As we approached the pueblo I saw for the first time what an imposing stone structure it was. The American savage has not been supposed to have had ability to build, but men who could raise such masses of stone as the southwestern Indians have put into their pyramidal pueblos, and knew how to fasten them securely with such insufficient tools as they possessed, surely did not stand in the lowest ranks of intelligence or knowledge of architecture. And though it is said with truth that these Indians once possessed knowledge which their descendants have lost, it must be remembered that if time and opportunity for advancement be denied them they must inevitably deteriorate, and their present inferiority proves rather the oppression of the white man than the incapacity of the red man.

We climbed to the raised platform behind which lay the best apartments of the pueblo. There Intschu-Tschuna dwelt with his children, and there apartments were given us also. Mine was a large room, which like my first one had no window, receiving its light only through the door, but this was so broad and high that there was plenty of light. The room was bare, but Nscho-Tschi furnished it quickly with skins, covers, and ornaments, so that I felt at home at once. Hawkins, Stone, and Parker were given a pleasant room together.

When the “guest-chamber” had been prepared, and I had taken possession of it, Fair Day brought me a beautifully carved pipe of peace with tobacco. She filled it herself, lighted it, and as I drew the first whiff said: “My father Intschu-Tschuna sends you this pipe. He took the clay for it himself from the sacred stone quarry, and I cut it. No man has ever had it between his lips, and we beg you to accept it for your own, and remember us when you smoke it.”

“Your goodness is great,” I said. “I feel ashamed that I can make no gift in return.”

“You have already given us so much that we cannot thank you for it; the lives of Intschu-Tschuna and Winnetou were in your hands, and you spared them, and to-day again you might have killed the chief and you did not do so. Therefore our hearts turn to you, and if you will you shall be our brother.”

“If that may be, then my dearest wish will be fulfilled. Intschu-Tschuna is a renowned warrior, and I have loved Winnetou from the first moment that I saw him. It would not only be a great honor but a great joy to be the brother of such men; I only wish that my comrades could share it.”

“If they will, they shall be treated as if they had been born Apaches.”

“We thank you for this. So you carved the head of this pipe yourself? How skilful your hands are!”

She blushed over this praise, and said: “I know that the women and daughters of the pale-faces are far more skilful than we. Now I will go, and bring you something else.”

She disappeared, and returned with my revolver, my knife, and everything else that had been in my pockets, with nothing missing or injured.

“And how about our horses?” I asked.

“They are all here; you shall ride yours again, and Hawkins is to have his Nancy.”

“So you know the mule’s name?”

“Yes, and the name of the old gun which he calls his ‘Liddy.’ When you were ill I used to go to him every day to tell him you were progressing. He is a funny man, but a good hunter.”

“Yes, and he is far more than that. He is a true, self-sacrificing comrade, whom you can’t help loving. Now will you answer a question truthfully?”

“Nscho-Tschi does not lie,” she replied, simply and proudly, “and least of all would I lie to you.”

“Then why did your warriors leave the contents of my pockets untouched when they took everything away from my comrades and the Kiowas?”

“Because my brother Winnetou ordered it so.”

“And do you know why he gave such an order?”

“Because he liked you.”

“Although he considered me his enemy?”

“Yes. You said a little while ago that you liked him from the moment you first saw him; he had a similar feeling for you. It grieved him to be forced to hold you his enemy, and not only an enemy—” She stopped, evidently because what she was going to say would have wounded me.

“Say on,” I said.

She shook her head.

“Then I’ll finish for you. It did not grieve him so much to consider me his enemy, for one can respect an enemy, but to consider me a liar, a treacherous, false man. Is that it?”

“You have said it.”

“Never mind; I think he knows now he was mistaken. What about Rattler?”

“He will be tortured in a little while.”

“And why was I not told?”

“Winnetou would have it so; he thought your eyes could not see nor your ears hear his agony.”

