did not gain on our foes, for we dared not press our horses beyond their strength.

"Time flies," said Walker, "and we shall be too late."

"We shall not be too late," I replied. "The prisoners are reserved for torture, and that will not be until the Ogellallah have reached their village."

"And where is that?"

"The villages of the Ogellallah are now beyond Quackingasp Ridge," replied Winnetou, "and we shall not overtake these robbers much short of there."

We passed a point where the force had divided, but, though there were two trails, we distinguished the right one by little drops of blood which had fallen along the way. At a certain spot we saw that the Indians had gone on very slowly, leading their horses. This was strange, and I was considering it, when suddenly Winnetou reined up, looked far ahead, and made a gesture as though he recollected something.

"Ugh!" he cried. "The pit of the hill which the pale-faces call Hancock!"

"What about it?" I asked.

"Now Winnetou knows all. The Sioux sacrifice

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their prisoners to the Great Spirit in this pit. These Ogellallah have divided; the greater part to call together the scattered hands of their tribe, while the signaler brings the prisoners to the pit. They have been bound on the horses, and the Ogellallah run beside them."

"How far is this mountain from here?"

"My brothers will reach it this evening."

"Impossible! Hancock Mountain is between the Yellowstone and Snake rivers."

"My white brother must remember there are two Hancock mountains. Winnetou knows the right one, and its pit. He and his father once made a compact in this pit with the Ogellallah Sioux, which they broke. My brothers will leave the trail, and trust to the Apache chief."

He spurred his horse, and sprang forward at a gallop; evidently he knew exactly what he was going to do, and we rode after him. We went through valleys and ravines for a time, till suddenly the mountain rose before us, and a grassy plain spread out at our feet.

"That is J-akown akono, the prairie of blood, in the speech of the Tchua," called Winnetou without pausing in his ride.

So that was the horrible bloody prairie of which I had heard so much! Here the united tribes of the Dakotas had brought their prisoners, set them free, and hunted them to death. Here thousands of innocent victims had died at the stake, in the fire, by the knife, and living burial. No Indian or white man wandered here, and we rode over this accursed plain as carelessly as if we were in a peaceful meadow. Only Winnetou could have been our leader. Our horses began to droop. A

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single hill rose before us, and we let our poor beasts rest in the woods at its foot.

"That is Hancock Mountain," said Winnetou.

"And is the pit here?" I asked.

"Yes; on the other side of the mountain. In an hour my brother will see it. He will follow me, but leave his gun behind."

"Only I?"

"Yes. This is the place of death; only a strong man can bear it. Our brothers may hide under the trees, and wait."

The mountain at whose foot we found ourselves was of volcanic origin, and perhaps three miles broad. I laid aside all my weapons except my knife, and followed Winnetou up its western side. We mounted in short spiral curves; it was a very difficult path, and my guide bent backward cautiously, as if he feared a foe behind each shrub. It took an hour for us to gain the top.

"My brother must be still, still," he whispered as he lay down on his stomach, and slid forward between two bushes. I followed, and almost fell back with horror, for scarcely had I thrust my head between the bushes than I saw directly before me the funnel-shaped, steep abyss of a crater fully a hundred and fifty feet deep, the edge of which I could reach with my hand. At the bottom was a plain about fifty feet in diameter, and there lay the people of Helldorf Settlement whom we sought, bound hand and foot, and guarded by a large Ogellallah watch. I conquered my horror, and counted our friends; none was missing. I looked over each foot of this extinct crater, to see if there was any way of getting into it. Yes, it might be done, if one were cunning, and had a stout rope, and could get the guards

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away. There were several jutting rocks which could be used as holding, or resting points. Winnetou crept back, and I did the same.

"We can get down there," I said. "We have lassos, and the railroad men are well supplied with ropes."

Winnetou nodded, and we began the descent. The sun dropped behind the mountain as we reached its foot, and we began our preparations. All our ropes were tied together in one long rope, and Winnetou picked out twenty of the most experienced men for the enterprise; the others were to watch the horses. We arranged that three-quarters of an hour after we started two of the men were to jump on their horses, and ride around the mountain toward the east, kindle a fire, and then return. This fire was to distract the attention of the Indian guards from us to that part of the prairie.

