_NURSED TO HEALTH FOR A CRUEL FATE._
AS I opened my eyes again upon this world I saw Sam Hawkins bending over
me, his face radiant with joy, and a little behind him were Dick Stone
and Will Parker, tears of happiness in their honest eyes.
Sam took both my hands in his, pushed away the forest of beard where his
mouth should be, and said: “Do you know how long you have lain here?” I
answered only with a shake of the head. “Three weeks; three whole weeks.
You have had a frightful fever, and became rigid—to all appearance dead.
The Apaches would have buried you, but I could not believe you were
gone, and begged so hard that Winnetou spoke to his father, who allowed
you to remain unburied until decomposition should set in. I have to
thank Winnetou for that; I must call him.”
I closed my eyes, and lay still; no longer in the grave, but in a
blessed languor, in weary content, only wishing to lie so forever and
ever. I heard a step; a hand felt me over and moved my arm. Then I heard
Winnetou’s voice saying: “Is not Sam Hawkins mistaken? Has Selki-Lata
[_Old Shatterhand_] really revived?”
“Yes, yes; we all three saw it. He answered my questions by movements of
his head.”
“It is marvellous, but it were better he had not come back, for he has
returned to life but to be killed.”
“But he is the Apaches’ best friend,” cried Sam.
“And yet he knocked me down twice.”
“Because he had to. The first time he did it to save your life, for you
would have defended yourself, and the Kiowas would have killed you. And
the second time he had to defend himself from you. We tried to explain,
but your braves would not hear us.”
“Hawkins says this only to save himself.”
“No, it is the truth.”
“Your tongue lieth. Everything you have said to escape torture convinces
us that you were even a greater enemy to us than the Kiowa dogs. You
spied upon us and betrayed us. Had you been our friend you would have
warned us of the Kiowas’ coming. Your excuses any child could see
through. Do you think Intschu-Tschuna and Winnetou are more stupid than
children?”
“I think nothing of the sort. Old Shatterhand is unconscious again, or
he could tell you that I have spoken the truth.”
“Yes, he would lie as you do. The pale-faces are all liars and traitors.
I have known but one white man in whom truth dwelt, and that was
Kleki-Petrah, whom you murdered. I was almost deceived in Old
Shatterhand. I observed his daring and his bodily strength, and wondered
at it. Uprightness seemed seated in his eyes, and I thought I could love
him. But he was a land-thief, like the rest; he did not prevent you from
entrapping us, and twice he knocked me in the head with his fist. Why
does the Great Spirit make such a man, and give him so false a heart?”
I wanted to look at him as he spoke, but my muscles would not obey my
will. Yet as I heard these last words my eyelids lifted, and I saw him
standing before me clad in a light linen garment and unarmed.
“He has opened his eyes again,” cried Sam, and Winnetou bent over me,
looking long and steadily into my eyes.
At last he said: “Can you speak?” I shook my head.
“Have you any pain?” I made the same reply.
“Be honest with me! When a man comes back from death he surely must
speak the truth. Did you four men really want to free us?”
I nodded twice.
He waved his hand contemptuously, and cried excitedly: “Lies, lies,
lies! Even on the brink of the grave, he lies! Had you told the truth I
might have thought that at least you could improve, and ask my father to
spare you. But you’re not worth such intercession, and must die. We will
nurse you carefully, that you may be sound and strong to bear long
torture. A weak or sick man would die quickly, and that is no
punishment.”
I could not hold my eyes open any longer; oh, if I could but speak! The
crafty little Sam Hawkins did not put our case very convincingly; I
would have spoken differently. As I was feebly thinking this, Sam said
to the young Apache chief: “We have told you clearly what our part was
in this affair. Your braves would have been tortured, but Old
Shatterhand prevented it by fighting Metan-Akva and conquering him. He
risked his life for you, and as a reward he is to be tortured.”
“You have proved nothing to me, and the whole story is a lie.”
“Ask Tangua, the chief; he is in your hands.”
