Karl May - Winnetou

Winnetou I
________________________________________________

This free e-book is a sampler and
contains the first one and a half chapters
from the bestseller Winnetou I, written in
1893 by Karl May, translated into English
by Marlies Bugmann in 2008. To purchase
the book, please visit:
http://www.karl-may-friends.net

Cover image
The Greenhorns First Grizzly: Marlies Bugmann
Cover photography: David Irwin
Edited to international English standard:
Marlies Bugmann

Australian Friends of Karl May;
English Karl May books:
http://www.karl-may-friends.net

All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the
reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in
any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now
known or hereafter invented, is prohibited without the
written permission of the author/translator.

Publishing Date: August, 2008

Copyright 2008 Marlies Bugmann

Winnetou I

Translated by
Marlies Bugmann

From volume 1 of the famous Winnetou Trilogy
Published first in 1893
by Karl May (1842-1912)

A story of the Wild West

________________________________________________

Marlies Bugmann
2008

Contents

Acknowledgments
Foreword by Translator

Introduction by Karl May
Chapter 1: A Greenhorn
Chapter 2: Klekih-Petra
Chapter 3: Winnetou Captured
Chapter 4: Two Life-Or-Death Battles
Chapter 5: Nsho-Chi
Chapter 6: Sams Rescue

Translators Biography
More Karl May Translations
Other Books
[vii]

Acknowledgments

________________________________________________

Thank you to my husband, David Irwin, for his time
to read the draft translations and his valuable feedback, and
for his assistance with just the right word when a tricky twist
in the plot required it.

Thankyou to Karl May for giving us Winnetou, Old
Shatterhand and friends.
[viii]
[ix]

Translators Foreword

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In 1893 the Winnetou trilogy appeared for the first time.
In contrast to other book series, for which the greatest part
was based on complete stories previously published in
sequel form, May had only a limited volume of existing
text to utilise for this trilogy. Winnetou I is the only one of
the three volumes that May wrote especially for the trilogy.
Volumes two and three are compiled from four previously
published separate stories, for which May also wrote a new
framework and ending chapters.
The colourful characters of Mr Henry the gunsmith, Sam
Hawkens the Westerner, Klekih-Petra the fugitive from
Germany, Tangua the treacherous Kiowa chief, and above all
Winnetou the young Apache warrior, his sister Nsho-Chi,
and their father, supreme chief of all Apache, Inshu-Chuna,
make the first volume of the Winnetou trilogy an
unforgettable adventure.
The three books, known as the Winnetou trilogy,
Winnetou I, Winnetou II and Winnetou III, are undoubtedly
Mays most famous work.

Although Hatatitla (Old Shatterhands horse) and
Iltshi (Winnetous horse)two black Indian horses,
[x]
stallions from Winnetous famous breedare part and parcel
of Karl May Wild West adventures from 1893/4 onward,
these two horses do not make an appearance in the entire
Winnetou trilogy text as published during Mays lifetime.
The first mention of Hatatitla and Iltshi occurs in Die
Felsenburg, (The Rock Fortress) (1893/4). The Winnetou
trilogy was written and compiled for publication in 1893.
The minor editing changes carried out by Karl May in 1909,
the last version from the authors pen, did not encompass the
inclusion of Hatatitla and Iltshi. Karl May didnt amend
apparent discrepancies with Old Shatterhands and
Winnetous black stallions; therefore, any Wild West
stories written prior to 1893/4 and published during Mays
lifetime, will have no mention of Hatatitla and Iltshi,
including the entire Winnetou trilogy; this left a conundrum
as Winnetou died in the third volumenot accounting for
the missing horses in the most famous of Karl Mays works.
That has been adjusted some time after Mays death. In this
translation of the trilogy, the greenhorns roan, Swallow the
brave mustang, a black Comanche horse, another black
Indian horse, as well as one or two other nameless mustangs
receive their due place in history as Old Shatterhands
various horses.

The last chapter, Sams Rescue, contains a passage
where three people swim across a river to get to an island.
Sometimes, problematic flaws in text construction also
reveal an authors lesser-known characteristicsfor
example whether or not he is familiar with the difference in
the dynamics of fast flowing and still water. (Anecdotal
evidence has it that he didnt know how to row a boat,
according to his publisher, Fehsenfeld, who published the
very first edition of the Winnetou trilogy.)
The scene unfolds in a river. Three swimmers enter a
river to swim across. After a few strokes, the ground
dropped away beneath their feet and they arent all that far
from the riverbankthis usually indicates a strong current.
A canoe is being vigorously paddled downstream, despite
the strong flow of the river, close to where the swimmers
[xi]
are who only moved enough to keep afloat and not drift too
far, which would indicate that the swimmers are in
relatively still water, otherwise they would be swept
downriver.
The canoe is very close to them yet it is moving along
with the strong flow of the river, while the swimmers are
stationary in relatively calm water (as indicated by their
minimal and noiseless movements to stay afloat). The
scene is becoming confusing, is it taking place in a strong
current or still water? If the swimmers are in still water and
the canoe in fast-flowing water, the canoe wouldnt be
close but would travel past them at a certain distance and
far too quickly for anyone to successfully execute any of
the actions that followespecially in a dense fog with
restricted visibility, as indicated.
The man in the canoe stopped the canoe in order to take
his weapon and attempt to shoot the swimmers. He might be
able to do that in still water, but most likely not in a strong
flow as he would, firstly, lose some control over his
canoe, and, secondly, not be steady enough to aim his
gun effectively. As the plot evolves, the canoe remains
where it stopped for a few more moments, and after a tense
moment or two, the man in the canoe takes the paddle into
his hands and sets the canoe going again, and the water turns
into a torrent to take him away and out of reach. The
swimmers continue to cross the river and arrive at the island
without having drifted off course.
Alas, every river has shallow and deep, still and fast-
flowing water, and sometimes very close together.
However, the confusion between the still and the fast-
flowing water within the narration of the scene points to a
small personal limitation in Karl Mays life: he couldnt
swim, or at least not enough to have ever swum across a
torrent of a river. The scene is described as if it unfolds on
solid groundand has been adjusted very slightly, with very
few words, so as not to ruin the tense moment.

***

[xii]
The author and translator wishes to advise that Mays
narrative is of historic value and the text has been translated
as published during Mays lifetime, and does not endorse
or confirm any of the views, terms, interpretations,
representations, opinions, cultural sentiments, religious
expressions, or conjectures of the original author, Karl May,
1842-1912, or those attributed to his fictional characters,
antagonists and protagonists alike, within the translations.
Where an inaccuracy of fact has been identified, slight
adjustments for ease of reading have been effected; but it
was not intended to alter, censor or enhance the work of Karl
May. Terms for ethnic groups commonly used by the culture
of his era were acceptable in those times and, where
appropriate, have been maintained within the narrative
translations, because the use of contemporary, twenty-first
century politically correct, and racially or culturally sensitive
terms would seem out of place. We ask the reader not to
judge.

***

The spelling of some non-English words has been treated
as follows: the German sch has been replaced with sh or
ch or j where appropriate and according to phonetic
preference; the normal English equivalent letter has been
used instead of the occasional foreign language special
characters; for German umlaut the internationally accepted
alternatives of oe, ae, and ue have been applied. Some
German and Spanish expressions and words have been
incorporated into passages where appropriate and where
indicated that dialogue within the plot occurs in the German
or Spanish language. The names and descriptions of some
regions and natural features are fictitious but have not been
indicated as such. Measurements are expressed in metric
system terms, where measurements are expressed in imperial
terms within dialogue they have been maintained as such.
German syntax may at times be evident; Mays excessive use
of punctuation marks, especially the comma, semicolon and
exclamation mark, has been preserved as far as practicable.
[xiii]
Parentheses ( ) contain commentary by Karl May, square
brackets [ ] contain notes or references by the translator.
Marlies Bugmann, 2008

Winnetou I [1]

Introduction
By Karl May (1893)

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When I think of the American Indians, I am immediately
reminded of the Turkish people; although this might seem
peculiar, it, nevertheless, has its justification. There might
not be many points of resemblance between the Red Indian
and the Turk, however, they have one thing in common
with only a minor differentiationthe global community has
given up on them: they talk of the Turk as an ailing man,
while anyone who knows the plight of the Red Indian, must
describe him as the dying man.
Yes, the Red Nation lies dying! From Tierra del Fuego to
far above the Great Lakes of North America, the giant patient
lies prostrate, struck down by a bitter fate that knows no
mercy. He resisted with all his might, but in vain; his
strength gradually failed; now he breathes his last sighs and
the convulsions that seize his naked body time and again
proclaim the approach of death.
Is he to blame for his early demise? Has he deserved it?
If it is correct that every living thing is entitled to life,
and if that applies to the whole as well as to each individual,
then the Red Indians rightful claim to existence is no less
valid than that of the white man, and he is entitled to develop
according to his own individuality within a social and
[2] Marlies Bugmann
national fabric. Of course, detractors maintain that Indians do
not possess the necessary nation-building traits. Is that true? I
say: No! However, I will not draw conclusions because it
is not my intention of writing a scientific dissertation in that
regard. White man had time to develop naturally; he
gradually evolved from the hunter to the herdsman, over
many centuries, and then went on to agriculture and industry.
The Red Indian, however, didnt find that time because it
wasnt granted to him. He was expected to make a giant leap
from the lowest rung, the hunter stage, to the highest level,
and this demand was put on him without any consideration
of the fact that he must stumble and fall in the process and
sustain fatal injuries.
It is a cruel law that dictates that the weak must surrender
to the strong; but as it pervades the entire creation and is
valid for all of Earths Nature we must assume that this
cruelty is only superficial or is capable of Christian
moderation, because the eternal wisdom that gave us this law
is also the eternal love at the same time. Can we then claim
that such mitigation has been applied to the dying Indian
race?
Natives not only greeted the first palefaces with
hospitality, but also revered them almost like gods. What
was their reward? The land they inhabited was undeniably
theirs; it was stolen from them. The rivers of blood that
flowed because of the resultant cruelties are common
knowledge to anyone who has read the history of the
famous conquistadors. They provided the model by which
the bloodshed and cruelty continued later. The white man
arrived with sweet words on his lips and at the same time a
sharp knife in his belt and a loaded gun in his hand. He
promised love and peace yet meted out hatred and
bloodshed. The red man was forced to retreat, step by step,
and increasingly farther back. Occasionally, he was granted
eternal rights to his territory, but then was evicted shortly
afterwards and chased away again and again. The Whites
bought the land from him but either didnt pay him at all or
only with worthless trade goods. However, he was all-the-
more thoroughly trained in the acceptance of the insidious
Winnetou I [3]
poison of the firewater, together with smallpox and other,
even more debilitating diseases, which decimated many
tribes and depopulated entire villages. When the red man
dared to assert his rights, he was answered with powder and
bullets, and again he had to give way to the superior weapons
of the Whites. Embittered because of it, he took revenge on
every paleface he came upon, the consequence of which
always took the form of virtual massacres carried out on the
red man. Once a proud, daring, courageous, truthful, upright
and loyal hunter to his friends, he turned into a slinking,
mistrustful, lying human being because of it and through no
fault of his own because not he, but the White is to blame for
it.
Where did the wild mustang herds go, from the midst of
which he once caught his riding horse? Where are the bison
that fed him when they populated the prairies in the millions?
How does he survive today? From the flour and the meat
deliveries? Have a look at how much gypsum and other nasty
things the flour contains; it is unpalatable! And should a tribe
have a hundred extra fat cattle apportioned, the animals
turned into two or three emaciated cows along the way that
wouldnt even yield a mouthful for a vulture. Or should the
Red Indian make a living from agriculture? Can he count on
a harvest, he who has no rights, is continuously driven away
and is denied a permanent place to live?
He once was a proud, beautiful figure when he dashed
over the wide prairies with his mustangs mane fluttering
about him, now he looks miserable and depraved, and is
clothed in rags that cant even cover his nakedness! He who
once brimmed with energy and tackled the terrible silvertip
bear with his bare fists, now skulks along dark corners like a
mangy dog, hungry, to beg for a scrap of meator to steal it!
Yes, the Red Indian has become an ailing mana dying
man, and full of pity we stand beside his wretched bed,
waiting to close his eyes. To be at someones deathbed is a
solemn matter, but it is a hundred times more solemn when
an entire race is dying. Many questions arise, these above all:
what could this race have achieved had it been granted the
time and space to develop its inner and external strengths and
[4] Marlies Bugmann
talents? What unique forms of culture are being lost to
humanity through the demise of this nation? The dying red
man didnt submit to assimilation because he had his own
unique character; was that a reason to kill him, couldnt he
be spared? If the bison is given asylum in the national parks
of Montana and Wyoming so that it doesnt become extinct,
then why not give the erstwhile, rightful master of the
country a place where he can live in security and can grow
spiritually?
But of what use are these questions in the face of
inevitable death? Of what help are accusations where help is
too late? I can only lament, but not change anything; I can
only grieve, but not bring the dead back to life. I? Yes, I!
During the many years I dwelled among the Red Indians, I
became acquainted with them. There is one, in particular,
who lives in my heart and in my thoughtsvivid, tall and
noble. He, the best, most loyal and altruistic of all my
friends, was a genuine representative of his race and it is
perishing like he perished, his life extinguished by the
murderous bullet of an enemy. I have loved him like no other
human being and continue to love the dying nation whose
noblest son he was. I would have given my life to preserve
his, as he risked his own for me a hundred times. My wish
wasnt granted; he died, saving his friends; but only his body
has died, he will live on within these pages, just as he lives
on in my soul, Winnetou, the great Apache chief. I am
building his well-deserved monument here and if the reader,
looking at it with his or her inner eye, reaches a just verdict
about the folk, for whom the chief was a faithful
representation, I am being richly rewarded.
Winnetou I [5]
[6] Marlies Bugmann

