Winnetou, the Apache Knight by Karl Friedrich May (chrysanthemum read aloud .TXT) 📖

spit upon me, but failing because he could not move his head.

“You must die,” I continued unmoved,” but how depends upon yourself. You are to be tortured; that means long, long agony, through all this day, and perhaps tomorrow. It is horrible to think of, and I want you to escape it. At my request Intschu-Tschuna has declared that you shall die quickly if you will fulfil the condition he has made.”

I waited for him to ask me what the condition was, but instead of doing so he poured out a storm of abuse upon me which could not be repeated. As soon as I could speak I said: “The condition is that you ask my pardon.”

“Your pardon! I’d bite my tongue out first, and suffer all the tortures this red beast can give me.”

“Remember, I did not make the condition, Rattler; it was Intschu-Tschuna who decided thus, for I don’t care about your apology. Consider what awful agony lies before you, and that you can escape it all by saying the little word ‘Pardon.’”

“Never, never! Get out, I tell you! I never want to see your vile face again. Go, and don’t bother me.”

“If I go now, it will be too late to call me back. Be sensible, and speak the one little word, I beg you.”

“No, I tell you, no. Get out! Oh, if I weren’t tied I’d show you the way!”

“As you please; but if you call me back I can’t come. Have you any relatives I can send a message to? Any wish that I can carry out?”

“Only that you may follow me soon; nothing else.”

“Then I am helpless, and can do no more except beg you, as a Christian, not to die in your sins. Ask God’s pardon, if not mine; think of your crimes, and of the judgment that lies before you.”

What his reply to this was I cannot repeat; his words chilled me with horror.

Intschu-Tschuna took my hand and led me away, saying: “My young white brother sees that this murderer does not deserve his intercession. He was born a Christian, and you call us heathen; but do you think a red brave would speak such words?”

I did not answer, for what could I say? Rattler’s conduct was inexplicable to me; he had been so cowardly, and had shown such abject terror at the very mention of torture, and now he acted as though all the pains of the world were absolutely nothing.

“It is not courage,” said Sam;” it’s clear rage, nothing but rage. He thinks it’s your fault that he has fallen into the Apaches’ hands. He hasn’t seen you since we were captured till to-day, and now he sees you free and the red men friendly to you, while he must die, and that’s ground enough for him to conclude we’ve played some trick. But let the agony begin, and he’ll sing another tune.”

The Apaches did not let us wait long for the beginning of the torture. I meant to withdraw; but I had never seen anything of the kind, and decided to stay till I could look on no longer.

Several young braves came out from the rest with knives in their hands, and placed themselves about fifteen feet from Rattler. Then at a signal from the chief they began throwing their knives at him in such a way that these would not touch him, but would enter the coffin all around him. The first knife stuck in the leather at the right, the second in that at the left of his feet, and so near them that there was no space between them and the knives. The next two knit were aimed farther up, and so on until the legs were outlined by knives. Till now Rattler had kept still; but as the knives came higher and higher till his whole body was surrounded by them, he began to be afraid. As each knife whizzed through the air he uttered a cry of terror, and these cries grew shriller and shriller the higher the Indians aimed. How the body was all framed around with knives, only the head being free. The first of the knives next thrown struck the coffin to the left of the neck, the second to the right, and they continued around the face till there was no room left for the smallest blade, when all the knives were drawn out. This was only a little introductory game, played by young lads to show they had learned to aim true and throw straight; and having shown their skill they returned to their places.

Intschu-Tschuna now called upon older youths, who were to throw at a distance of thirty feet. When the first of this band was ready, the chief went up to Rattler and, pointing to the upper part of the right arm, said: “Aim here.”

The knife flew through the air, pierced the muscle, and stuck in the coffin exactly at the spot designated. Rattler uttered a howl as if he were in his last agony. The second knife went through the same spot in the other arm, and his howls redoubled. The third and fourth knives were aimed at the thigh, and entered exactly at the spot the chief indicated.