“I have asked him, and he says you lie. Old Shatterhand did not kill
Metan-Akva; he was slain by our warriors in the attack.”
“That is outrageous. Tangua knows we befriended you and got the best of
him, and now he wants to be revenged.”
“He has sworn by the Great Spirit, and I believe him, not you. I say to
you, as I have just said to Old Shatterhand, if you had been honest with
me I might have pleaded for you. Kleki-Petrah, who was our father,
friend, and teacher, showed me the beauty of peace and gentleness. I do
not seek blood, and my father, the chief, does as I desire. Therefore we
have not killed one of the Kiowas whom we captured, and they will pay us
for the wrong done us, not with their lives, but with horses, weapons,
skins, and vessels. Rattler is Kleki-Petrah’s murderer, and must die.”
Sam answered this, the longest speech I had heard from the silent
Winnetou, very briefly: “We can’t say we were your enemies when we are
your friends.”
“Silence!” said Winnetou sternly. “I see that you will die with this lie
on your lips. We have allowed you more liberty than the other prisoners
that you might attend Old Shatterhand. You are not worth such
consideration, and henceforth you shall be more restrained. The sick man
needs you no longer, and you must come with me.”
“Don’t say that, don’t say that, Winnetou,” cried Sam in horror. “I
can’t leave Old Shatterhand.”
“You must if I command it,” said the young chief. “I will not hear a
word. Will you come with me, or shall my braves bind you and take you
away?”
“We are in your power, and must obey. When shall we see Old Shatterhand
again?”
“On the day of his death and yours.”
“Not before?”
“No.”
“Then let us say good-by now, before we follow you.”
He grasped my hands, and I felt his beard on my face as he kissed my
brow. Stone and Parker did the same, and then they went away with
Winnetou.
I lay a long time alone, till the Apaches came and carried me I knew not
where, for I was too weak to see, and then I was left alone again, and
slept. When I awoke I could open my eyes and move my tongue a little,
and was far less weak than before. I found to my surprise that I lay in
the furthest corner of a large, square room, built of stone, which
received its light from an opening on one side which served as door. The
skins of grizzly bears had been piled on top of one another to make a
comfortable bed, and I was covered with a beautifully embroidered Indian
blanket. In the corner by the door sat two Indian women, one old, the
other young. Like all Indian women after they are past their youth, the
former was ugly, bent, and seamed by the hard work that falls on the
squaws when the braves are on the war-path or hunting. But the younger
was very beautiful, so much so that she would have attracted attention
in any civilized society. She wore a long, light blue garment, gathered
about the neck, and held around the waist by a girdle of
rattlesnake-skin. Her only ornament was her long, splendid hair, which
fell below her hips in two heavy black braids. It resembled Winnetou’s,
and the girl looked like him. She had the same velvety black eyes, which
were half concealed by long, dark lashes, and there was no trace in her,
nor in him, of the high cheek-bones of the Indian; her soft oval cheeks
curved into a chin with a mischievous dimple. She spoke softly to the
old woman, not to awaken me, and as her pretty, red lips parted in a
laugh, her even, white teeth flashed between them. Her delicate nose was
rather of Grecian than of Indian type, and her skin was a light copper
bronze, with a silvery tint. This maiden looked about eighteen years
old, and was, I felt sure, the sister of Winnetou.
I moved, and the maiden looked up from her work, rose, and came over to
me. “You are awake,” she said, in perfectly good English to my surprise.
“Is there anything you would like?” I opened my mouth, but closed it
again, realizing that I could not speak. However, I had been able to
move by an effort; perhaps I could speak if I tried. I made a great
effort, and said: “Yes—I—want—much.”
I was delighted to hear my own voice after more than three weeks’
silence, though the words came indistinctly and painfully.
“Speak slowly or by signs,” said the young girl. “Nscho-Tschi sees that
speech is painful to you.”
“Is Nscho-Tschi your name?”
“Yes.”