1
A Greenhorn

_________________________________________________

Dear reader, do you know what the word greenhorn
means? Its an annoying and disrespectful term for the one to
whom it is applied. Greenhorn in this instance means to be a
new arrival who is still inexperienced in the basic skills
required in a new environment, and who has to carefully
probe his surroundings to avoid ridicule.
A greenhorn is someone who wont get up out of his
chair when a lady indicates that she wishes to sit there; who
greets the master of the house before he bows to the wife and
daughters; who loads his weapon back to front, first the
wadding, then the bullet and the powder last. A greenhorn
either speaks no English at all or a clean and affected
version; he loathes Yankee-English or the backwoods idiom;
it makes no sense to him, nor will it readily roll over his
tongue. A greenhorn mistakes a racoon for an opossum and a
pretty Mulatto girl for a Quadroon. A greenhorn smokes
cigarettes and is disgusted at the tobacco-chewing and
spitting gentleman. If an Irish Paddy boxes his ears, a
greenhorn takes the affair to court instead of returning the
punch or shooting the fellow immediately. A greenhorn takes
the footprints of a turkey for those of a bear and a slim racing
yacht for a Mississippi steamer. A greenhorn is too shy to put
Winnetou I [7]
his feet with dirty boots onto the knees of his fellow
passengers and slurp his soup amid snorts that resemble
those of a dying buffalo. For reasons of cleanliness, a
greenhorn takes with him a bath sponge the size of a giant
pumpkin and ten pounds of soap into the prairie, and a
compass that will indicate all sorts of directions except north
after a couple of days. A greenhorn writes down eight
hundred Indian expressions and when he meets his first red
man realizes he put the list into an envelope, posted it home
and, instead, kept the letter. A greenhorn buys gunpowder
and when he tries to fire the first shot, finds that he has been
sold powdered charcoal instead. A greenhorn has studied
astronomy for the past ten years but no matter how long he
stares at the starry sky, he cannot determine what time it is.
A greenhorn puts his Bowie knife into the belt so that, when
he bends over, the blade will cut into his thigh. A greenhorn
builds such a large campfire in the Wild West that the flames
rise as tall as the trees and then wonders how the Indians
were able to find him when they shoot him dead. A
greenhorn iswell, a greenhornand I was such a
greenhorn, too, all those years ago.
But, of course, I had no idea that this derogatory term
applied to me! Oh, no, because a greenhorns most peculiar
trait is to think of everyone else as green, except himself.
On the contrary, I thought that I was an extraordinarily
smart and experienced person; I had received an education,
as the saying goes, and had never feared an exam! My
youthful mind didnt allow me to recognize that life is the
real school where pupils are tested daily and hourly to pass
the exam of providence. Unfortunate circumstances in my
home country and an inborn thirst for action had driven me
across the ocean to the United States where the conditions
and opportunities for the development of an ambitious young
man were much more favourable. I would soon have found a
good income in the Eastern states, but I felt drawn to the
West. Working here and there in all kinds of jobs, I had soon
saved enough money, and then arrived in St. Louis well
equipped externally and full of inner courage. There, my luck
led me to a German family where I found accommodation
[8] Marlies Bugmann
and a temporary position as their childrens tutor. A family
friend, Mr Henry, was a regular visitor. He was a real
character and a gunsmith who carried out his trade with the
devotion of an artist, and with old-fashioned pride called
himself Mr Henry, the gunsmith.
He was a great humanitarian, although, on the surface, he
gave an entirely opposite impression, because he didnt
associate with anyone else outside my host family, and even
treated his clients in such a brusque and offhand manner that
they only went to him because of the high quality of his
merchandise. He had lost his wife and children in a terrible
event, of which he never spoke, but from some of his
remarks I guessed they had been murdered during an
attempted robbery. That experience had caused him to
become coarse externally; he probably wasnt even aware of
the fact that he was a perfect ruffian; but he was a kind and
gentle man at heart and I often saw moisture well up in his
eyes when I spoke of my home country and my dear family.
I couldnt understand, initially, why that older man took a
liking especially to me, the young stranger, until he told me
one day. From the time I had arrived, he visited more often
than before, attentively listened while I taught the children,
after the lessons spent time with me, and eventually invited
me to his place. Such an invitation wasnt extended to just
anyone and I guarded myself from taking advantage of it. Mr
Henry didnt seem to appreciate my reservedness. I still
remember his angry face one evening when I visited him,
and the tone of his voice when he addressed me without
having replied to my good evening:
Where were you yesterday, sir?
At home.
And the day before yesterday?
At home.
Dont try to fool me!
Its true, Mr Henry.
Pshaw! Newly hatched greenhorns like you dont
remain in the nest; they poke their beaks in everywhere else
except where they belong!
And where do I belong, if you dont mind telling me?
Winnetou I [9]
Right here with me, Ill have you know! Ive been
meaning to ask you something for quite some time.
Why havent you done so?
Because I didnt feel like it, alright?
And when will you feel like asking?
Perhaps today.
Then go ahead and ask, I encouraged him and squarely
sat on top of his workbench where he was working.
He looked me full in the face, shook his head
disapprovingly and exclaimed:
Go ahead! As if I needed to ask a greenhorns
permission to talk to him!
Greenhorn? I frowned and felt deeply hurt. I assume
the word slipped out unintentionally, Mr Henry!
Dont flatter yourself, sir! I said it deliberately; youre a
greenhorn, second to none! You memorized the content of
your books, thats true. Im astounded about the things you
people have to learn over there. A young person like you
knows precisely how far away the stars are, what King
Nebuchadnezzar wrote on clay tablets and how heavy the air
is that he cant even see! And because he knows all this, he
imagines hes a clever fellow! But poke your nose into real
life for around fifty years, and then perhaps youll experience
what genuine cleverness is made of! Your present knowledge
is worth nothingnothing at all. And your practical skills
count for even less. You cant even shoot!
He had spoken in a disparaging tone of voice, and with
such conviction, he sounded altogether sure of himself.
Cant shoot? Hm! I smiled. Is that perhaps the
question you wanted to ask me?
Yes, thats the one. Whats your answer to that?
Put a good firearm in my hand, and then Ill tell you, but
not before.
He put the rifle barrel he was working on aside, rose,
walked up close to me, stared at me and retorted:
A firearm in your hand, sir? Wouldnt think of it, ever!
My guns are only meant for hands that do me proud!
Ive got hands like that, I nodded.
[10] Marlies Bugmann
He gave me another look, this time from the side,
returned to his seat and recommenced work on the barrel,
and all the while grumbled to himself:
What a greenhorn! Could really make me mad with his
audacity!
I ignored him because I was familiar with his
idiosyncrasies, pulled out a cigar and lit it. We didnt speak
for about a quarter of an hour. He couldnt bear it longer than
that, held the barrel against the light, looked through it and
said:
Shooting is a darn side more difficult than looking up at
the stars or reading old clay tablets from Nebuchadnezzar.
Do you get my drift? Have you ever held a gun in your
hands?
Im sure I did.
When?
Many times.
Aimed and fired?
Yes.
And hit what you meant to hit?
Naturally!
He quickly lowered the barrel he was in the process of
examining, looked at me again and probed:
Yes, naturally, the question is: what?
The target, of course.
What? Youre not serious, are you?
Im serious when I tell you that I hit my targets.
Youre in league with the devil, sir! Youre not making
any sense at all. Im convinced that youd miss a brick wall
twenty yards tall and fifty long, and yet your face is so
irritatingly serious and confident. Im no schoolboy who
needs tutoring, you know what I mean? Are you, the
greenhorn and bookworm, trying to tell me you can shoot?
You cant be leafing through Turkish, Arabic and other
dumb old tomes and still have time to practice shooting!
Take down that old gun from the wall back there and hold it
as if you were aiming at something! Its a bear killer, the best
I ever held in my hands.
Winnetou I [11]
I reached up, took the weapon down and put it to my
shoulder.
Hello! Mr Henry exclaimed and jumped up. Whats
that then? You handle that gun as if it were a lightweight
walking stick, and yet it is the heaviest firearm I know! Are
you really that strong?
In answer, I grabbed him his buttoned-up coat and the
belt and lifted him up with my right arm only.
Tarnation! he cried. Let go of me! Youre even
stronger than my Bill.
Your Bill? Whos that?
He was my son, wholets drop the subject! Hes dead
like all the others. He was a decent, promising fellow, but
was extinguished together with them while I was away. You
resemble him in stature, have almost the same eyes and
similar features; thats why Imno, its none of your
business anyhow!
The expression of profound grief spread over his face; he
wiped it away with his hand, and then cheerfully continued:
But, sir, considering your physical strength, it really is a
pity that youve buried yourself in your books like you did.
Should have done more sports!
I did.
Really?
Yes.
Boxing?
That wasnt on our school curriculum. But Ive
participated in gymnastics and wrestling.
Horse riding?
Yes.
Fencing?
I was the one who gave the lessons.
Stop bragging like that, mate!
Do you wish to try it out?
Thanks; I got enough before! Besides, Ive got to keep
going with work. Sit down again!
He returned to his workbench and I did likewise. What
ensued was a mainly monosyllabic conversation; Henry
seemed to have something important on his mind. All of a
sudden, he looked up from his work and asked:
Have you studied mathematics?
It was my favourite subject.
Arithmetic, geometry?
Naturally.
Surveying?
I liked it very much. Ive often gone on surveying jaunts
with the theodolite just for fun.
And you really understand how to take measurements?
Yes. Im trained in taking surface as well as altitude
measurements, although I dont regard myself as a qualified
geodesist.
Alrightvery good!
Why are you asking, Mr Henry?
Because I have good reason for it. Leave it at that! You
dont have to know for the moment; youll find out later
what its about. First I must knowhm, I have to know
whether or not you can really shoot a gun.
Then put me to the test!
Thats what Ill do; yes, you can count on it. When will
you start your class tomorrow morning?
At eight oclock.
Be at my place at six oclock. Well go to the firing
range where I test my guns.
Why so early?
Because I dont want to wait any longer. Im very keen
to prove to you that youre still a greenhorn. Enough of that
now, Ive got more important things to do.
Evidently finished with the gun barrel, he took a
polygonal piece of iron from a cabinet and began to file its
edges. I noticed that every one of its many sides had one
hole.
He worked with such care and concentration it seemed he
had forgotten I was present. His eyes sparkled when he
inspected his work from time to time, and I was almost
tempted to interpret it as an expression of love. That piece of
iron had to be of great value to him. I was curious to learn
why; hence I asked:
Winnetou I [13]
Will this also become a part of a gun, Mr Henry?
Yes, his reply sounded as if he had only just realized I
was still there.
But Im not aware of a firearm with such a part.
I believe you. Its in the making. It will probably
become the Henry system.
Ah, a new invention?
Yes.
Please forgive me for asking! It is, of course, a secret.
For some time he inspected all the openings, turned the
piece of iron in all directions, held it several times against the
rear end of the barrel, which he had placed aside before, and
finally said:
Yes, it is a secret; but I trust you with it, because I know
youre discreet, although youre a perfect, genuine
greenhorn; thats why Ill tell you what it is supposed to turn
into. It will be a twenty-five round repetition carbine.
Impossible!
Put a sock in it! Im not stupid enough to tackle