“I’ve no doubt he is right; but if I can bring about what I desire I can bear it. In any case I must be there. What torture is intended for him?”

“Everything possible. He is the worst pale-face that the Apaches have ever captured. He killed our White Father, whom we loved and honored, and for no reason; therefore he must die by every agony which we know, slow and long-continued.”

“That must not be; it is inhuman.”

“He deserves it.”

“And can you look at it?”

“Yes.”

“You, a maiden!”

She dropped her long lashes, and then raised her eyes to mine. “Your women are not more tender-hearted than we. They do cruel things only for their own pleasure, kill little birds for their feathers, and are not always gentle; Kleki-Petrah has told me of them. Our ways are not your ways, but a woman’s heart is everywhere the same, whatever the color of her skin. The white men have not taught the Indian kindness, truth, or justice. I can look on the punishment of a man who, in murdering Kleki-Petrah, has given us pain greater than his. But I ask you not to come to see Rattler tortured, for Intschu-Tschuna and Winnetou will not be pleased if they see you coming with me.”

“I will go with you none the less, and they will pardon it,” I said.

We descended the ladder again, and met Winnetou when we had gone but a short distance. I had completely forgotten Tangua until that moment when I saw him standing near, and there was no mistaking how angry he was.

I went up to him, and looking him steadily in the face demanded: “Is Tangua, the Kiowa chief, a liar, or does he love truth?”

“Would you insult me?” he shrieked.

“No; I only want to know. Answer me.”

“Old Shatterhand must know that I love truth,” he said.

“You remember, then, what you said to me when I was bound over yonder.”

“I said many things to you.”

“You certainly did; but you know what I mean. If you don’t I’ll help your memory. You said that we should have a settlement.”

“Did I say that?” he asked, elevating his brows.

“Yes, and you said further that you would be glad to fight me, for you would crush me.”

“I don’t remember that; Old Shatterhand must have misunderstood me.”

“No; Winnetou was there and can confirm it.”

“Yes,” said Winnetou readily. “Tangua said he would settle with Old Shatterhand, whom he would gladly fight, for he would crush him.”

“Now,” I continued, “you called me a frog without courage, and tried in every way to do me harm. You’ve got to eat your words.”

I felt that I must punish this Indian, not merely for justice’ sake and the effect on the Apaches, but for the benefit of those white men whom he might meet in the future.

“My brother Old Shatterhand is right,” said Winnetou. “If you do not keep your promise you will be a coward, and should be expelled from your tribe. Such things must not happen here, for no man shall reproach the Apaches with having a coward for a guest. What does the Kiowa chief intend to do?”

“I will consider it.”

“For a brave warrior there is nothing to consider. Fight or be called a coward.”

Tangua drew himself up, saying haughtily: “Tangua a coward! I will bury my knife in the heart of him who says it.”

“I say it—I,” said Winnetou coolly, “if you do not keep your word to Old Shatterhand.”

“I will keep it.”

“Then are you ready?”

“This moment; I long to taste his blood.”

“Good! Old Shatterhand will decide the weapons, for you insulted him.”

“No; I am a chief, and am greater than he.”

“Let him choose,” I interrupted. “It makes no difference to me what they are.”

“It shall be guns, two hundred paces apart, and I will shoot first.”

Winnetou shook his head. “Tangua would have all the advantages for himself,” he said. “Old Shatterhand must shoot first.”

“No,” I said. “He shall have his way. Let him shoot once, and I once, and no more.”

“No,” said Tangua, “we will shoot till one falls.”

“Certainly; for after my first shot you will be down.”

“Boaster!”

“You will see. I could kill you, but I will not. The most severe punishment for you would be to lame you; I will break your right knee. Remember.”

“Do you hear that?” he laughed. “This pale-face, whom his own friends call a greenhorn, announces beforehand where his shot shall go at two hundred paces! Braves, let us laugh at him.”

He looked around invitingly, but no one laughed, and he said: “You are afraid of him, but I will show you how I mock him. Come, let us measure the paces.”

