“And now there is but one thing left to do to finish the work begun in our meeting—a happy meeting in some ways, though so tragic in others,” I said to the chief as we walked slowly towards Winnetou, whom we saw approaching. “The Apache braves have only to bury Kleki-Petrah, and then all will be completed, will it not?”

“Yes.”

“May I be present with my comrades?”

“Certainly; I should have asked you had you not made the request. You talked with Kleki-Petrah on that miserable morning while we were gone for our horses; was it an ordinary conversation?”

“No; it was a very earnest one, and important to us both. May I tell you of what we talked?” Winnetou had reached us as I spoke, and I turned to him with this question.

“Tell us,” he said.

“While you were gone that morning Kleki-Petrah and I sat down beneath a tree. We soon discovered that we were of the same faith, and he opened his heart to me. He had gone through a great deal, and borne much, and he told me of his life. He also told me how dear you were to him, and that it was his desire to die for Winnetou. This wish the Great Spirit fulfilled but a few moments later.”

“Why did he wish to die for me?” asked Winnetou.

“Because he loved you, and also for another reason which I will explain later. His death would then be an expiation.”

“As he lay dying on my heart he spoke to you in a tongue I could not understand; what was it?”

“His mother tongue—German.”

“Did he speak of me then, too?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He begged me to be true to you.”

“Be true—to me? You did not know me then.”

“I knew you, for I had seen you; and whoever sees Winnetou must know what kind of a man stands before him. Besides, Kleki-Petrah told me of you.”

“What answer did you give him?”

“I promised to fulfil his wish.”

“It was his last wish. You then became his heir. You promised him to be true to me, and you protected me, guarded me, watched over me while I pursued you as my enemy. The knife-thrust I gave you would have been fatal to another, but your stronger frame it only wounded. I am very, very guilty towards you. Be my friend.”

“I have long been that.”

“My brother.”

“With all my heart.”

“Then we will cement the bond over the grave of him who gave my soul into your care. A noble pale-face has gone from us, and even in going has given us another equally noble. My blood shall be your blood, and your blood shall be my blood; I will drink yours, and you shall drink mine. Intschu-Tschuna, the greatest chief of the Apaches, my father, will consent to this?”

Intschu-Tschuna gave us each a hand, and said in a tone that evidently came from his heart: “I consent. You shall be not merely brothers, but a single man with two bodies. How!”

Having said this the chief left us, and Winnetou and I went away together, and sat down by the bank of the broad Rio Pecos, now reddening in the setting sun. The depths of Winnetou’s earnest nature had been profoundly stirred by what he had just learned of his beloved teacher’s dying love and care for him. He took my hand, and held it in his own for a long time without speaking, and I had no desire to break the silence. At last Winnetou moved, sighed, and asked: “Will my brother Old Shatterhand forget that we were his enemies?”

“It is already forgotten,” I replied.

“But there is one thing you cannot forgive,” he said.

“What is that?”

“The insult my father gave you the day we met.”

“Oh, after the murder, when he spat in my face?”

“Yes.”

“Why could I not forgive that?”

“Because only blood can wash away such an insult.”

“Winnetou may dismiss all thought of it. That too was instantly forgiven.”

“My brother says something that is impossible to believe.”

“You must believe it; I proved long ago that it was forgiven, for if it were not I should have revenged myself on your father. Do you suppose that Old Shatterhand could be treated thus, and not reply with his fist if he resented it?”

“We wondered afterward that you did not do this.”

“The father of Winnetou cannot insult me. It was all a mistake; that is all. Let us talk of something else.”

“I must speak of this, for I should be guilty if I did not tell my brother the custom of our people. No brave ever admits a mistake, and a chief can do so least of all. Intschu-Tschuna knows that he did wrong, but he cannot ask your forgiveness. Therefore he bade me speak of it to you. Winnetou acts for his father.”

“That was not at all necessary, and in any case we are quits, for I insulted you.”

“Never.”

“Yes. Isn’t a blow of the fist an insult?”

“That was in combat, where it cannot count as an insult. My brother is noble and generous; we will not forget it in him.”

“Let us speak of other things, dear Winnetou. I am to become an Apache; how will it be with my comrades?”

“They cannot be taken into the tribe, but they are our brothers.”

“Without any ceremony?”

“To-morrow we will smoke the pipe of peace with them. In my white brother’s home in the rising sun is there no calumet?”

“No; Christians are all brothers, and it is not necessary to announce it.”

“All brothers! Is there no strife between them?”

“Certainly there is.”

“Then they are not different from us, or better than we. They teach love, but do not feel it. Why did my brother come here?”

The Indians never ask such personal questions; but Winnetou could do so in my case, because we were to be brothers, and he must learn to know me.

“I wanted to see the West, and I wanted to try my skill in my profession, and above all I wanted to win honor.”

“I do not see how you could win honor by—” He paused.

“By stealing your lands,” I finished for him. “Truly, Winnetou, I never thought of that side at all. I was not to profit by the road, except as I did my work well, and was paid for it.”

“Paid! paid! Do you care for gold? Do you need it?”

“I have an uncle, a second father, who will give me all I require; but every young man of spirit wants to make his own name and fortune.”

“And measuring for that road would have done this?”

“It would have been a first step, and a long one, towards it.”

“And now you will not get your reward, because the measuring is not done?”

“No.”

“How much longer time would have been necessary to finish it?”

“Only one day.”

“Had I known you as I know you now we would have delayed a day in coming back.”