something impossible.
But you would have to have chambers to take
ammunition for twenty-five shots!
I have!
They would be awkwardly large and unwieldy.
Theres only one chamber, its quite handy and not at all
awkward. This piece of steel is the chamber.
Hm! I have no knowledge in your field of work,
butwhat about heat? Wont the barrel become too hot?
It wouldnt think of it. The make-up of the metal and the
treatment of the barrel are my secret. Besides, will it always
be necessary to fire all twenty-five shots in one volley?
Hardly.
Well then! This piece of iron will become a sphere that
will move eccentrically; the twenty-five holes in the sphere
contain just as many bullets. After each shot fired the sphere
moves and places the next bullet to the barrel. Ive worked
on this idea for many long years; it just wouldnt work; but
now it seems to fall into place. I already have a good name as
a gunsmith, but this will make me very famous and earn me
a lot of money.
And a guilty conscience on top of it!
For a while he looked at me in astonishment and then
asked:
A guilty conscience? Why?
Dont you think a murderer ought to have a guilty
conscience?
Zounds! Are you trying to tell me that Im a murderer?
Not yet.
Or that Ill become a murderer?
Yes, because complicity in murder is just as bad as
murder.
Tarnation! Ill make darn sure that I wont become an
accessory to a murder.
Not just one, but mass murder.
What? I dont understand you.
If you build guns that are capable of firing twenty-five
rounds and they fall into the hands of every villain around,
then there will soon be a horrible slaughter on the prairies, in
the forests, in the canyons of the mountains; soon the poor
Indians will be shot down like coyotes and in a few years
time there wont be any red men left. Do you want to have
that on your conscience?
He stared at me and didnt reply.
And, I continued, if anyone can obtain one of these
dangerous guns for a sum of money, then you will indeed be
selling thousands of them in a very short time, but the
mustang and the bison will be extinct and, together with
them, all the game, the meat of which the Red Indians
require for their survival. Hundreds and thousands of
vultures will go west, armed with your carbine. Blood of
humans and animals alike will flow in streams, and very
soon the regions on either side of the Rocky Mountains will
be devoid of all living creatures.
Hell! he exclaimed. Have you really only just arrived
here from Germany a short while ago?
Yes.
And have never been here before?
Winnetou I [15]
No.
Least of all in the Wild West?
No.
A complete greenhorn. And yet you pipe up as if you
were the great grand father of all Indians and have lived here
for thousands of years already! Boy, dont imagine that
youre capable of getting under my skin! And even if things
were as you said, to build a gun factory is the furthest thing
from my mind. Im a loner and wish to remain a loner; I
dont feel like bothering with a hundred or more workers.
Couldnt you sell the patent for your invention to make
money?
Lets wait and see, sir! Thus far Ive always had enough
to live on and I dont think that I will suffer in the future,
either, even without a patent. And now go home for today! I
dont have the patience for listening to a fledgling who has to
learn the use of his wings first before he can whistle or sing.
It didnt occur to me to take offence at his rough
expressions; thats how he was and I knew that he meant
well. He had grown fond of me and certainly intended to
help me along in every way, as far as it was possible for him.
We shook hands and when he released mine from his
stronger-than-usual grip, I left.
Little did I know how important that evening had been
for me, and what important roles the heavy bear killer, which
Henry called an old gun, and the unfinished firearm that was
to become the Henry rifle, would play in my later life. But I
was looking forward to the next morning because I had really
practiced my shooting skills a lot and was convinced that, in
the eyes of my old, peculiar friend, I would look good as a
marksman.
I turned up at his place at six oclock sharp. He was
already waiting for me, shook my hand and with an ironic
smile on his kind old face he said:
Welcome, sir! Arent you just wearing a victorious
expression on your face? Do you think you can hit that brick
wall I mentioned yesterday?
I hope so.
Alright, well find out shortly. Ill take a lighter firearm
along and youll carry the bear killer; I dont feel like
lugging around such a load.
He shouldered his light, double-barreled rifle and I took
the old gun he didnt want to carry. When we got to the
shooting range, he loaded both weapons and fired his first
two shots from the rifle. Then it was my turn with the bear
killer. I was still unfamiliar with that weapon and because of
it only clipped the edge of the black bulls-eye with my first
shot; the second shot was inside the black; the third was dead
centre and the bullets that followed all went through the hole
made by the third. Henrys astonishment grew with each
firing; I also had to try his rifle, and when that gave the very
same results, he couldnt keep quiet any longer:
Youre either in league with the devil, sir, or youre a
born frontiersman. Ive not seen a greenhorn shoot like this!
Not the devil, Mr Henry, I laughed. I dont want to
know about such a league.
Then it is your calling, even your duty, to become a
frontiersman. How would you like that?
Why not?
Alright, well see what we can do with a greenhorn. And
you know how to ride a horse as well?
If need be.
If need be? Hm! Not as well as you can shoot?
Pshaw! Riding isnt difficult! Its the mounting up thats
the toughest part. Once Im in the saddle theres probably no
horse that can get me off.
He scrutinized me to determine whether I was serious or
had only spoken in jest; I kept my facial expressions under
control and so he remarked:
You really think so? Are you planning to hold onto the
mane? That would be a mistake. You were quite right:
mounting up is the most difficult part, because you have to
do that yourself; getting off is much easier: the nag takes care
of it and, therefore, its much, much faster.
No nag will take care of my dismounting!
Oh? Lets wait and see! Do you feel like giving us a
demonstration?
Winnetou I [17]
Id love to.
Then come! Its only seven oclock and youve still got
an hour. Well go to Jim Korner, the horse trader. He lets
you ride his horses around the yard for a few dollars, and
hes got a roan thats got you pegged.
We returned to the town and visited the horse traders
stables where a corral, surrounded by stables doubled as a
kind of exercise yard. Korner greeted us and enquired about
our business.
The young man here claims that no horse can throw
him, Henry replied. What do you think about it Mr
Korner? Wont you let him climb onto your roan just the
once?
The trader looked me up and down, nodded with a
satisfied expression and replied:
His bones seem strong and subtle; besides, young people
dont break their necks as easily as older ones. If the
gentleman wishes to try out the roan, its alright with me.
He gave the order and after a short while two stable
hands led the saddled horse out of the barn. It was very
agitated and strained to tear loose. My old Henry had second
thoughts and became worried about me; he asked me to
reconsider; but, firstly, I wasnt afraid, and, secondly, the
affair had turned into a matter of honour. I asked for a quirt,
a kind of short whip, and had the spurs strapped to my boots.
Then, I swung into the saddle, although only after a few
failed attempts because of the horses refusals. As soon as I
sat atop, the stable hands hurried away and the roan went
straight up in the air with all four, and then to the side. I
remained in the saddle, although my feet were still outside
the stirrups. I quickly got them in. As soon as that was done
the nag started to buck; when that didnt have the desired
results it headed for the wall to scrape me off; but with the
aid of the quirt I quickly managed to get it away from the
boards. Then began a fierce, almost dangerous battle
between rider and horse. I used all the scarce talent and
insufficient training I had, and my strong thighs finally won
the battle for me. When I dismounted, my legs shook from
the strain; but the horse blew foam and dripped from sweat;
it obeyed every leg pressure and tug on the reins.
The trader had become concerned about his horse; he
issued the order to get it wrapped in blankets and slowly
walked back and forth; then he turned to me:
I didnt imagine this, young man; I thought you would
be thrown with the first leap. Theres no charge and if you
want to do me a favour, then come back and set the beast
completely straight. Im not hung up on ten dollars more or
less, because it isnt a cheap horse and if it learns to obey, Ill
get a good deal.
Itll be my pleasure, if you dont mind, I replied.
Henry hadnt said anything from the time I dismounted,
instead, he only shook his head and kept staring at me. But
then he clapped his hands together and exclaimed:
This greenhorn truly is a very extraordinary, or rather,
unusual greenhorn! Squeezes the horse half to death, instead
of being thrown in the sand! Who taught you that, sir?
Coincidence once gave me a half-wild stallion from the
Hungarian Puszta to ride. I conquered it eventually but
nearly risked my life doing so.
I dont wish for such creatures! Im happy with my old
rocking chair that doesnt have any objections to me sitting
on it. Come, lets go. Im getting dizzy. But Ive not seen
you shoot and ride for naught today; you can count on that.
We went home, he returned to his house and I to my
accommodation. He didnt visit during the following two
days, and I had no opportunity to go and look in on him.
However, on the third day he came by in the afternoon; he
knew I had some time off.
Would you like to take a walk? he asked.
Where to?
To see a gentleman who wishes to make your
acquaintance.
Why me?
You should be able to guess that: because he has not
seen a greenhorn before.
Then Ill go with you; he shall make my acquaintance.
Winnetou I [19]
Henry cut a very wily, enterprising face that afternoon
and, knowing him, I expected he had planned some sort of
surprise. We ambled through the streets, and then he led me
through a large glass door into an office. He entered so
quickly, I didnt have a chance to decipher the gold lettering
on the glass panes, but I thought Id glimpsed the two words
office and surveying. It soon turned out I hadnt been
mistaken.
Three exceedingly friendly gentlemen sat in the office.
They greeted me politely and with undisguised
inquisitiveness. Charts and maps were laid out on the tables
and between them an assortment of surveying instruments.
We were in a geodesists office, in other words, in a
surveyors office.
My friends purpose for the visit was unclear to me; he
had no commission to effect, no enquiry to make; he seemed
to be there only because of the friendly chat. Soon, it took a
lively course, and it wasnt conspicuous at all that the subject
turned to the array of objects, which was to my liking
because I could more easily participate in the conversation.
That wasnt the case when they only spoke of American
things or situations because I was still quite unfamiliar with
the so-called American way back then.
Henry seemed to have an interest in the surveyors craft;
he wanted to know everything, and I was pleased about
becoming involved so deeply in the conversation that, in the
end, all I was doing was answer questions, explain the use of
the diverse instruments and describe the drafting of charts
and maps. I really was a thorough greenhorn because I didnt
catch on to what was happening there. It was only during my
lengthy discourse on surveying methods using polar and
rectangular coordinates, perimeter measurements, the
repetition procedure and trigonometric triangulation, when I
observed the three gentlemen secretly wink at the gunsmith
when the whole thing became conspicuous to me. I rose and
indicated to Henry that I wished to leave. He acquiesced and
we were farewelled even friendlier than we had been
welcomed.
When we had walked away far enough so that we
couldnt be observed from the office, Henry paused, put his
hand on my shoulder and, with a beaming smile of
satisfaction, said:
Sir, man, youngster, greenhorn, mateyouve made me
very happy! Im indeed very proud of you!
Why?
Because youve surpassed my recommendation and
even the expectations of those people!
Recommendation? Expectation? I dont understand.
No matter. Its very simple. You said not so long ago
that you knew a little about surveying, and to find out
whether or not it was just bragging, I took you to these three
gentlemen, good friends of mine, and had you prodded and
