THERE was not the slightest doubt in my mind that Santer would go straight to Rio Pecos, for in turning the leaves of Winnetou's letter I had seen that he had used Apache words in describing the hiding-place of the gold, which Santer could not understand, and for the explanation of which he would have to seek an Apache. He would run a risk in going, but such a man as Santer would risk anything for gold, and he had the leather case of the letter on which Winnetou's totem was cut, and which might obtain for his lying tongue the credence necessary to get the information he desired. So when I found myself a free man on the prairie once more, I rode through the darkness directly to Rio Pecos, although I could not see the trail of either Santer, or the Kiowas pursuing him. In the morning I came upon the trail of eleven horses; Pida and his ten braves who were on Santer's track, and were following him to Rio Pecos, although the Apaches were their deadly enemies, for an Indian must dare anything, and do-anything to recover his medicine charm if it is lost, since without it he is disgraced, and his life valueless. It was not long before I saw the little band of Kiowas ahead of me; they had encamped during the night to wait for daylight to see Santer's trail. I spurred my horse to overtake them, and when Pida recognized me

he uttered a cry of surprise, and rode faster. I called to him: "Pida may wait. I will protect him against the Apaches."

Although he had shown fear, knowing that I was a chief of the Apaches, and had been his prisoner, yet he seemed to trust me, for he reined up, and called to his braves to stop. "Old Shatterhand! Old Shatterhand is free! Who freed you?"

"No one but myself," I answered.

"Ugh, Ugh! That was impossible."

"Not for me. I knew I should be free, and that was why I would not ride with you. You need not fear me; I am your friend, and will see that nothing happens to you among the Apaches."

"Ugh! Will you truly?"

"I give you my word."

"What Old Shatterhand says I believe."

"You may trust me. But I can only protect you if you are my brother. Dismount; we will smoke the pipe of peace together."

We dismounted, smoked the calumet, and then rode on to Rio Pecos. Nothing had changed. To the right was the grave where we had laid Winnetou's white teacher, Kleki-Petrah, with the cross we had placed over it still unharmed. To the left was the river where I had swam for my life; all was just the same in the pueblo where I had spent that peaceful winter, and had learned to know Winnetou and his people, but the three friends who had loved me were no longer there to welcome me. All the dwellers in the pueblo came with glad cries to make good this lack as far as they could do so.

"Old Shatterhand comes! Old Shatterhand! Hurry,

braves, to receive him," they shouted, and a hundred hands stretched out to give me welcome, a sad welcome, for I had come without Winnetou, who would never see this beloved spot again. I found Sam Hawkins awaiting me there, much changed by the loss of his comrades, but delighted to see me.

"I have brought the Kiowas," I said at once, for I was anxious to make sure they were safe. "Pida is my friend; he has been kind to me while I was his prisoner. We have smoked the pipe of peace together, and I ask the Apaches to receive him for my sake."

"He shall be our guest as long as he wishes, but after he goes away he shall be our enemy again. How!," said Til-Lata, the new chief of the tribe.

"Good! That is understood." "Now the Apaches will wish to hear of Winnetou, and how he died." "We must wait for that, for Santer, the murderer of Intschu-Tschuna and Nscho-Tschi has escaped, and rode yesterday to Rio Pecos; we must capture him."

"The murderer! A pale-face was here yesterday and talked with Inta."

"It was he," I cried. "Take me to Inta."

Inta was one of the oldest men of the tribe. I did not know how Santer had happened to select him for his object, but he could not have made a better selection, for he had watched over the growth of Intschu-Tschuna and the young chief, and had loved them, and would have done anything for any one who had shown him Winnetou's totem.

The old man leaped for joy when he saw me, and began making me a long speech, which I cut short. "Leave that for another time," I said. "Was there a paleface here yesterday?"

"Yes!"

"And has he gone?"

"Yes!"

"What did he want?"

"He showed me Winnetou's totem on leather, and his medicine. He said Winnetou had sent him to learn the meaning of certain Apache words, which he did not want him to know till he had come here."

"What were they?"

"Deklil-to, the Dark Water, and Schisch-tu, the Black Lake, and I described to him these waters, which are in the depths of Nugget-tsil."

"Did you describe the way to get there?"

"Yes; it quickened my soul to talk of these places where I had been with Intschu-Tschuna and Winnetou, the chiefs of the Apaches, who have gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds. I shall soon see them again."

The old man was not to blame; he had only obeyed his chiefs totem.

"Did the man eat here?"

"Yes, but not much; he had no time. He asked for cotton to make a fuse."

"Oh! Did he get it?"

"Yes."

"What was the fuse for?"

"He did not say. And we gave him a great deal of powder."

"To shoot?"

"No; to blow up something!"

"And have you the totem?"

"No; he took it, but he left Winnetou's medicine."

The old man brought out as he spoke Pida's medicine. The young Indian, who was standing beside me,

uttered a cry of joy. "This medicine belongs to the young Kiowa chief. It was stolen from him; Winnetou never saw it in his life."