“It is fitting; you are like a lovely spring day when the first,
sweetest flowers of the year are blooming.”
Nscho-Tschi means “Fair Day,” and she blushed a little at my compliment.
“Tell me what you desire,” she said.
“Tell me first why you are here.”
“My brother Winnetou commanded me to nurse you.”
“You are very like that brave young warrior.”
“You wanted to kill him.” These words were said half as a question, half
as a statement, while she looked searchingly into my eyes, as if she
would read my very soul.
“Never!” I said emphatically.
“He does not believe that, and considers you his enemy. You have twice
struck down him whom no one has conquered.”
“Once to save his life; once to save my own. I loved him from the moment
I first saw him.”
Again she looked long at me, then she said: “He does not believe you,
and I am his sister. Does your mouth pain?”
“Not now.”
“Can you swallow?”
“I can try. Will you give me a drink of water?”
“Yes, and some to bathe in; we will bring it to you.”
She went away with the old woman, leaving me to wonder why Winnetou, who
considered me his enemy and utterly refused to credit any assurance to
the contrary, should send me his own sister as nurse.
After a time Fair Day came back with the older woman. The former carried
a vessel of brown clay, such as the Pueblo Indians use, filled with
fresh water. She thought me still too weak to drink without assistance,
and held it to my lips herself. It was dreadfully painful to me to
swallow, but it must be done. I drank in little mouthfuls and with long
rests between, until the vessel was quite empty. How it refreshed me!
Nscho-Tschi saw it, and said: “That has done you good. By and by I will
bring you something else, for you must be hungry, too. Now will you
bathe?”
The old woman brought me a gourd of water, and set it before me, with a
towel of fine white flax. I tried to use them, but was too weak. My fair
young nurse dipped the cloth in the water and bathed the face and hands
of the supposed enemy of her father and brother.
When she had finished, she asked me with a soft little pitying laugh:
“Were you always so thin?”
I felt my cheeks, and said: “I was never thin.”
“Look at yourself in the water.”
I looked into the gourd, and shrank back shocked, for the head of a
skeleton seemed to look up at me.
“What a miracle that I am alive!” I cried.
“So Winnetou says. You have even borne the long ride here. The Great
Spirit has given you an extraordinarily strong body, for few others thus
wounded could have endured a journey of five days.”
“Five days! Where are we?”
“In our pueblo, at Rio Pecos.”
“And are the Kiowas here, too?”
“Yes. They really ought to die; any other tribe would torture them, but
the good Kleki-Petrah taught us to be merciful, so they are to pay a
ransom and go home.”
“And my three comrades?”
“They are bound, and are in a room like this. They are well cared for,
because he who is to die by torture must be strong to endure or it is no
punishment.”
“And are they really to die?”
“Yes.”
“And I?”
“You, too.”
“Will Winnetou come to me?”
“No.”
“But I have something important to say to him.”
“He will not hear it. Yet if you will tell me what it is, perhaps he
will let me tell him about it.”
“No, thank you. I could tell you perfectly well; but if he is too proud
to come to me, I have a pride of my own, and will send him no messages.”
“You will not see him till the day of your death. We will leave you now.
If you need anything, call us; we shall hear, and will come to you.”
She gave me a little willow whistle, and then went away with the old
squaw.
My young nurse attended me faithfully every day; fed me savory broths
and porridges from a wooden spoon, kneeling at my bedside, and
nourishing me like a helpless child. Day by day I grew stronger under
this care, though for a long time it hurt me dreadfully to eat. I tried
to keep down all expression of pain, but in spite of myself the water
would stand in my eyes when I swallowed. Nscho-Tschi saw this, and
Indian-like admired silent endurance of pain.
“It is a pity,” she said suddenly one day, “that you were born a lying
pale-face, and not an Apache.”
“I do not lie; I never lie, as you will learn later.”
“I should be glad to think so, but Kleki-Petrah was the only pale-face
in whom truth dwelt. You murdered him, and must die, and be buried with
him.”