examined. Youve got a clean bill of health and passed with
flying colours.
Bragging? Mr Henry, if you think that Im capable of
such things I wont visit you anymore!
Dont be ridiculous! You wouldnt want to deprive an
old fellow of the pleasure of your company. Its because of
your resemblance to my son, you know! Have you been back
to see the horse trader?
Every morning.
And been riding the roan?
Yes.
Is the horse amounting to something?
I should think so. The only thing is, the one who will
buy the animal wont be getting along with it as well as I am.
Its become used to me alone and will throw anyone else.
Im enormously pleased, indeed; it seems the horse only
wants to carry a greenhorn. Come, lets walk along this side
alley here! Theres an excellent dining house where they
serve great food and even better drinks. We have to celebrate
the fact that you passed your exam in such outstanding form
today.
I couldnt understand Henry; he was a changed man. He,
the lonely, reserved man, wanted to eat out at a dining house!
His face also seemed different and his voice sounded clearer,
and more cheerful than usual. Examthats what he said.
Winnetou I [21]
The word was conspicuous, but it could have been an
entirely innocent colloquial term.
He visited me daily from then on and treated me as if he
was about to lose a dear friend. But he didnt allow pride
about the preferential treatment to surface in me; he was
always ready to put a damper on things, which consisted of
the annoying word greenhorn.
Strangely enough, the attitude of my host family also
changed at the same time. The parents paid noticeably more
attention to me, and the children became increasingly
affectionate towards me. I caught some of the clandestine
glimpses they gave me but couldnt understand them; I could
have described the gazes as loving and at the same time
regretful.
About three weeks after our peculiar visit to the bureau,
the lady of the house asked me to stay home in the evening,
although I was off duty, and have supper with the family.
She explained that Mr Henry and two other gentlemen had
also been invited, and that one of them was a famous
frontiersman by the name of Sam Hawkens. Being a
greenhorn, I hadnt heard of the man, but looked forward to
meeting my first Westernera famous one at that.
As I was a houseguest, I didnt have to wait for the clock
to strike, but went to the dining room a few minutes earlier.
To my astonishment, I discovered that the table had not been
set in the usual arrangement, instead, it had been decked out
as if for a festive occasion. Little five-year-old Emmy was
alone in the room and had her finger immersed in the berry
compote to pinch a lick. When I entered, she hastily
withdrew it and wiped it clean on her platinum blonde hair.
When I raised mine to chastisingly wiggle it, she ran up to
me and whispered a few words in my ear. To atone for her
indiscretion she divulged the secret of the past few days,
which had almost broken her little heart. I thought I had
misunderstood her; she repeated the same words when I
asked her:
Your farewell-feast.
My farewell-feast! That couldnt possibly be right! Who
knows what misunderstanding would have prompted the
child to have such an idea. I smiled about it. Then I heard
voices in the parlour; the guests had arrived and I went to
greet them. All three had arrived at the same time, which had
been prearranged, as I learnt later. Henry introduced Mr
Black to me, a somewhat dull and clumsy young man, and
then Sam Hawkens, the frontiersman.
The Westerner! I openly admit: I couldnt have looked
very intelligent when I gawked at him. It was the first time in
my life that I beheld such a figure; later, of course, I was to
make acquaintance with many more eccentric types. Not
only did his conspicuous appearance alone attract attention,
the effect was enhanced by the fact that he looked just the
same in the elegant parlour, as he would have in the remote
wilderness, without having taken off his head covering, and
with the gun in his hand. His exterior was as follows:
From under the sadly drooping brim of a felt hat, the age,
colour and shape of which would have caused a considerable
headache even to the sharpest thinker, a nose of such
frightening proportions looked out from a forest-like,
confused black beard, it could have doubled as a pointer for a
sundial.
As a consequence of such an enormous beard growth,
there were only two small, smart eyes noticeable beside the
lavishly equipped olfactory organ. They seemed to be
endowed with an extraordinary agility. His gaze was resting
on me with mischievous cunning as he was scrutinizing me
just as attentively as I was observing him; I was soon to learn
the reason for his keen interest in me.
His head rested on a body that was invisible down to his
knees because it was cloaked in an old buckskin coat. It had
evidently been made for someone significantly larger and,
therefore, gave the short man the appearance of a child who
had donned the dressing gown of his grandfather just for fun.
Two skinny, bowed legs poked out from under the more than
ample wrap. They were clad in tattered leggings, which were
so old, the manikin had out-grown them twenty years earlier.
The attire permitted a comprehensive view onto a pair of
Indian boots large enough to accommodate the whole person
in an emergency.
Winnetou I [23]
The famous frontiersman held a firearm in his hand that I
would have only handled with extreme caution; its
appearance had more in common with a club than a rifle. At
that moment, I couldnt imagine a more absurd caricature of
a prairie man, yet, not much time was to pass before I came
to realize the true value of the eccentric manikin.
After he had sufficiently scrutinized me, he asked the
gunsmith in a thin, almost child-like voice:
Is this the young greenhorn you mentioned, Mr Henry?
Yes, nodded Mr Henry.
Alright! Not bad. I hope he finds Sam Hawkens to his
liking, too, hihihi!
With his subtle, very strange chuckle, which I was to hear
a thousand more times, he turned to the door just as it
opened. My hosts walked into the parlour and greeted the
hunter in a manner that revealed they had met before and
kept it from me. Then they escorted us into the dining room.
To my surprise, Sam Hawkens didnt take off either coat
or hat, and he only pointed at his old shooting iron when we
were getting seated at the table, and said:
A proper man of the West never lets his gun out of his
sight and I even less my dear Liddy. Ill hang her onto the
curtain rod over there.
He called his gun Liddy! Later, I learnt that many
frontiersmen treated their weapons like living beings and
gave them names. Hawkens hung it onto the rod and wanted
to add his fabulous headdress; to my horror his entire mop of
hair came off, too, when he lifted the hat. His skinned,
blood-red skull was a frightful sight. The lady of the house
screamed and the children screeched as loud as they could.
But Sam turned around to us and quietly said:
Dont be shocked, ladies and gentlemen; theres nothing
to it. I wore my bonnet honestly and with full right since
birth and no lawyer ever dared contesting it, til one or two
dozen Pawnee surrounded me and pulled my hair and skin
off my head. It was a devilishly annoying sensation, but was
lucky to survive it, hihihi! Then, I went to Tekama and
bought myself a new skin, if Im not mistaken; called it a
wig, and cost me three thick bundles of beaver skins. No
harm done tho; because the new skin can be more practical
than the old, specially in summer; can take er off when Im
sweatin, hihihi.
He hung the hat over the rifle and placed the wig back on
his head, took off the coat and placed it over a chair. The
coat had been mended and repaired many, many times with
leather patch upon leather patch and as a result, had attained
a stiffness and thickness that prevented Indian arrows from
penetrating.
Without the coat, we could more clearly see his thin,
bowed legs. He wore a hunting shirt made from leather. In
his belt he wore a knife and two pistols. When he returned to
his chair at the table, he first gave me, then the lady of the
house a mischievous glance and asked:
My lady, do you wish to tell this greenhorn what this is
all about before we begin with the meal, if Im not
mistaken?
The expression: if Im not mistaken, had become his
stock phrase. The lady of the house nodded, turned to me
and, by indicating the younger guest, explained:
Youre probably still unaware that Mr Black here is
your successor, sir.
Mymy successor? I was completely taken aback.
Indeed. Were celebrating your farewell today. Because
of your departure, we were forced to find a new teacher.
Myfarewell?
Luckily, no photographs were taken of me at that
moment because I would have looked like stupefaction
personified.
Yes, your farewell, sir, she nodded with a kind smile,
which I didnt feel was warranted because I was in no
laughing mood. We should have given you notice, but we
didnt want to be a hindrance to your good fortune as weve
grown very fond of you. We are deeply sorry to see you go
but youll take our best wishes with you. Godspeed; you will
depart tomorrow morning.
Depart? Tomorrow? Where? I found it difficult to talk.
Sam Hawkens stood next to me, patted me on the
shoulder and laughed:
Winnetou I [25]
Where? To the Wild West with me. Youve passed your
exam brilliantly, hihihi! The other surveyors ride tomorrow
and cant wait for you; you hafta go with em. Me and Dick
Stone and Will Parker, were the hired scouts, all along the
Canadian River and into New Mexico. Methinks you dont
wanna stay here as a greenhorn!
Thats when the penny dropped. It had all been a put-up
job! Surveyor, perhaps even for one of the great railways that
had been planned. What a surprise! I didnt have to ask at all;
the answer was forthcoming because my dear old Henry
came up to me, took my hand and said:
Ive already told you why Im fond of you. These are
decent people, but being a private tutor is no job for you, sir,
not at all. You must go west. And thats why Ive applied to
the Atlantic and Pacific Company and had them check you
out without your knowing. Youve passed with flying
colours. Here is the contract.
He handed me the document. When I read what my
estimated earnings were going to be, I couldnt believe my
eyes. But Henry continued:
Youll be riding; therefore, you require a good horse.
Ive bought the roan youve been breaking in; its yours. And
youll need weapons; Ill give you the bear killer, the old,
heavy gun. I cant use it, but you hit the bullseye with it
every time. What do you say to that, eh?
I didnt know what to say initially, and when I found my
voice again, I attempted to refuse the gifts, but in vain. These
good people had decided to make me happy, and I would
have offended them deeply if I had insisted. To cut short any
further discussions for the duration of the meal, the lady of
the house sat down at the table and we were forced to follow
suit; the subject wasnt mentioned again during dinner.
I only found out what I needed to know after we left the
table. The railway was to run from St. Louis through the
Indian Territories, New Mexico, Arizona and California to
the Pacific Coast and the plan was to investigate and survey
the long distance in several shorter sections. The section
assigned to myself and three other surveyors under the
supervision of a chief engineer was roughly situated between
the headwaters of the Rio Pecos and the southern Canadian
River. The three experienced scouts Sam Hawkens, Dick
Stone and Will Parker were to take us to where we were to
meet a group of capable frontiersmen whose job it was to
ensure our safety. Naturally, we also had assured protection
of the forts in the vicinity. In order to give me a real surprise,
everyone had waited to the last moment to tell me, which
was a little late, naturally. But they eased my mind with the
news that they had procured my entire outfit down to the
smallest item. There was nothing else for me to do but
introduce myself to my colleagues who were waiting for me
at the chief engineers house. Henry and Sam Hawkens
accompanied me there and I received the most cordial
welcome. The men knew about the surprise announcement
and didnt worry about my being late.
The next morning, after I had said my goodbyes to the
German family, I first went to Henry. He cut my words of
thanks short in his usual rough manner:
Put a sock in it, sir! Im only sending you out there so
that my old gun can have a say every now and then. When
you return, come and visit me and tell me what youve
experienced and learnt. Then well see whether or not youre
still the perfect greenhorn you are today!
On that note, he pushed me out the door, but before he
could shut it, I caught sight of the tears in his eyes.
Winnetou I [27]

