I WAS taken to the Kiowa village, which looked precisely as it did when I left it, with the case reversed, and Pida my prisoner, instead of I his. I was bound to a strong fir, the significance of which I did not learn till later. This fir was called the death tree, because only those prisoners destined to death by torture were bound to it.

Two armed braves were stationed before me at the right and left as guards, but I was kindly and respectfully treated, and Tangua seemed rather to remember that I had spared him his son, and even his own life, than that I had crippled him.

After I had been fastened to the tree, Pida came to see that my bonds were strong. They were drawn fearfully tight, and the young chief loosened them, saying to the guards: "You must watch him with extraordinary vigilance, but do not hurt him. He is a great chief among the white men, and has never given a red warrior unnecessary pain."

Santer used every art and means to get the paper he had seen me reading into his possession. Tangua would have consented to his having it, but Pida interfered, and prevented the command being given. I was forced, however, to relinquish it to the young chief's keeping, which was the hardest pang I had to endure, and made

me desperately anxious fear that by foul means, since fair had failed, Santer would get hold of it.

When Pida made his evening visit to me he said: "Has the white warrior any wish?"

"Yes," I replied, "I want to make a request."

"Tell me it; if I can I will gladly fulfill it."

"I want to warn you of Santer."

"Of him? Beside Pida, the son of the chief Tangua, he is an insect."

"True, but the insect must be guarded against if it will sting. I have heard he dwells beside you?"

"Yes; it is an empty tent."

"Take care he does not come into yours; he mean to."

"I Will throw him out."

"What if you were not in your tent when he came?"

"My squaw would be there, and drive him away."

"He is after the speaking paper you took from me."

"He will not get it."

"No; you will never give it to him, I know, but he might steal it."

"Even if he should get into the tent he cannot find it, for it is hidden in my medicine charm, and it is safe."

"I hope so. Would you let me see it once more?"

"You have already seen it, and read it."

"Not all of it."

"Then you shall see it all, but it is growing too dark now. Early in the morning when it is light I will bring it to your."

"I thank you. And now one word more. Santer is not only after the speaking paper, but my weapons. They are famous, and he would like to have them. In whose hands are they now?"

"In mine. The guns I have covered with two blankets, and put under my bed where he will not look for them. They belong to me now. I should like to be your successor in the glory of having a Henry rifle, and so Old Shatterhand can do me a favor."

"I will, certainly, if I can."

"I can shoot with your bear-killer, but not with the Henry rifle. Before you die would you show me how to load and use it?"

"Yes."

"I thank you. You were not obliged to tell me this secret, and if you did not the rifle would be useless. In return I will see that when your torture begins you have all your heart desires."

He left me, not realizing what a hope this awoke in my heart.

After Pida had gone the women of the village came over to see the white warrior of whom they had heard so much, though the men, and even the lads, were too proud to show curiosity in regard to me, an act of self denial at which I wondered, knowing the nature of a boy, and feeling sure a red one must be very like a white one. Among the maidens was a young girl, standing a little apart from the others. She was not precisely pretty, but she was far from plain, and the steady, earnest, open gaze of her large eyes recalled Nscho-Tschi to me, though there was little resemblance between her and the daughters of the Apaches. I bowed to her pleasantly; she blushed, and walked on, paused to look back at me a moment, and then disappeared in the doorway of one of the larger and finer tents.

"Who was the young daughter of the Kiowas who

stood by herself and has just gone away?" I asked my guard.

"That was Kakho-Oto ["Dark Hair"], the daughter of Sus-Homasche ["One Feather"], who, when he was still a boy, won the right to wear a feather in his hair. The squaw of our young chief is her sister."

In a short time Dark Hair came out of the tent; she carried a small clay dish, and walked straight over to the "tree of death."

"My father has allowed me to bring you something to eat; will you take it?" she asked.

"Gladly," I answered, "only I can't use my hands because they are fastened."

"They need not be untied; I will serve you," she said.

She had brought me roasted buffalo meat, cut into small pieces, and carried a knife with which she speared the bits, and put them into my mouth. Old Shatterhand fed by a young Indian girl like a baby! I wanted to laugh, in spite of the gravity of my situation, and I thought my guards had difficulty in keeping sober, but my kind friend was not a self-conscious young white lady, but a simple Indian girl, to whom the situation held nothing funny, and it would never do to smile. So I took my meat with due solemnity and gratitude, and made a hearty supper.

Early in the dawn, before it was light, Pida rode away at the head of a little band to hunt, and I learned that he would not return till noon. I sighed impatiently to think I should have to wait so many hours before I could read Winnetou's letter which Pida had promised to bring me.

An hour passed; then I saw Santer under the tress. He led his saddled horse by the bridle, and carried his gun over his shoulders. He came directly over to me.

"I too am going on the chase, Mr. Shatterhand. I may meet Pida, who is so well disposed toward you, and distrusts me so much." He waited for an answer, but I acted as though I neither saw nor heard him.