I felt sure that I should not die, for I had incontrovertible proof of
our innocence in the lock of hair which I had cut from Winnetou’s head
when I freed him. But had I it still? Had it not been taken from me? I
searched my pockets, and found everything as I had left it; nothing had
been taken from me but my weapons. I took out my box of papers, and
found Winnetou’s hair safely folded between them. I laid it back with a
happy heart; possessing this I had no fear of dying.
I smiled at the beautiful Indian girl quite cheerfully, and said: “The
sweet Fair Day will see that I shall live on many days.”
She shook her head. “You are condemned by a council of the elders,” she
said.
“They will decide otherwise when they hear that I am innocent.”
“They will not believe it.”
“They must, for I can prove it.”
“Oh, prove it, prove it!” she cried. “Nscho-Tschi would be glad indeed
if she could know you were no liar and traitor. Tell me your proof, or
give it to me, and let me take it to Winnetou.”
“Let him come to me to learn what it is.”
“He will not do that.”
“Nor will I send to him. I am not accustomed to sue for friendship, nor
send messengers to one who can come to me.”
“How unrelenting you warriors are! I should have been so glad to have
brought you Winnetou’s forgiveness.”
“I do not need to be forgiven, for I have done no wrong. But I would ask
a favor of you. In case you see Sam Hawkins, tell him to feel no
anxiety, for as soon as I am well we shall be free again.”
“Do not think that; this hope will never be fulfilled.”
“It is not hope, but certainty; later on Fair Day will tell me I was
right.” The tone in which I spoke was so confident that she gave up
contradicting me, and went away without another word.
I improved steadily; the skeleton took on the flesh and muscles of a
living man, and the wound in my mouth healed. Nscho-Tschi remained
always the same, kindly careful, yet sure that death was daily drawing
nearer me. I noticed after a while that when she thought herself
unobserved her eyes rested on me with a sorrowful, questioning look; she
seemed to be beginning to pity me. I had thought her heartless, but had
wronged her. At last, one beautiful, sunny morning in late autumn
Nscho-Tschi brought my breakfast, and sat beside me, instead of keeping
at a distance as she had done since I was able to move about and had
almost completely regained my strength. Her eyes were moist and rested
on me tenderly, and at last two tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You are crying,” I said. “What has happened?”
“The Kiowas are going home; their ransom has come, and now they go.”
“And that grieves you so? You must have indeed become good friends.”
“You do not know of what you speak, nor suspect what lies before you.
The farewell of the Kiowas is to be celebrated by your torture and that
of your three white brothers.”
I had been expecting this, and did not shrink as I heard it. I ate my
breakfast quietly, wondering what would happen before the sun went
down—possibly, in spite of my fancied security, the last sun I should
look upon. I gave the dish back to Fair Day, who took it, no longer able
to keep back her tears.
“This is the last time I shall speak to you,” she said. “Farewell. You
are called Old Shatterhand, and are a strong warrior. Be strong when
they torture you. Nscho-Tschi is sore distressed by your death, but she
will rejoice if you show no signs of pain and lock your groans in your
own breast. Give me this happiness, and die like a hero.”
With this prayer she went away, and I watched her through the open door.
Then I threw myself on the bed and waited, long, anxious hours, till
mid-day. At last I heard the tramp of many feet, and Winnetou entered,
followed by five Apaches. He looked at me long and searchingly. “Do you
remember when you were to see me again?” he asked.
“On the day of my death.”
“You have said it. That day has come. Rise; you must be bound.”
It would have been madness to attempt resistance, for there were six
Indians against me. I rose and they tied my hands together. Then two
thongs were put around my ankles, so that I could take short steps, but
could not jump or run. I was then led out to the platform which ran
around the pueblo house, and from which a ladder led to the ground. We
descended slowly from round to round, three Indians ahead, three behind,
I in the middle. On every platform stood women and children, who gazed
at me in silence and then came down and fell in behind us. All the
Indians of the village, numbering several hundred, were gathering to see
us die.
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