If Rattler had fancied that the Indians did not really mean to kill him, he saw now that he was mistaken. Heretofore he had uttered only single cries; now he howled unceasingly. The spectators murmured and hissed, showing their contempt in every possible way. An Indian who dies by torture acts far differently. As soon as the spectacle which is to end with his death begins he raises his death-song, in which he celebrates his own prowess and scorns those who are killing him. The greater his agony the greater the insults he heaps upon his foes, and he never lets a sigh of pain be heard. When he is dead his enemies acknowledge his glory, and bury him with all Indian honors. It is glorious for them to put such a hero to death, but it is quite different in the case of a coward who shrinks from the slightest pain and begs for mercy. There is no glory, but almost disgrace, in torturing such as he, and scarcely a warrior is willing to have any part in his end; so he is knocked in the head, or put to death in some other ignominious way. Such a coward was Rattler. His wounds were trifling so far; they cost him some pain, but they were far from being agony; nevertheless he howled as though he tasted all the pains of the lost, and kept repeating my name, begging me to come to him.

“My young white brother may go to him and ask him why he shrieks so. The knives cannot yet have given him much pain,” Intschu-Tschuna said at last.

“Yes, come; come here, come!” cried Rattler. “I must speak to you.”

I went, and asked him what he wanted.

“Take the knives out of my arms and legs,” he whined.

“I can’t do that.”

“But they’ll kill me; who can bear such wounds?”

“Good gracious! Is it possible you thought you’d be allowed to live?”

“You’re alive.”

“Yes, but I have not committed murder.”

“I did not know what I did; you know I was drunk.”

“The fact remains the same; you were often warned against liquor, and you knew when you took it what a beast it made you.”

“You are a hard cruel man. Plead for me.”

“I have done so. Ask pardon and you shall die quickly.”

“Die quickly! I won’t die. I must live, live, live.”

“That is impossible.”

“Impossible! Is there no hope?”

“None at all.”

“No hope, no hope, no hope,” he wailed, and began such a clamor of cries and groans that I could not stand it, and left him alone.

“Stay with me - stay with me,” he shrieked. “Stand by me.”

The chief interrupted him. “Stop howling, you cur. You are not worth soiling the weapons of our braves.” And turning to his warriors he asked: “Which of the sons of the brave Apaches will put an end to this coward?”

No one answered.

“Will no one do it?”

Again silence.

“Uff! This murderer is not worthy to be killed by us, and he shall not be buried with Kleki-Petrah. How could such a crow appear in the Happy Hunting Grounds beside a swan? Cut him loose.”

Two little boys sprang forward at a signal, drew the knives from Rattler’s limbs, and cut his bonds.

“Bind his hands behind his back,” continued the chief.

The boys, who could not have been more than ten years old, obeyed him, and Rattler did not make the slightest attempt at resistance. What a disgrace! I blushed to be a white man.

“Take him to the river, and push him into the water,” was the next order. “If he can get to the other shore he shall be free.”

Rattler uttered a cry of joy, and let the boys lead him to the river. They actually did push him in, for he had not sufficient sense of decency to jump in himself. He sank at once, but came up again quickly, and tried to advance by swimming on his back, which was not difficult though his hands were tied, for his legs were free. Would he reach the opposite bank? I could not hope that he would; he deserved to die, and if he were allowed to live the one who spared him would almost render himself guilty of the future crimes the miserable man was sure to commit. The boys stood close to the water, and watched him.

“Get guns, and shoot him in the head,” said Intschu-Tschuna.

The children ran to the place where the braves had left their weapons, and each took a gun. These little fellows knew well how to handle such weapons; they knelt on the ground, and aimed at Rattler’s head.

“Don’t shoot; for Heaven’s sake don’t shoot,” he cried.

The boys spoke to one another; they acted like little sportsmen in letting Rattler swim farther and farther, and the chief did not interfere, seeing they knew their business.

Suddenly their shrill, boyish voices rang out in a sharp cry, and they shot. Rattler was hit in the head, and instantly disappeared under the water. No cry of triumph arose such as Indians always utter at the death of an enemy. Such a coward was not worth breath, and their contempt was so great that not an Indian looked after his body. They let it float where it would, not even taking the trouble to make sure he was dead.

Intschu-Tschuna came to me and asked: “Is my yonug white brother satisfied with me?”

“Yes; I thank you.”

“You have no reason to thank me. If I had not known your wish I should still have acted nearly as I

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did. This cur was not worthy to suffer torture. You have seen to-day the difference between brave red warriers and cowardly white men. The palefaces are all ready for any wickedness, but when there is question of showing courage they howl like dogs that see the whip.”

“The chief of the Apaches must remember that there are cowards and brave men everywhere, as there are good and bad ones.”

“You are right, and I will not wound you. But no nation should think itself better than another because it is not of the same color.”

CHAPTER XVIII. TEACHING WINNETOU.

“AND 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