"You have grown deaf?"

Again no answer.

"I am awfully sorry, for your sake, and my own.." He put out his hand toward me with insulting affectionateness.

"Keep off, scoundrel," I cried.

"Oh, you can speak, if you can't hear. Pity, dreadful pity; I want to ask you something." He looked me impudently in the face, and his own had a fiendish expression of triumph. "Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed. "What a picture! The renowned Old Shatterhand at the death tree, and the scamp Santer a free man. But there's something better than that to come, much better. Are you going to do with the gold what his spirit told you?"

These words electrified me, for they were from Winnetou's letter.

"Wretch! Where did you learn that?" I demanded. "You have the paper."

"Yes; I have it," he said with triumphant, mocking laughter.

"You have robbed Pida."

"Robbed him! Nonsense! Folly! I have taken what belonged to me; is that stealing? I have the paper, and the whole package."

":Hold him. Catch him; he has robbed Pida," I shouted to the guards.

"Hold me!" he laughed, springing into the saddle. "Not much!"

"Don't let him go. :He mustn't get away; he has robbed Pida;" the words stuck in my throat; I could say no more, because I was tearing and pulling to get free.

Santer made off in a gallop and the guards only stared after him with uncomprehending eyes. Winnetou's letter, my brother Winnetou's last will was stolen, and the thief was riding away over the open plain, and no one made a motion to catch him. I was beside myself, and pulled, pulled, pulled with all my might at the thongs that bound my hands to the tree. I did not stop to think they were unbreakable, and that if they were broken I could not move because my feet were tied; I did not feel the pain of their cutting into my flesh; I pulled and pulled, and called and called till I fell forward on the ground. They were broken!

"Ugh, Ugh; he is free!" cried the guards.

"Let me go, let me go; I won't escape. I will only catch Santer. He has robbed your young chief."

My cries had, of course, aroused the whole village. Everybody hastened to hold me, which was easily done, for my feet were still bound, and soon my hands were again tied to the tree.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh!" they cried." Broke loose -- no buffalo could have done it. Who could have believed it?" Such were the exclamations on all sides, and the Indians seemed rather to admire me than be displeased at the feat.

"Don't stand staring at me," I shrieked. "Didn't

you understand what I said? Santer has robbed Pida. Get your horses, quick, and bring him back." No one moved. I was frantic, almost insane with rage, but I could do nothing, absolutely nothing, and my last hope failed when the Indians reported that Tangua had forbidden them to follow Santer because Pida could not read the "speaking paper," and it was of no use to him. So seeing that I was powerless, I forced myself to an outward calm, though I was well-nigh mad to think that Winnetou's long, loving letter, written with such infinite pains, and giving his orders as to the hidden treasure, was in the hands of his father's murderer.

Perhaps three hours passed when I heard a woman's voice call loudly. I had seen without noting that Dark Hair had been going in and out of her tent, and now she and her father came running to where I stood, calling loudly. "Old Shatterhand knows everything; is he also a doctor?"

"Yes," I replied, hoping to be untied and taken to some sick person.

"Can you cure the sick?"

"Yes."

"But not raise the dead?"

"Is there any one dead?"

"Yes; the squaw of the young chief Pida. The medicine-man says she is dead, killed by Santer, who stole the 'speaking paper.' Will Old Shatterhand come to her, and give her back her life?"

"Take me to her."

I was unfastened from the tree, and with long thongs on my hands and feet, was led to Pida's tent, the way to which I was very glad to learn, for my weapons were there. I followed One Feather into the tent, and

glanced hastily around. Yes; there they were, my revolver, knife and saddle, and Pida had said the others were under the bed.

"Old Shatterhand may examine the dead, and see if he can make her alive again."

I knelt down, and examined her with my fastened hands. After a time I discovered that her blood still circulated, and I looked up at her father and sister who kept their eyes fastened on me with anxious expectation. "She is dead; no one can awaken her," said the medicine-man.

"Old Shatterhand can," I said.

"Can you? Can you really?" asked One Feather quickly and gladly.

"Wake her, oh, wake her," pleaded Dark Hair, laying her hands on my shoulder.

"Yes, I can, and I will," I repeated." But if life is to be called back to her, I must be alone with the dead."

"Ugh! Do you know what you ask? Here are your weapons. If you get them, you are free. Promise me not to touch them."

It may be imagined what a struggle this cost me; if I had the knife I could cut my bonds. But no! I would not take advantage of a woman's helplessness for such an end. I saw some little knives that lay on a table, which had been used for some feminine work.

"I promise you," I said at last. "You can take them away with you to make sure."

"No; it is not necessary. What Old Shatterhand promises is sure. But that is not enough."

"What more?"

"Promise me not to escape, but to go back to the tree of death, and let yourself be tied."

"I give you my word I will do so."