"Then I will return it to Pida," said the old man, "if Old Shatterhand is quite sure that is true. Was this man a thief?"

"Worse than a thief; he was the murderer of Intschu-Tschuna and Nscho-Tschi."

We left poor old Inta standing dumb with amazement and horror. Til-Lata spoke for the first time after we had left Inta's tent. "We will not wait; we will ride at once. Perhaps we can catch him before he reaches the Dark Water."

Pida was happy, for he had recovered his medicine, and had fully succeeded in the object of his ride. I wondered if we could say as much later. We parted with cordial friendship; Pida to return to the Salt Fork to his village, I to pursue the wretch who was still triumphing, and though I never again saw the young Kiowa, I remember him with liking and respect, and trust life has been kind to him, for he had the instincts of a noble man.

Til-Lata had brought with him only twelve braves, and Sam Hawkins had come with me.

It was evening when we reached Nugget Mountain. We ascended it by the first light of the dawn, passed through the ravine which I had rushed through on my way to rescue Winnetou on the day of the murder and came into the clearing where it had been committed. Here we left the Apaches, and only Til-Lata, Sam and I went on. We turned into a narrow fissure, just big enough for one person to squeeze through, walked some distance, and came out on the borders of a great lake,

the presence of which one could not have suspected on the other side. It was fed by a hot spring, and its banks were dry and barren of all vegetation. Straight up from this rose a bleak peak, rocky and gloomy, surmounted by a crag. As we paused on coming on this scene, a shot rattled past me, and a voice from above cried: "Dog, you're free again! I thought I had only the Kiowas after me."

We looked up, and saw Santer above on the edge of the cliff.

"Do you want your Apache's letter, and to carry off the treasure?" he laughed. "You come too late. I have been there already, and the fuse is lit. I see you don't know the way up; why didn't you read the letter? I'll take the gold, and you can't stop me. This time I am victor."

What was to be done? It was true that we did not know the way, for the secret was known only to the chief of the tribe, and Til-Lata had not yet learned it. There was nothing for me to do but shoot, and I took my Henry rifle from my shoulder.

"Oh, you'll shoot, will you?" cried Santer. "Then I'll take a better position." He disappeared, and came out again higher up, and still higher, till he stood on the very apex of the crag. He held something white in his hand. "See here," he shouted..."Here's your letter. I don't want it any more, for I know the directions by heart. I'll give it to the winds and the lake. You shall never have it." He tore the leaves into fine pieces, and threw them up in the air, and they slowly fluttered about, drifted down slowly, slowly into the lake. The precious letter! The last utterance of my dear Winnetou's faithful heart! I felt suffocated!

"You beast, listen to me a moment!" I cried.

"I'll listen with pleasure."

"Intschu-Tschuna greets you."

"Thanks!"

"And Nscho-Tschi greets you also."

"Thank you very much indeed."

"And in the name of Winnetou I send you this bullet; you need not thank me." I lifted my bear-killer; it was surer, and I must not fail. But what was this? Was my arm shaking? Was Santer rocking? Was the crag swaying?

I could not aim, and lowered the gun to look with both eyes. Lord of heaven! The crag swayed to and fro; there was a dull, heavy explosion, smoke arose, and, as if cast down by a giant hand, the crag, with Santer on it, toppled over, and crashed down, down, down into the boiling lake. We saw him throw up his arms, and shriek for help; the waters closed over him, and he lay under the mass of rock in the unfathomed depths of the Dark Water.

Sam gasped, his face livid with terror. "A judgment of heaven! He has died by his own villainy."

Til-Lata, who had been a little behind us, crept up to the edge of the lake, the bronze of his face pale, his knees trembling, and looked down into the waters which were seething and boiling, and said: "The wicked spirit has drawn him down into the boiling water, and will never give him back till the end of all things. He is accursed."

I could not speak; there were no words for such a scene. What an end for Santer! At the last moment I had been spared the necessity of shooting him; he had condemned himself, or rather he had drawn down the

condemnation of the Most High, and had been his own executioner, for his hand had lit the fuse.

I was weak and faint; I closed my eyed and still saw the swaying crag, and heard Santer's scream. As soon as I was able, I crawled up and searched long and carefully for the scraps of Winnetou's letter. I could find but a few tiny pieces, with a disconnected word on each. That was all that was left me of Winnetou's long letter, but those scraps I have treasured carefully. We descended the mountain, found our horses, and mounted in silence. We were going back to Rio Pecos for a time, and then Sam and I would go East together, and my life among the Indians would be over.

The long rays of the setting sun rested on Nugget Mountain as we looked back at it from the prairie. Its wooded side was bathed in its golden splendor, the only gold that rested now in the secret recesses of its ravines. At last Intschu-Tschuna and Nscho-Tschi were avenged, and Winnetou's work was done. The Dark Water had buried in its boiling depths the murderer, and the gold for which he schemed, and sinned, and died. There was no longer a treasure of Nugget Mountain.