2
Klekih-Petra

________________________________________________

The glorious North American autumn came to a close.
We had been on the job for three months without having
solved our assignment yet, while the other surveying parties
had already returned home. There were two reasons why.
Firstly, we had a very difficult region to cover. The
railroad was to run over prairie country and follow the
southern Canadian River; the direction was, therefore, given,
right up to the source of the river, while the lay of the valleys
and passes likewise dictated the route through New Mexico.
Our section, however, was situated between the Canadian
and New Mexico and we were forced to reconnoitre and
discover the most suitable route first. That required time-
consuming rides, arduous walks and the taking of many trial
measurements for comparison before we could begin the
actual work. The fact that the region was also made
dangerous because of the local Kiowa, Comanche and
Apache. The latter didnt want to know about having a
railroad constructed through a landscape they considered was
theirs, and that compounded the matter. We had to be on our
guard constantly, which severely impeded our activity, of
course, and slowed us down.
Winnetou I [29]
We had to forego hunting, as shooting would have alerted
the Red Indians to our presence. Instead, we procured
everything we required from Santa Fe, delivered by oxcarts.
Unfortunately, that transport was unreliable and we were
forced to interrupt our survey work repeatedly to wait for the
arrival of the carts.
The second reason was the composition of our party. As
mentioned, I had received a cordial welcome by the chief
engineer and the other three surveyors in St. Louis. Such a
welcome had led me to anticipate good and productive
cooperation; unfortunately, I was mistaken in that respect.
My colleagues were genuine Yankees who saw in me the
greenhorn, the inexperienced Dutchman, a term used as an
invective. They wanted to make money and didnt care how
inferior their work was. They regarded me, the honest
German, as an obstacle and 0st had enough common sense to
understand that I was slaving away for them without having
been obliged to do so. The fact that the work suffered under
those circumstances was a foregone conclusion.
The rest of the company was no better. We joined twelve
so-called frontiersmen on arrival in the camp. They had been
expecting us. As a newcomer, I felt significant respect for
them, initially, but then soon recognized that I was dealing
with men of low moral calibre.
They were supposed to protect us and assist with the
chores. Luckily, for a full three months, nothing happened,
which could have forced me to seek their dubious protection
and, with regard to their help, I can state unequivocally that
our camp was the venue for a gathering of the twelve laziest
layabouts in the United States.
Discipline suffered badly in such circumstances!
Bancroft was the man in charge by title and by
assignment, and he acted accordingly, but nobody obeyed
him. When he issued an order, the others laughed in his face;
then he cussed like I had never heard anyone else cuss and
went to the whiskey barrel to reward himself for that effort.
Riggs, Marcy and Wheeler didnt act much differently. I had
plenty of reasons to take the reins, and I did, but without
being too obvious. A young and inexperienced man wasnt
going to be respected by such people. Had I been foolish
enough to speak in a peremptory tone of voice, the result
would have been resounding laughter. No, I had to work
quietly and cautiously, like a smart wife who knows how to
steer her obstinate husband, with him being oblivious to it.
Those uncivilized, hard-to-control Westerners called me a
greenhorn at least a dozen times a day, and yet they
unsuspectingly followed my lead because I let them believe
that they were doing as they pleased.
In that respect, I had excellent support in Sam Hawkens
and his two companions Dick Stone and Will Parker. Those
three men turned out to be honest, experienced, smart and
courageous prairie runners with names of good repute. The
threesome mostly stayed near me and kept away from the
others but so that they couldnt feel slighted. Sam was
especially skilled in getting the obstreperous company to pay
attention to something, despite his peculiarities and, with his
half-stern and half-comical voice, succeeded in talking them
into doing things to assist my endeavours in achieving our
objective.
A silent understanding, broadly based on feudal
principles had developed between Sam and I. He had taken
me under his protection as a matter of course and with the
implied assumption that there was no need for my express
consent. I was the greenhorn and he the experienced
frontiersman whose words and actions were infallible. When
time and opportunity permitted, he gave me theoretical and
practical lessons in everything I had to know and be able to
do in order to survive in the Wild West. And truth be told,
although it was Winnetou who subsequently put me through
the high school of survival skills, I must admit that it was
Sam Hawkens who taught me the basics. He even fashioned
a lasso for me and allowed me to practice throwing the
dangerous weapon on his horse and himself. When I had
perfected my throws so that each one always found its mark,
he was as pleased as punch and exclaimed:
Thats very nice, my young sir; thats it! But dont get
all high n mighty! A teacher must praise even the slowest
student once in a while to motivate him. Ive already been a
Winnetou I [31]
teacher to many-a-young man othe West and they all were
much less hard of comprehension and quicker on the uptake
than you are, but if you keep practicin it might just be
possible that they cease calling you a greenhorn in about six
or eight years. Until then, be consoled by the old sayin that
even a dumb fellow occasionally does much better than a
smart one, if Im not mistaken!
He pretended to be serious with his deliberation, and I did
likewise in taking it, although I knew only too well how he
meant it.
The most welcome of his lessons were those with
practical applications, because the surveying work required
my fullest attention and, without Sam Hawkens, I wouldnt
have taken the time to acquire the skills necessary to be a
prairie hunter. Besides, we kept our exercises a secret; we
always went some distance from the camp so that we
couldnt be observed. It was Sams idea and when I asked
him for the reasons he explained:
Thats for your benefit, sir. You have so little talent for
such things that I would have to be ashamed for your soul if
one of those fellows were to see us. There, now you know,
hihihi. Take that to heart!
The upshot of it was that nobody in the entire company
believed me capable of handling a weapon or possess
significant physical dexterity, which didnt offend me in the
least.
In spite of all the hindrances, we had finally come within
a week of connecting up with the next section. We had to
send a messenger to inform the other party. Bancroft decided
he would undertake the ride himself and take one of the
frontiersmen along as a guide. It wasnt the first message
exchange because we had to keep in contact with the group
ahead of us as well as the one behind us. Consequently, I
knew that the chief engineer of the party ahead of us was a
very capable man.
Bancroft intended to head off early Sunday morning. He
thought it was necessary to have a farewell drink with
everyone. I wasnt invited, and Hawkens, Stone and Parker
didnt follow up on the invitation. And just like I had
expected it, the drinking dragged on until Bancroft couldnt
even blabber. His boozing buddies had kept up with him and
were no less drunk than he was. There was no talk of going
for a ride. The fellows did what they had always done in their
state: they crawled behind the bushes to sleep it off.
What now? It was high time for a messenger to be on his
way, however, those drunks were going to sleep way past
midday. It was best if I undertook the ride; but could I afford
to leave the camp? I was convinced that there was going to
be no talk of work during my four days absence. While I
consulted Sam Hawkens about the matter, he pointed west
and said:
Wont be necessary for you to ride, sir. You can give the
message to those two.
When I looked in the direction he indicated, I saw two
riders approach. They were Whites and in one of them I
recognized an old scout who had previously delivered
messages and progress reports from the next section. Next to
him rode a younger man. He wasnt dressed like a
frontiersman and I hadnt seen him before. I walked towards
them; when we met, they halted their horses and the stranger
asked for my name. I gave it to him and he looked at me with
a friendly but searching gaze and said:
Then you must be the young German whos doing all
the work here while the others sit around on their lazy
derrieres. Youve undoubtedly heard of me, sir. My names
White.
He was the chief engineer of the next section where the
messenger was supposed to have been sent. There had to be a
good reason for Mr Whites personal visit. He dismounted,
shook my hand and then looked over the camp. When he
spotted the sleeping men behind the bushes and the whiskey
barrel, a knowing but not at all friendly smile crossed his
face.
I guess theyre drunk? he asked.
I nodded.
All of them?
Yes. Mr Bancroft was heading off to your camp and
organized a small farewell drink. Ill wake him and
Winnetou I [33]
Wait! he cut me short. Let them sleep! That gives me
the opportunity to talk to you without them overhearing us.
Lets leave them to it and walk to the side a short stretch!
Who are the three men who stood next to you just then?
Sam Hawkens, Will Parker and Dick Stone, our three
most reliable scouts.
Ah, Hawkens, the short, peculiar hunter. Capable
fellow; Ive heard of him. Those three should come with us.
I followed his request and signalled them to join us, and
then enquired:
Youre coming in person, Mr White. Are you bringing
important news?
Nothing special, except that I wanted to check out the
situation here for myself and talk with you in particular.
Weve completed our section, yours is not even close to
being finished.
Thats because of the difficult terrain, and I will
I know, I know! he cut in. Unfortunately, I know
everything. Had you not made a threefold effort, Bancroft
would still be at the starting point.
Thats not the case at all, Mr White. I dont know what
made you think I was the only one doing any work, but it is
my duty
Quiet, sir! Messengers have been going back and forth
between us; Ive sounded them out without them suspecting
anything. It is very noble of you to defend these drunkards,
but I want to hear the truth. I can see that youre too kind-
hearted to tell me, therefore, Ill ask Sam Hawkens instead.
Lets sit down here!
We had reached our tent. He made himself comfortable
on the grass in front of it and invited us to do likewise. Then
he began to question Sam Hawkens, Stone and Parker. They
told him everything without embellishments; I added a
comment or two here and there, regardless, to soften the
occasional harshness and defend my colleagues, but that
didnt have any effect on White. On the contrary, he asked
me repeatedly not to do so because it was of no use.
Once he knew everything, he requested to see our
drawings and the logbook. I wasnt required to do so, but
still did because I would otherwise have insulted him, and
because I could see that he meant well. He checked
everything thoroughly, and when he then asked questions, I
couldnt lie about the fact that I was the draftsman and the
author, because none of the others had drawn a line or
written a single letter.
But it isnt evident from this log book how much, or
how little work is attributable to any individual, he said.
Youve gone too far with your commendable loyalty.
Thats when Hawkens piped up:
Reach into his chest pocket, Mr White! Theres a little
tin that once contained sardines. There are no sardines in it
now, but some paper instead. Might just be his private diary,
if Im not mistaken. Theres a different story to the official