The sun had set, and the west was tinted with crimson, fading to purple, and dying away into the gray of evening. Winnetou had left his place among us. He seemed to be quite unlike his usual self in the last hour. The steady light of his eye had given way to a peculiar restless sparkle, and on his brow, always smooth and calm, a frown had gathered, indicating unusual gravity of thought, or anxiety disturbing the equilibrium of his soul at which I had so often wondered. It was not only my right, but my duty to inquire into this, and I rose up, and followed him. He stood at the edge of the woods, leaning against a tree, his eyes fixed on the west and the clouds piled on the horizon, their edges golden with the day's last splendor. Although I came softly, and he was sunk in thought, he not only heard my step, but recognized it. Without turning toward me he said:

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"My brother Jack comes to look for his friend. He is right, for in a little while he will see him no more."

I laid my hand on his shoulder, and said: "Are there shadows over the spirit of my brother Winnetou? He must drive them away."

He raised his hand, and pointed to the west. "There burns the flame of life; it is gone, and darkness comes. Can you drive away the shadows that fall there?"

"No, but the light comes again in the morning, and a new day breaks."

"For Hancock Mountain a new day will begin, but not for Winnetou. His sun will set, as this one has set, and will never rise again. The next dawn will smile at him on the other side of those clouds."

"That is a presentiment of death which my dearest brother Winnetou must not yield to. To-night will be dangerous for us, but how often has death stretched out his hand for us, and we escaped him! Throw off the weight that oppresses you. It is caused by the mental and bodily exertions of the last few days."

"No; Winnetou's exertions do not master him, and no weariness can rob him of the serenity of his soul. My brother Old Shatterhand knows me, and knows that I have thirsted for the waters of knowledge and learning, and you have poured them out for me, and I have drunk of them in deep draughts. I have learned much, more than any of my brethren, but I have remained a red man. The whites are like the domestic beasts whose instinct has almost disappeared, but the Indian is the wild beast, who has not only kept his sharp senses, but hears with his soul. The red man knows exactly when death comes near him; he does not suspect it, but feels its coming, and crouches in the deepest thicket of the

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wood to die calmly and alone. This presentiment, this feeling which never deceives has come to Winnetou now.

I drew him to me, and said: "And yet it deceives you. Have you ever had this feeling before?" "No!'

"Then how can you recognize it for the presentiment of death?"

"It is so plain, so plain. It tells me that Winnetou will die with a bullet in the breast, for only a bullet can reach me; the Apache chief could defend himself against a knife, or a tomahawk. My brother may believe me; I go to the Happy --"

He stopped. "To the Happy Hunting Grounds," he would have said, according to Indian belief. What prevented him finishing that sentence? I knew; he had been a Christian in heart since our talk at Helldorf Settlement.

He threw his arm around me, and corrected his half finished words. "I go today where the Son of the good Manitou has gone to prepare our dwelling in His Father's house, and where some day my brother Jack will follow. There we shall meet again, and there will be no difference between the white and red children of the Father who loves them both with the same love. There will be eternal peace; no more murder; no more crushing out of men who were good, and came to the whites peacefully and confidently, yet were destroyed. Then the good Manitou will hold the scales of the world to judge the deeds of the white and red, and the innocent blood which has been shed. But Winnetou will stand by and beg for mercy for the murderers of his nation, his brothers."

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He pressed me to him, and was silent. I was profoundly moved, and an inward voice whispered to me: "His instinct has never deceived him; perhaps this time too it speaks the truth." Nevertheless I said: "My brother Winnetou considers himself stronger than he is. He is the mightiest warrior of his race, but he is only a man. I have never seen him tired, but the last few nights and days have been too much for us all. Exhaustion prostrates the soul, weakens our self-confidence, and gloomy thoughts come, which disappear when we are rested. My brother should rest. Stay with the men whom we leave here to guard the horses."

He shook his head slowly: "My brother Jack does not say that in earnest."

"Yes, I do! I have seen the crater, and measured it exactly with my eye; I can lead the attack alone."

"And I not be there?" he asked, a proud light in his eyes.

"You have done enough; rest!"

"Have you not done enough too, even more than I, and all the rest? I will not stay behind."

"Not even if I beg you to as a sacrifice for my sake?"

"Not even then. Shall it be said that Winnetou, the chief of the Apaches, feared death?"

"No man would dare say it."

"And if all the rest were silent, and did not count me a coward, one would do so, and his reproach would redden my cheeks with shame."