"Then come away. Old Shatterhand is no liar like Santer; we can trust him."

As soon as they had gone I slipped one of the little knives up my sleeve, then I turned all my attention to the young squaw. I found her head badly swollen from a blow, and as I pressed it she breathed a sigh of pain, opened her eyes, and looked up at me, at first blankly, and then with more consciousness, and at last she whispered: "Old Shatterhand."

"You know me?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Collect yourself; if you sink away again you will die. What has happened?"

My warning that she would die had a good effect. She made an effort, and with my help sat up, laid her hands on her aching head, and said: "I was alone. Santer came in and demanded the medicine. I would not give it to him, and he struck me; I knew no more."

"Is the medicine gone too?"

She looked around, uttered a feeble cry of horror, and said: "It is gone; he has taken it."

The loss of his medicine charm is irreparable to an Indian; Pida would have to ride after Santer, and get it back.

"Come," I said, going to the door of the tent. "The dead is alive." T

he joy these words occasioned may be imagined. The Indians thought I had wrought a real miracle, and I did not contradict them. As One Feather led me back to the death tree he expressed his gratitude

according to his standards by saying: "We will make you die in still greater agony than we had determined on. Never shall a man have suffered like you, and in the Happy Hunting Grounds you shall be the greatest of all the white warriors."

"Thanks!" I thought, but said aloud: "Had you followed Santer as I begged, you would have had him now, instead of which he seems to have escaped."

"We shall capture him; his trail will be very easy to find," said One Feather confidently.

Tangua had sent for Pida when he heard his medicine was lost, and after he had seen his father and wife on his return, he came to me." Old Shatterhand has awakened my squaw, whom I love, from death. I thank him," he said." But my soul is sick, and cannot be cured till I have my medicine again."

"Why didn't you heed my warning?"

"Old Shatterhand is always right. Had our warriors at least obeyed him today the thief would be here now."

"Pida will follow him?"

"Yes. Will you come with me?"

"Yes."

"Ugh! That is good, for then we shall surely catch him. I will cut you free, and give you your weapons."

"Wait. I can go only as a free man."

"Ugh! That is not possible."

"Then I will not go; Old Shatterhand is not a bloodhound."

He shook his head regretfully. "I would have taken you so gladly," he said. "I want to thank you for making my squaw alive, but if you will not go I cannot do so. You will wait here then till I come back."

He went away and when Dark Hair brought me my supper she said: "Old Shatterhand did wrong not to ride with Pida. It is honorable to die in torture without a groan, but Dark Hair thinks it is better to live honorably. Old Shatterhand might have smoked the pipe of peace with Pida on this ride."

"Don't be anxious about me; Old Shatterhand knows what he will do."

She looked down thoughtfully, glanced sideways at the guards, and made an impatient gesture with her hand. I understood; she wanted to speak of flight, but could not. As she raised her eyes again I said: "Old Shatterhand reads his young sister's thoughts. They shall be fulfilled."

"When?"

"Soon."

She was quick to understand, and said at once: "Old Shatterhand has not eaten enough. Will he have anything else? I will bring it to him."

She did not mean food, as I knew, and I said: "I thank my good sister; I have all I need. How is the chief's squaw?"

"The pain is leaving her head; the water helps it."

"She needs a nurse. Who is with her?"

"I."

"And will be all night?"

She understood. Her voice quivered as she replied: "I shall be there till morning."

"Till morning? Then we shall see each other again."

"Yes; we shall see each other again." She left me, and the double meaning of our words had escaped the guards.

Night fell, and the time was come. They had allowed me a blanket, and let me lie down, and as they untied me, and re-tied me in the new position, I slipped the little knife down my sleeve, and nearly severed the thongs. When all was quiet I pulled slowly, softly; the thongs broke; my hands were free. Then I cut the thongs around my ankles. The task was accomplished! The guards had fallen asleep, secure of me, because my wrists were too badly cut for me to break my bonds again. I gave each a quick blow to stupefy them, rose, and crept from tree to tree, from tent to tent till I reached Pida's.

"Dark Hair," I whispered.

"Old Shatterhand," she answered.

"Are my weapons here?"

"In the tent; my sister was so ill I had her taken to my father's tent."

Oh, the sharpness of a girl's wit! She waited for me till I came out with all my weapons. "How good you are to me, and how much I thank you," I whispered.

"Old Shatterhand is good to every one," she returned. "Will he come back perhaps?"

"It may be. If I do I will bring Pida with me as my friend and brother. Give me your hand that I may thank you."

She held it out, saying: "May your flight be successful. I must go; my sister will be anxious about me."

Before I could prevent her she had raised my hand to her lips, and slipped away. I stood still to listen to her footsteps; the kind, good girl! I crept away, found Swallow, saddled him, and led him out of the village till I thought it safe to mount. Then I threw myself in the saddle, and rode away like the wind. I was free!