report where hes tryin to cover up his colleagues bone-
idleness.
Sam knew that I had made personal notes, and that I kept
them in the empty sardine tin. He caused me slight
embarrassment for revealing it. White asked to see that as
well. What was I to do? Did my colleagues deserve that I
shut up about me having done all the work without getting
any thanks for it? I neither wanted to cause them harm, nor
be impolite against White. Thats why I handed him my
diary, with the condition that he didnt speak to anyone about
its contents. He read it, then handed it back to me and said:
I should really take the pages with me and deliver them
to the appropriate address. Your colleagues are completely
incompetent people who shouldnt have another dollars pay;
you should be paid three times as much. Butas you wish. I
will only advise you to keep your private notes very secure.
They could easily be of great value to you later. And now
lets go and wake these illustrious gentlemen.
He rose and made a lot of noise. The gentlemen came
out from behind the bushes, bleary eyed and bewildered.
Bancroft wanted to rant and rave about having been
disturbed in his sleep, but turned polite when I informed him
that Mr White from the section ahead of us had arrived. The
two had never met before. The first thing he did was to offer
White a shot of whiskey; but he barked up the wrong three
Winnetou I [35]
with that. White used the offer immediately as the starting
point for a lecture like Bancroft would not have experienced
before. He listened to it for a while, speechless from
astonishment, and then lunged at White, grabbed his arm and
shouted at him:
Mister, tell me your name again?
White; you heard it before.
And what are you?
Chief engineer of the next section.
Does anyone from here give any orders there?
I dont think so, no.
Alright then! My names Bancroft and I am the chief
engineer of this section. Nobody is going to give me any
orders, least of all you, Mr White.
Thats correct, were on the same level of authority,
White calmly responded. Neither of us is required to accept
orders from the other. But when one sees that the other is
acting to the detriment of the undertaking for which both are
working, it is his duty to make the other aware of his
mistakes. Your lifes purpose seems to be inside the whiskey
barrel. Im counting sixteen people here who were all drunk
when I arrived here two hours ago, and so
Two hours ago? Bancroft cut him short. Youve been
here for that long?
Indeed. Ive checked the survey results and found out
who drew them up. Youve had a cushy life while one single
man from your team, and the youngest at that, has been
doing all the work!
Bancroft spun around and hissed at me:
You said that, you and nobody else! Deny it you
miserable liar, you despicable traitor!
No, White responded. Your young colleague is a
gentleman and has only spoken well of you. He protected
you and Id advise you to apologize to him for calling him a
liar and a traitor.
Apologize? Wouldnt think of it! Bancroft sneered.
This greenhorn doesnt know how to differentiate between a
triangle and a square and yet imagines that hes a surveyor.
We havent progressed because he did everything backward
and held us up and now, instead of admitting to it, he
denounces and slanders
He didnt get any further. I had been patient for months
and let them think about me whatever they wanted. The
moment had come for me to show them how wrong they had
been about me. I grabbed Bancrofts arm, squeezed it so that
he couldnt finish his sentence because of the pain and said:
Mr Bancroft, youve had too much whiskey and havent
quite slept it off yet. Im assuming that youre still drunk and
will pretend you didnt say a thing.
Me? Drunk? Youre mad! he retorted.
Undeniably drunk! Because if I knew you were sober
and hurled such abuse at me with intent, I would be forced to
knock you down like a brat. Understood? Do you still feel
you have to deny your inebriation?
I kept a grip on his arm. It certainly hadnt occurred to
him that he might ever have reason to be afraid of me; but he
was afraid then; it was obvious. He wasnt a weak man by
any means; but the expression on my face seemed to shock
him. He didnt want to say that he was still drunk, but also
didnt dare to maintain his accusations; hence he turned to
the head of the twelve Westerners who had been assigned to
us for assistance:
Mr Rattler, are you tolerating this person attacking me?
Arent you here to protect us?
Rattler was a tall, broad-shouldered fellow who seemed
to have the strength of three or four people, a ruffian and at
the same time Bancrofts favourite drinking buddy. He
couldnt stand me and was delighted about having the
opportunity to air his grievances against me. He quickly
approached, grabbed my arm in the same manner I held
Bancrofts, and replied:
No, I cant tolerate that, Mr Bancroft. The kid hasnt
even worn out his first stockings and attempts to threaten
adults with slanderous accusations. Take your hand off Mr
Bancroft, you brat, or Ill show you what sort of greenhorn
you are!
The warning was meant for me. He shook my arm as he
spoke. I liked that better because he was a stronger opponent
Winnetou I [37]
compared to the chief engineer. If I taught him some
manners it would have an even greater impact than if I
showed Bancroft I wasnt a coward. I tore my arm from his
grip and retorted:
I am a brat, a greenhorn? Retract it immediately, Mr
Rattler, or Ill knock you down!
You knock me down? he laughed. This greenhorn is
really stupid enough to believe that
He couldnt continue because I punched him in the
temple so hard that he collapsed like a sack of potatoes and
remained on the ground unconscious. There was dead silence
for a few short moments; then one of Rattlers comrades
shouted:
Hell! Are we just going to watch while this jumped-up
Dutchman punches our boss? Lets get the scoundrel!
He lunged at me. I received him with a kick in the solar
plexus. Thats a sure way of downing an opponent, but one
has to be well balanced on the other leg. The fellow crashed
to the ground. Not a moment later I knelt on top of him and
delivered the knockout blow to his temple. Then, I swiftly
rose, pulled both revolvers from the belt and warned:
Anyone else? Let him come!
Rattlers entire gang was probably itching to avenge the
defeat of their two comrades. They looked at each other. But
I warned:
Listen up, people: Anyone who takes one step in my
direction, or reaches for a weapon, will get a bullet in his
head! You can think what you like about greenhorns in
general; but Ill demonstrate to you that a German greenhorn
can easily tackle twelve so-called Westerners of your ilk!
Sam Hawkens came to my side:
And I, Sam Hawkens, am also warninya, if Im not
mistaken. This young German greenhorn is under my very
special protection. Ill shoot a hole through the first one of
you lot who tries to touch a single hair on him. Im dead
serious; mark my words, hihihi!
Dick Stone and Will Parker thought it was prudent for
them to also flank me, an indication that they agreed with
Sam. That impressed the antagonists. They turned away from
me amid suppressed cusses and threats and turned their
attention to reviving the two men on the ground.
Bancroft thought the smartest thing to do was to return to
his tent and disappear from view. White stared at me, shook
his head and expressed his genuine astonishment:
But, sir, thats dreadful! I wouldnt want to get on the
wrong side of you. We should really call you Shatterhand
because youve knocked a man as tall and strong as a tree out
with a single punch. Ive never seen a thing like it.
That suggestion seemed to meet with Hawkens approval.
He cheerfully chuckled:
Shatterhand, hihihi! Still a greenhorn and already got
himself a prairie name, and one suchlike to boot! Indeed,
when Sam Hawkens has his eyes on a greenhorn hell
amount to somethin, if Im not mistaken. Shatterhand, Old
Shatterhand! Just like Old Firehand, another Westerner,
strong like a bear. What dya say to that name, Dick, Will?
I didnt get to hear their response because White took me
aside and said:
I like you, sir. Would you like to join my team?
Whether Id like to or not, Mr White, I cant.
Why not?
Because my duty keeps me here.
Pshaw! Ill shoulder that responsibility.
Thats no good to me if I cant justify it myself. Ive
been sent here to help survey this section and cant leave
because were not finished yet.
Bancroft will complete it with the other three
surveyors.
Yes, but when and how? No, I must stay.
But consider how dangerous this is for you!
Why?
You have to ask? You must realize that youve made
mortal enemies of these people.
I havent. I didnt do anything to them.
Thats true, or rather it was, until now. Youve knocked
out two of them, it is over between you and them.
Maybe so; Im not afraid of them. And Im bound to
have earned myself some respect especially with those two
Winnetou I [39]
punches; I dont think any of em will dare to come near me.
Besides, Hawkens, Stone and Parker are on my side.
As you wish. Each to his own, you must know whats
good for you. You would have been very useful to me. But
youll at least ride with me part of the way, wont you?
When?
Now.
Youre departing already, Mr White?
Yes, the situation here isnt exactly to my liking and I
dont feel like staying any longer than I really have to.
But youll have to eat something before you head off,
sir?
Thats not necessary. Weve got everything we need in
our saddlebags.
Dont you want to say farewell to Bancroft?
I dont care to.
But youve come here to discuss business with him!
Indeed. But I can tell you just as well. Youll have more
common sense than him in any case. I wanted to warn him
about Red Indians above all.
Have you seen any?
Not directly, only their tracks. Now is the season when
the wild mustangs and bison migrate south; the Indians leave
their villages to hunt and make meat. The Kiowa dont pose
a threat because weve come to an agreement with them in
respect of the railroad; the Comanche and Apache know
nothing of it as yet, therefore, we have to stay out of sight.
As far as Im concerned, Ive finished work on my section
and will leave the region. See to it that you finish yours as
well! This area is becoming increasingly dangerous for you
with each day. Saddle your horse and ask Sam Hawkens if he
wants to come along.
Naturally, Sam didnt say no to a short ride.
I had really planned to work that day. But it was Sunday,
the Lords day when every Christian, even in the wilderness,
ought to reflect upon his spiritual duties. In addition, I
deserved a day of rest. I went to Bancrofts tent and told him
that I wasnt going to work and, instead, was going to
accompany White part of the way, together with Hawkens.
Go in the name of the devil, I hope hell break your
necks! he replied. I didnt imagine that the uncouth wish
would almost come true.
I hadnt been out riding for a few days and my roan
cheerfully neighed when I saddled up. He proved to be an
outstanding horse and I was looking forward to telling
Henry, my old friend the gunsmith.
We rode out into the beautiful autumn morning, spoke
about the planned grand railroad venture and anything else
on our minds. White gave me the necessary hints in respect
of connecting to his section, and at midday we stopped at a
watercourse to have a frugal lunch. Then, White continued
on with his scout, while Sam and I stretched out a little
longer, chatting about things of a religious nature.
Despite his appearance to the contrary he was a very
devout man.
We were making ready to mount up and head back. I bent
down to scoop some water for a drink, when I spotted a
depression on the bottom of the crystal clear brook that
seemed to have been made by a foot. Naturally, I alerted
Sam. He closely inspected the print and then said:
Mr White was quite right to warn us about Indians.
Do you think that the imprint was made by an Indian?
Yes, wearing moccasins. Does that give you a strange
feelin, sir?
Not at all.
Eh! You must think or feel somethin no?
What should I think, other than a Red Indians been
here?
Then youre not afraid?