“That I might have finished my work?” I asked, touched by such generosity.

“Yes.”

“That means that you would have consented to the robbery.”

“Not to the robbery, but only to the measuring. The lines you make on paper do us no harm; the robbery only begins when the laborers of the pale-faces come to build the road for their fire-horse.”

He considered a while, and a thought was shaping in his brain of such nobility that I doubt if many white men would have been capable of entertaining it. At last he uttered it: “My white brother shall receive all the instruments again, and I will ask my father to allow him to finish measuring for the road. We will go with our warriors and protect him while he does this, and he shall send his papers to the men who wanted them, as well as their instruments, and so shall he make this first step towards the name and fortune he desires.”

“Winnetou,” I cried, moved beyond expression by a generosity which I could hardly fathom, “dear, noble, kind Winnetou, there is no one like you. I can never thank you.”

“There can never be thanks due me from you; my debt must always be greater than yours, and my father has said we shall be as one man with two bodies. But how are you to use this name and fortune? Not here among the Apaches. Will you then go away from us?”

“Yes, but not immediately.”

“We shall be sorrowful. You are to be given the power and rank of a chief of the Apaches. We believed you would stay with us always, even as Kleki-Petrah stayed to the day of his death.”

“My circumstances are very different from his.”

“You are to become Winnetou’s brother, according to Kleki-Petrah’s will, yet you would forsake him. Is that right?”

“Yes; for brothers cannot be constantly together when they have different duties to fulfil. I must go back to those who love me at home, and to whom I owe so much, and see them as well as my other brother here.”

“Then we shall see you again?”

“Of course you will, for my heart will draw me back to you.”

“That rejoices my soul. Whenever you come we shall be glad. You speak of other duties and other friends. Could you not be happy with us?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I love Winnetou, and admire his noble father; but I have been here too short a time to answer that question. It is as when two birds alight on the branch of a tree. One is nourished by the fruit of that tree; the other requires different food, and must fly away.”

“Yet you must believe that we would give you everything you desire.”

“Indeed I know it; but when I spoke of food, I did not mean the nourishment of the body.”

“Yes, I understand; you pale-faces speak of a food of the soul. I have heard of it from Kleki-Petrah. He missed this food among us, and sometimes he was very sad, though he tried not to let us see it. But every spring he journeyed to Santa FÉ, and was refreshed in soul. So, if my dear brother Jack must go, he shall go; but his red brother begs him to come back again.”

This was the first time Winnetou had ever called me by my own name, and I was more than surprised to discover in him a knowledge of the most sacred of Catholic practices, for of course he spoke of Kleki-Petrah’s going to Santa FÉ to fulfil his Easter duties.

“Winnetou,” I answered sincerely, “whatever there is at home that I love—and there is much,—and whatever there is in the great cities of the East to satisfy mind and soul, believe me I have learned to love you and respect you too deeply to leave you willingly; and if I go away, nothing but death shall keep me from returning to my red brother’s side. And some day my brave Winnetou’s noble soul also shall be nourished with that heavenly Food which Kleki-Petrah went so far to seek, and which I need to help me on the way he has gone.”

“You are then a Christian, really believing in your faith?” he asked.

“I don’t say I’m a good Christian,—God alone knows whether or not I am that,—but I have strong faith; yes, and I’d gladly be a good one.”

“And you think we are heathen?”

“No; you believe in the great, Good Spirit, and never worship idols.”

“Then grant me one request.”

“Gladly. What is it?”

“Never speak of your faith to me. Never try to convert me. It is as Kleki-Petrah said. Your faith may be the true one, but we red men cannot understand it. If Christians did not drive us out and oppress us, we might feel that they were good men, and hold their teaching as good. Then we might have time and place to learn what one needs to know of your Holy Book and your priests’ teaching in order to understand them. But he who is slowly and surely driven to death cannot feel that the religion of those who kill him is the religion of love.”

“You must distinguish between the religion and the followers who only acknowledge it in words, but never act by its light,” I said, at a loss how to meet this reproach.

“So all the pale-faces say. Men call themselves Christians, yet do not act as such. I cannot understand how it is that only one man, and now that you have come I will say two men, of all the pale-faces I have known, lived up to the Christian belief. We have our good Manitou, who wishes all men to be good. I try to do as He wishes. Perhaps I am a Christian—a better one than those who are so particular about the name, but have no love in them, and never follow Christian teachings. So never speak to me of your faith, and never try to make me a man who is called a Christian, yet may be none. That is the request you must fulfil.”

I gave the promise, and have kept it. Are words necessary? Is not practice a more eloquent preacher than mere speech? “By their fruits ye shall know them,” said Our Lord; and I vowed in my heart to be Winnetou’s teacher by my life. There came an evening at last, never to be forgotten, when he spoke on this subject himself, and in bitter pain I reaped the fruit of loving prayer and patient sowing as the dearest friend I ever had lay dead with the waters of baptism glistening on his brow.

Now I contented myself with a pressure of his hand, signifying that I understood all the bitterness the wrongs of his race caused him, and we said no more. Presently we arose, for the sun had gone down in splendor, and the river was growing purple as the light faded. We went back to the pueblo, and the brave chief, who was looking for us, welcomed us with a fatherly kindness I had not felt in him before. We sat down to our smoking meal together, and the beautiful Fair Day served us so gracefully, so affectionately, that I thought with wonder how truly among all sorts of men home was home, and love made home-coming sweet.