"And that is --?"

"I myself. I would forever cry in the ear of that Winnetou who rested while his brother Jack fought, that he should be among the cowards, and was no longer

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worthy to call himself a warrior, a chief of his brave people. No, no; do not ask me to stay behind."

I could say no more; it would be better for Winnetou to die than to live with such a feeling.

After a short pause he continued: "We have often faced death, and my brother was prepared for it, and wrote in a little book what should be done if he fell in combat. I was to take the book and read it, and do as it said. That is called a will by the pale-faces. Winnetou has also made a will, though he has not spoken of it. To-day when he feels the approach of death he must do so. Will you carry it out?"

"Yes. I hope, I know, your presentiment will not be fulfilled; you will see many, many suns arise, but if you die it shall be my most sacred duty to do whatever you ask of me."

"Even if it were hard, very hard, and included many dangers?"

"Winnetou does not ask that seriously. Send me to death, and I will go."

"I know it, Jack. You would spring in the open abyss for me. You will do what I ask of you; you alone can do it. When I am dead seek my father's grave. When you are at its foot, exactly on the west side, you will find buried in the ground the will of Winnetou, who will be no longer with you. I have explained my wishes there, and you will fulfill them."

"My word is like an oath," I assured him with tears in my eyes. "No danger, however great, shall prevent me doing what you have written there."

"I thank you. And now we are ready. The time to attack has come. I shall not live beyond this combat. Let us say good-by, my dear, dear Jack. May the good

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Manitou repay you for having been so much, so much to me. My heart feels more than I can say in words. Let us not weep, for we are men. Bury me in the Gros Ventre hills, on my horse, with all my weapons, and my father's silver-studded rifle, that it may not fall into other hands. And then when you go back to the people in the East, of whom none will love you as I love you, think sometimes of your friend and brother Winnetou, who blesses you, for you have been a blessing to him."

He, the Indian, laid his hands on my head. He repressed a sob with difficulty, and as I held him to me, I wept outright. "Winnetou, my Winnetou," I cried, "it is only a presentiment, a shadow that passes over you. You must stay with me; you can't leave me."

"I go away," he answered softly, but clearly; then he released himself from my arms, and turned back to the camp. As I followed him I tried in vain to find a means to keep him from the fight, but there was none. What would I have given, and what would I give today, had I been able to?

I was utterly unarmed, and in spite of his self control, I heard his voice tremble as he called to the men: "It is now quite dark; let us go. My brothers may follow me and Old Shatterhand."

We climbed the mountain behind one another, by the way Winnetou and I had previously gone up. The steep ascent was even more difficult in the darkness, and it took more than an hour for us to reach the edge of the crater. Looking over we saw a great fire burning, and by its light we saw the prisoners and their guards. Not a sound escaped us. We fastened our rope to a crag, and waited for the fire on the prairie. It was not long before three, four, and five fires which looked like camp

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fires blazed up in the east. We looked and listened down the crater. We were not mistaken in the anticipated effect, for soon an Indian appeared through a fissure from the other side of the crater, spoke to one of the guards, who arose and went with him through the cleft to observe the fires. Now was our time. I seized the swinging rope to be the first to go down, but Winnetou took it out of my hand.

"The chief of the Apaches is the leader," he said." My brother comes behind me."

Winnetou swung out, I after him, Fred last. We had arranged to trust only four at a time on the rope, which fortunately held. Of course as we slid down we displaced a great many rocks, which rolled into the crater. One of them must have struck a child, for it began to cry, and the head of an Indian appeared in the fire-lighted fissure. He heard the stones, looked up, and gave a cry of warning.

"Forward, Winnetou or all is lost," I cried.

The men above saw what had happened, and slackened the rope. A half minute later we should have reached the bottom, but at that instant a shot rang out from the cleft.

Winnetou fell to the ground. I stood still in horror." Winnetou, my friend, are you wounded?" I cried.

"Winnetou dies," he answered.

A mad fury possessed me. "Winnetou is dying," I cried to Walker. "Forward." I did not take time to snatch my rifle from my shoulder, or draw a knife or revolver. With raised fist I threw myself on the five Indians who had already come through the cleft. The foremost of them was the chief, whom I recognized instantly. "Down, Ko-itse," I cried. A blow felled him

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like a log. The Indian behind him had raised his tomahawk to strike me, but the firelight fell on my face, and he dropped the tomahawk in fright.