Wouldnt think of it!
At least worry?
Not either.
You dont know them!
I hope to get to know them. I expect them to be just like
other people, thats to say, the enemies of your enemies and
the friends of your friends. And since it isnt my intention to
treat them with enmity, I assume that I dont have to fear
them.
Winnetou I [41]
Youre the eternal greenhorn. Doesnt matter how you
intend to treat the Indians, itll always turn out differently.
Events arent determined by your intentions. Youll find out
and I can only hope that the experience wont cost you a
piece of your own hide or even your life.
When would these Indians have been here?
About two days ago. We would otherwise see the tracks
in the grass here had it not straightened up again in the
meantime.
A scout probably?
Scouting for buffalo meat, yes. The tribes are at peace,
therefore, it couldnt have been a war scout. The young
fellow was extremely careless.
Why young?
An experienced warrior doesnt leave a print in shallow
water where the tracks are going to be visible for a long time
in the soft ground. Such a mistake could only have been
made by a numbskull, a red greenhorn like you are a white
greenhorn, hihihi. And white greenhorns are usually much
dumber than red ones. Mark my words, sir!
He quietly chuckled to himself and then climbed onto his
horse. Dear old Sam loved to express his affection by
explaining to me how dumb I was.
We could have returned by the same route we had come;
but as a surveyor it was my job to explore the terrain; hence
we deviated a stretch and then turned parallel.
By doing that, we came to a fairly broad valley that
carried lush grass; the surrounding slopes carried scrub along
the bottom and forest higher up. The valley was perhaps half
an hour long and straight enough to see from one end to the
other. We had only advanced a few steps into the friendly
depression when Sam stopped his horse and attentively
looked ahead.
Hey-ho! he uttered. There they are! Yes indeed, thats
them, the very first ones!
What? I asked.
What? he repeated while he nervously shifted about in
his saddle. Shame on you for such a question. Ah, right,
youre a greenhorn and a great one at that! Fellows like you
cant see a thing even with their eyes open. Please be so
kind, my dearest sir, and take a guess at what kinda things
your beautiful eyes can see out there!
Guess? Hm! I would say theyre deer, if I didnt know
that they only formed herds of no more than ten individuals.
I also must consider the distance and as small as those
animals seem to be from here, they must be significantly
larger than deer.
Deer, hihihi! he laughed. Deer, up here, near the
source of the Canadian! Thats another one of your
masterpieces! But the other things you worked out werent
so bad. Yes, they are much, much larger than deer!
You dont say, Sam, they wouldnt be buffalo?
Naturally, buffalo! Theyre bison, genuine, true bison on
their migration, the first ones Ive spotted this season. Now
you know that Mr White was right: bison and Indians. We
only saw an Indian footprint; but the buffalo are here, life-
size. What dya hafta say to that, eh, if Im not mistaken?
We must go there!
Naturally!
To observe them!
Observe? Actually observe? he asked and gave me a
bewildered sideways look.
Yes. Ive never seen a bison before and would really
like to eavesdrop on them.
At that moment I only felt a zoological interest, which
was completely incomprehensible to short Sam. He clutched
his hands together and remarked:
Eavesdrop, only eavesdrop. Just like a young lad who
peers through the crack in the wall of the rabbit stall to listen
in on the little bunnies! Oh, greenhorn, what do I have to put
up with! Not observin and listenin, but a-huntin them I
will, actually be huntin!
Today, on Sunday!
That had slipped out unintentionally. He really got angry
about it and roused at me:
Oh, shut up, why dont you! Whats a proper
frontiersman to ask about Sunday, if hes got the first buffalo
before him! That means meat, understood, meat and then
Winnetou I [43]
some, if Im not mistaken! A piece of bison fillet is even
more delicious than the heavenly Ambrosius or Ambrosianna
or whatever the stuff was called the old Greeks lived on. I
must have a buffalo fillet, even if I die in the process of
getting it! The winds in our favour; thats good. Theres
only sunshine on our northern side of the valley; theres
shadows on the opposite slope. If we stay in it the animals
wont detect us too soon. Come!
He checked the barrels of his Liddy and steered his horse
towards the southern side of the valley. I followed his
example and checked my bear killer. He noticed and stopped
his horse immediately to ask:
Do you want to partake, sir?
Naturally!
Leave that be if you dont want to be trampled to mash
within a few minutes! A bison is no canary that sits on your
finger and sings. Before you dare approach such dangerous
game theres a bit more good and bad weather to cross them
Rocky Mountains.
But all I want
Shut up and do as youre told! he cut me short in a tone
of voice that he hadnt used against me before. I dont want
your demise on my conscience, and youd be ridin into
certain death. You can do as you like any other time; but I
wont tolerate any backchat here!
Had there not been such a great understanding between
us, I would have given him a strong retort, but as it was I
shut up and slowly rode behind him in the shadow strip of
the forest. Along the way he explained, in a milder tone:
There are twenty of them, as far as I can see. But wait
until a thousand and more thunder across the prairie! In times
gone-by Ive seen herds of over ten thousand. They were the
staple food of the Indians; the Whites have taken it away
from him. The red man cared for the game because it gave
him food; he only killed enough for his needs. But the white
man rampaged through the countless herds like a mad animal
that keeps killing even after being satiated, only to spill
blood. How long do you think it will take before theres no
buffalo left, and after a short time no Indians either. God
only knows! And its the same with the horse herds. There
once were troops of a thousand mustangs and more. Now
hunters get excited about being lucky to see a hundred in one
go.
Meanwhile we had closed in on the bison to about four
hundred paces, without the animals having noticed us and
Hawkens stopped his horse. The buffaloes slowly grazed
their way up the valley. An old bull had advanced the
farthest. I was astonished, and admired its giant body. It
would have been nigh on two metres tall and almost three
metres long; back then I didnt know how to gauge the
weight of a bison; later I would have said that the bull could
have weighed more than a ton, an incredible mass of meat
and bones. It found a puddle of mud and joyfully wallowed
in it.
Thats the lead bull, Sam whispered, the most
dangerous animal in the entire company. Someone who
tackles that one better have his last will in place. Im going
to take the young cow back there to the right. Pay attention
to where I put the bullet! Behind the shoulder blade into the
heart at an angle; thats the best, yes, the only safe shot cept
for the eye; but what insane person would tackle a bison
from the front to hit the bullseye! Stay here and duck into the
scrub there with your horse! As soon as they see me and then
flee, the mad chase will go right past here. Dont even think
of leaving this spot before I come back or call to you!
He waited until I had pushed in between two bushes and
then rode on, slowly at first. I had a strange feeling. I had
often read accounts of bison hunts; I wasnt going to learn
anything new in that respect; but theres a difference between
reading such accounts on paper and experiencing a hunt in
the wilderness. I saw bison for the first time in my life. What
sort of game had I killed thus far? They were nothing
compared to those giant, dangerous animals. The obvious
thing for me to do would have been to comply with Sams
order not to get involved; but the opposite unfolded. I had
only wanted to observe, to listen initially, but at that moment
I felt a powerful, yes, irresistible urge to be a part of it. Sam
wanted to tackle a young cow, pfui! I was of the opinion, that
Winnetou I [45]
didnt take any courage; a real man would choose the
strongest bull especially!
My horse had become agitated and was dancing
nervously; it had not seen buffalo before, either, became
fearful and wanted to flee; I could hardly hold it back.
Wasnt it going to be much better if I forced it to tackle the
bull? I wasnt excited at all, on the contrary, entirely calm on
the inside, I weighed up between yes and no. Then the
impressions of a single moment decided for me.
Sam had approached the bison to within three hundred
paces; he spurred his horse and galloped towards the herd,
past the bull, to get to the cow he had indicated to me. It was
startled for a moment and waited too long to flee; he reached
the animal; I saw that he shot at it as he charged past. It
shuddered and lowered its head. I didnt see it collapse
because something else caught my attention at that moment.
The giant bull had jumped to its feet; it stared at Sam
Hawkens. What a mighty animal! What a massive head, with
the domed skull, the broad forehead and the short but strong,
upward curved horns, the dense, matted mane about neck and
chest! It enhanced the picture of primeval, raw power and the
elevated withers gave it the ultimate perfection. Yes, it was
an extremely dangerous creature; but the sight of it virtually
provoked the desire to pit human capability against such
animal power.
Did I wish for it or not? I dont know. Or did my roan
simply bolt? It shot out of the bushes and tried to turn away
to the left; I pulled it hard right and raced towards the bull. It
heard me coming and turned, saw me and lowered its head to
greet horse and rider with its horns. I heard Sam yell from
the top of his lungs but had no time to look at him. It was
impossible to give the bison a bullet because, firstly, it didnt
stand right for a successful shot and, secondly, my horse
refused to obey me; in its panic it headed straight for the
menacing horns. In order to impale my mount, the buffalo
repositioned its hind legs sideways and its head into a
powerful upward thrust; by brute strength I was able to pull
the horse slightly to the side; it took a huge leap across the
bulls hindquarters while the horns pushed very close past
my leg. Our jump went straight into the mud pool where the
buffalo had been wallowing; luckily I saw it and pulled my
feet out of the stirrups because the horse slipped and we fell.
I still dont know how it all happened so fast but the next
moment I stood upright next to the puddle of mud with my
gun securely in my hand. The buffalo turned around to us
and clumsily bounded after the horse that had gotten up and
was about to run off. The bison presented its flank to me for
a clear shot; I aimed; the bear killer was to prove its worth
for the first time in earnest. One more leap and the bison was
going to reach the roan; I pulled the triggerthe animal
stopped mid-jump; I couldnt tell whether it was because of
fright or because I had hit it; I immediately fired the second
bullet. The buffalo slowly lifted its head, emitted a bone-
chilling roar, swayed back and forth a few times and then
collapsed on the spot.
I felt like jumping for joy to celebrate my hard-won
victory, but had a more pressing matter to attend. My horse
was bolting away to my right, while Sam Hawkens was
galloping along the edge of the valley to my left with another
bull after him that wasnt much smaller than the one I just
killed.
Once a bison was irritated it didnt let up from its
nemesis and developed a running speed at least equal to that
of a horse. It displayed a courage, cunning and perseverance
not readily apparent at first glance.
The steer behind Sam was hard on his horses heels. In
order to get away from it, Hawkens had to execute the most
reckless turns, which tired the horse; it wouldnt hold out as
long as the buffalo; help was needed urgently. I didnt have
the time to check whether or not my bull was really dead; I