While this was being done I got my gun, examined it, and found it in good condition. Both barrels were loaded, but to be sure of them I discharged and reloaded them. Sam came up, and said: “I have a hundred questions to ask you, and can’t get a chance. However, there’s one thing I must ask you, and that is if you’re really going to shoot this fellow in the knee?”

“Yes.”

“Only there?”

“That is punishment enough.”

“No, it certainly is not. Such vermin ought to be stamped on. Only think of what he has been guilty, and everything has come from his having stolen the Apaches’ horses in the first place. If I were in your place I would put a bullet into his head; he’ll do his best to get one into yours.”

“Or in my heart; I know that perfectly well.”

“But he won’t succeed; these Kiowas are no good at shooting.”

The ground has been measured by this time, and we took our places. I was quiet as usual, but Tangua poured out a stream of abuse upon me, till Winnetou, who stood on one side between us, said: “Let the Kiowa chief be silent and pay attention. I will count three, and then he may shoot; he who shoots before the time shall have my bullet in his head.”

Of course all the Indians were watching us with intense interest. They had divided into two files, to right and left of us, so that a broad path ran between them, at the end of which we stood. The deepest stillness reigned. “The chief of the Kiowas may begin,” said Winnetou. “One—two—three.” I stood still, presenting the entire width of my body to my antagonist. At Winnetou’s first word he raised his gun, aimed carefully, and at “three” fired. The shot went over me, close to my head. No one uttered a sound.

“Now Old Shatterhand may shoot,” said Winnetou. “One—two—”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “I stand up fairly to the Kiowa chief, but he has turned half around, so that the side of his face is towards me.”

“I may do so,” said Tangua. “Who shall forbid it? There was nothing said as to how we should stand.”

“That is true, and Tangua certainly may stand as he likes. He has turned his side to me because, that being narrower than the breast, he thinks it will be harder for me to hit, but he is mistaken; I can hit him just as well. I might have shot without a word, but I’ll be honorable with him. He was to have a wound only in the right knee, but now that cannot be, for if he stands with his side towards me the shot will shatter both knees. That is the only difference; he can do as he likes; I have warned him.”

“Shoot with bullets and not with words,” he answered, ignoring my warning.

“Now Old Shatterhand shoots,” said Winnetou. “One—two—three.” My bullet whistled through the air. Tangua uttered a loud shriek, dropped his gun, threw up his arms, waved them about wildly, and fell.

“Uff! uff! uff!” echoed all around, and every one ran over to see where he had been wounded. I also went over, the Indians respectfully making way for me.

“In both knees, in both knees!” I heard on all sides.

Tangua lay moaning on the ground as I came up; Winnetou knelt by him examining the wound. He saw me coming, and said: “The shot has gone just where my white brother said it should; it has broken both knees. Tangua can never again ride out to cast his eyes on the horses of another tribe.”

When the wounded man saw me he began another torrent of abuse, but I compelled him to be silent a moment, and said: “I warned you, and you would not heed the warning; you alone are to blame.”

He dared not complain of the pain, for under no circumstances may an Indian do this; he bit his lip, looked sullenly around, and growled: “I am wounded, and cannot go home; I must stay with the Apaches.”

Winnetou shook his head, and answered decidedly: “You will go home, for we have no room for the thief of our horses and the murderer of our braves. We have not avenged ourselves with blood, but have accepted ransom in beasts and goods; more you cannot expect. No Kiowa belongs in our pueblo.”

“But I cannot ride.”

“Old Shatterhand was much more severely wounded than you are, and could not ride, yet he had to come with us. Think of him often; it will be good for you. The Kiowas must leave here to-day, and those of them that we find in our domains to-morrow we will treat as they wished Old Shatterhand to be treated. I have spoken. How!”

He took me by the hand and led me away, and I knew, though he said nothing, that he was pleased with the result of this last adventure and the punishment of his treacherous foe.