"Ka-ut-skamasti, Shatterhand!" he cried.

"Yes; here is Old Shatterhand; down with you," I cried. I did not know myself. The second blow knocked this man down.

"Ka-ut-skamasti," cried the Indians.

I received a knife wound in the shoulder, but scarcely felt it. Two of the Indians fell before Fred's shots, and I knocked down a third. Meanwhile more of our men had come down the rope, and I could leave the Indians to them. I turned back to Winnetou, and knelt beside him.

"Where is my brother wounded?" I asked.

"Here, in the breast," he answered softly, laying his left hand on the right side of his breast, reddened by his blood.

I drew my knife, and cut the blanket that wound around him. Yes; the bullet had entered the lung. A pain gripped my heart such as I had never felt in my happy young life.

"My friend will lay me on his bosom that I may see the fight," he whispered.

I did so, and he saw that as fast as the Indians came through the fissure they were shot down. By degrees all our men had descended the rope, the prisoners were freed, and raised a shout of joy and gratitude.

I saw nothing but my dying friend, whose wound had ceased to bleed, and I knew this meant that he was bleeding inwardly.

"Has my brother any wish?" I asked.

He had closed his eyes, and did not reply. I held his

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head on my arm, and hung over him motionless, my eyes fastened on the bronze features and closed lids of the Apache. At last Walker, who was wounded, came to me and said: "They are all dead."

"This one will also die," I replied. "All the others are nothing beside him."

Still Winnetou laid still. The railroad men and the settlers formed a silent circle around us.

At last Winnetou opened his eyes. "Has my dear brother any wish?" I repeated.

He nodded. "My brother Jack will lead the men to the Gros Ventre mountains. They will find such stones as they seek; they deserve them."

"What more, Winnetou?"

"My brother, do not forget the Apache. He will pray for him to the great, good Manitou. Are these people able to climb with their wounded limbs?"

"Yes," I said, though I saw how the settlers' hands and feet had been torn.

"Winnetou begs them to sing the song to the Queen of Heaven."

They had heard what he said, and without waiting started at once up a rocky point, just above Winnetou's head. His eyes followed them, then closed. He grasped both my hands, and listened as they sang:

"Now the light of day is fading,

Night enfolds us, still and gray;

Would that grief, our poor hearts lading,

Might with daylight steal away.

Mary, Mother, interceding,

Lay our sighs before God's feet,

While thy children humbly pleading,

From your loving hearts repeat:

Ave Maria."

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As they began the second stanza he opened his eyes, and raised them, with a gentle, smiling look to the stars. "Jack, are not these the words of death?"

Sobbing, I bowed my head, and they sang:

"Now the last ray disappearing,

Still and gray falls death's dark night,

And the Soul, its summons hearing,

Spreads its wings to take its flight.

Mary, at this hour defending,

In thy hands our prayer we lay

Help us when our life is ending;

Wake us to eternal day:

Ave Maria."

As the last note died away he tried to speak, but could not. I brought my ear close to his lips, and in my hand I held the canteen of water I had carried over my shoulder. With the last effort of his failing strength Winnetou whispered: "Jack, I believe in the Savior. Winnetou is a Christian. Good-by."

I poured the water on his head thrice. "Winnetou, I baptize thee, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost," I said.

A convulsive tremor passed through his body; a stream of blood burst from his lips; his hands slipped from mine; his limbs straightened. My brother, doubly my brother in that moment, was dead.

I passed the night holding him in my arms as he had died, in speechless, tearless grief. Were it possible, how gladly would I have divided my remaining years with him!

We buried Winnetou in the spot he had chosen, with Christian prayers, and with the honor due so great a chief. He sits on his horse with all his weapons around

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him, in the bosom of the Gros Ventre hills. But no scalps of enemies wave on his grave, as are usual on the grave of a chief, but a cross speaks of peace.

The stones he promised to be found in this place were found abundantly, and a new Helldorf Settlement was made near his grave. Here we brought the bell of the old settlement which Winnetou had buried, and it swings in the belfry of the new chapel. When its voice recalls the Angelus hour to the settlers, they think of my brave Winnetou, who died to save them, and know his dying prayer is granted:

"Wake us to eternal day.

Ave Maria."

Chapter XVI