hastily reloaded both barrels of the bear killer and then
hurried across the valley. Sam saw it; he attempted to turn
his horse in my direction. Big mistake, because that
presented the horses broadside to the bison. I watched as it
lowered its horns. With a single powerful move it lifted
horse and rider into the air and when both crashed to the
ground, it ferociously battered them repeatedly. Sam
screamed for help as loudly as he could. I was probably one
Winnetou I [47]
hundred and fifty paces away and couldnt afford to hesitate.
Although the shot would have been surer at a shorter
distance, Sam was going to be lost if I procrastinated, and
even if I didnt hit the bull well, at least I had hope of
distracting the monsters attention away from my friend. I
stopped, aimed behind the left shoulder blade and fired the
shot. The buffalo lifted its head in order to listen and slowly
turned around. It spotted me and came running towards me,
at a slower pace; that enabled me to reload the empty barrel
with feverish haste and by the time I was ready, the animal
had come to within thirty paces. It couldnt run any longer;
its movements only amounted to a slow trot. It did so with a
lowered head and a malicious stare from bloodshot eyes and
approached like a looming disaster that couldnt be averted. I
knelt and aimed. That caused the bison to stop and lift its
head a little to get a better look at me. By doing so its
treacherous eyes came to be directly in front of my gun
sights; I fired one bullet into the right and one into the left
a short quiver shook its body, then the beast crashed to the
ground.
I jumped up to rush over to Sam but it wasnt necessary
because he already came running.
Hello! I shouted. Youre alive? You arent badly
injured?
Not at all, he replied. Only my right hip is sore from
the fall, or the left, if Im not mistaken; cant quite get rid of
it.
And your horse?
Its gone. Its still alive, but the buffalo gored it. Well
have to put it out of its misery and shoot the poor animal. Is
the bison dead?
Hope so; lets inspect him.
We did and found that it was dead. With a deep sigh
Hawkens said:
This ol brute of an ox gave me plenty work! A cow
woulda been a little more gentle with me. Of course, an ox
cant be expected to act ladylike, hihihi!
Why did he get the dumb idea to tackle you?
Didnt you see it?
No.
Well, I shot the cow and because my horse was in full
gallop I could only stop it when it ran into this oxen. He
didnt like it much and came for me. I quickly gave him the
second bullet from my Liddy but he didnt seem to come to
his senses because he gave me a kind of attention that I
couldnt reciprocate. He chased after me, which made it
impossible for me to reload the gun; I tossed it away because
it was no good to me and I needed both hands to steer the
horse, if Im not mistaken. The poor nag did his best, but
couldnt save himself.
Because you made that last, fatal turn. You should have
continued riding in a wide arc; that would have saved the
horse.
Saved? You speak like an old timer. Wouldnt expect
that of a greenhorn.
Pshaw! Even greenhorns have their good sides!
Yes, if it hadnt been for you Id be lyin there gored
and torn to bits like my horse. Lets go to him.
Sams horse was in a sad state. The intestines protruded
from the torn belly; it snorted with pain. Sam retrieved his
rifle, loaded and gave the horse the coup de grace. Then he
unbuckled bridle and saddle and said:
Now I can be the horse and wear the saddle on my own
back. Thats whatya get for havin a run-in with an ox.
Yes. Where are you going to get another horse from?
Thats the least of my worries. Ill catch one, if Im not
mistaken.
A mustang?
Yes. The buffalo are here; they started their migration
south; well soon be seein the mustangs too; I know it.
Can I tag along when youre going to catch one?
Naturally. You must learn that, too. But lets go and
have a look at the old bull now. He might still be alive. A
Methuselah like him can be tough.
We walked back. The animal was dead. As it lay there we
could appreciate the colossal shape even better than before.
Sam looked back and forth between the bull and me, made
an indescribable face, shook his head and remarked:
Winnetou I [49]
It is inexplicable, completely inexplicable! Do you
know where you hit him?
Where?
In exactly the right spot. Hes an ancient fellow, and I
would have changed my mind ten times over before Id been
reckless enough to tackle him. Do you know what you are,
sir?
What?
The most careless person there is.
Oh!
Yes, the most careless person on Earth.
Carelessness has never been one of my shortcomings.
Well, you just made acquaintance with it. Understood? I
gave you the order to leave your hands off the buffaloes and
stay put in the scrub. Why didnt you obey?
Dont know.
Ah! You did somethin without havin a reason. Aint
that careless?
Dont believe so. I might have had a good reason.
Then youd hafta know what reason that was!
Perhaps it was because you gave me an order and I
wont be ordered around.
Oh! If I mean well and warn you about danger youre
gonna be obstinate and head straight into it?
Ive not come to the West to avoid its dangers.
Thats alright. But youre still a greenhorn and hafta
watch yourself. And if you didnt want to obey me why did
you go for that huge beast instead of a cow?
Because it seemed nobler.
Nobler? The greenhorn wants to play the noble knight in
shining armour, if Im not mistaken, hihihi!
He laughed until he had to hold his belly and, still
laughing, continued:
If you really so dead set on playing a knight errant, then
play Schillers crusading knight Toggenburg who died
pining for his beloved in front of her convent window. You
dont have the stuff for a Bayard or a Roland. Fall in love
with a buffalo cow and sit down, watch the sunset and wait
till the beloved appearsand descends into the valley. And
even so, you could end up sitting there as a corpse, getting
eaten by coyotes and vultures. If a true Westerner does
something he doesnt ask if it is noble, he asks whether or
not it is of use to him.
Thats the case here.
Here? How so?
I chose the buffalo bull because theres a lot more meat
on him than there is on a cow.
He looked at me for a moment, perplexed, then
exclaimed:
A lot more meat? The young man shot the bull because
of the meat, hihihi! I am tempted to believe that you doubted
my courage when I went for a cow; did ya?
Not really, although I thought it took a bit more courage
to choose a strong animal.
And eat bull meat? Youre an extraordinarily smart
person, sir! This bulls got at least eighteen or twenty years
on his back; he consists of a hide and many bones and
sinews. The meat on him cant be called meat anymore
because its as tough as old boots and even if you cook or fry
it for days on end you wouldnt be able to chew it. Any
experienced frontiersman favours a cow over a bull any day
because her meat is tender and juicy. Now you can see what
sort of greenhorn you are. I had no time to watch over you.
What exactly happened during your careless attack on the
buffalo?
I told him. When I concluded he looked at me wide-eyed,
shook his head again and said:
Go down there and fetch your horse! We need it to carry
the meat that well take back.
I obeyed. Truth be told, I felt disappointed at his conduct.
He had listened to my description without saying even one
word. I believed, however, that I could have rightfully
expected at least a small sign of appreciation. Instead, he said
nothing at all and sent me away to fetch my horse. I couldnt
be cross at him, regardless, because I wasnt the type to do
something just for praise.
Winnetou I [51]
When I returned with the horse, Sam knelt beside the
dead cow, which he had skinned expertly in the meantime,
and was in the process of carving out the loin.
Alright, he said. Well be dining out on a roast
tonight, the likes of which we havent eaten in a long time.
Well load the loin together with the bridle and saddle onto
your horse. It is only for Will, Dick, you and me. If the
others want to have some, too, they are welcome to ride here
and get the cow.
If it hasnt been devoured by vultures and other wild
animals by then.
Oh? How smart you are! Of course, well cover it with
twigs and weigh them down with rocks. It could only be a
bear or another large predator that could get to it then.
Therefore, I cut strong twigs from the nearby scrub and
lugged heavy rocks about. We covered the cow and loaded
my horse. Then I enquired:
Whatll happen with the bulls?
Them? What do you think should happen with them?
Is there nothing at all that we could use?
Nothing at all.
Not even the leather?
Are you a tanner? Im not!
Ive read that the hides of killed buffalo are hidden and
stored in so-called caches!
Ah, youve read about it, have you? Well, if you read
about it then it has to be true because everything thats been
written about the Wild West must indeed and unequivocally
be true, hihihi! Yes, there are frontiersmen who kill the
animals for their hides sake; Ive done it myself; but for the
moment we dont count among those and will refrain from
dragging such a heavy skin around with us.
We headed off and, although we had to walk, returned
only half an hour later to the camp because thats how close
the valley was where I had killed my first, or rather, my first
two buffaloes.
The fact that we were on foot and didnt have Sams
horse with us caused a stir. They asked us for the reasons.
We hunted some buffalo and my horse got gored by a
bull, Sam Hawkens replied.
Buffalo hunting, buffalo, buffalo, buffalo! everyone
echoed. Where, where?
A short half an hour from here. We took the loin; you
can go get the rest.
Well do that; yes, we will, Rattler exclaimed. He
pretended as if nothing had happened between us. Where is
the place?
Ride back on our trail and youll find it; you have eyes
in your head, if Im not mistaken.
How many were there?
Twenty.
And how many did you kill?
A cow.
Only a cow? Where did the others go?
They went away. You can go find them. I neither cared
where they wanted to take a walk nor asked them about it,
hihihi!
But only a cow! Two hunters and they only shoot one
cow out of twenty buffaloes! one of them made the
dismissive remark.
Do it better, why dont you, sir! You would have killed
all twenty and probably a few more. Besides, when you get
there youll find two old, twenty-year-old bulls, which this
young gentleman shot.
Bulls, old bulls! they echoed. What greenhorn would
commit the stupidity and shoot twenty-year-old bulls!
Laugh at him for all I care, meshshurs; but have a close
look at the bulls later on! I tell you that he saved my life by
shooting them.
Your life? Why?
They were eager to hear about the adventure; but he
turned them down:
I dont feel like talking about it. Let him tell you about it
if you think it is smart to collect the meat after dark.
He was right. The sun was about to set and in a short
while it was going to be evening. Since they knew that I
would feel even less inclined to be a storyteller, they all
Winnetou I [53]
climbed onto their horses and rode off. None wanted to stay
behind. They didnt trust each other. Among decent hunters
with a friendly relationship, game shot by one also belonged
to all of the others; such sense of fellowship was missing
among those people. When they returned later, I overheard
their accounts on how they had fallen upon the cows
carcass, like madmen and, amid fighting and cussing, each
attempted to greedily slice off the biggest and best possible
piece of meat before any of the others could beat them to it.
After they rode off, we unloaded the loin and Sams
saddle, and then I led my horse aside to unsaddle and tether
it. I took my time doing so whereby Sam had the opportunity
to tell the adventure to Parker and Stone. Their tent was
between them and me and they couldnt see me returning. I
was almost upon the tent when I heard Sam say:
Believe me; it is as I say: the fellow tackled the largest
and strongest bull and shot him as if he were an old,
experienced buffalo hunter! Of course, I made out I thought
it was utter recklessness and gave him a thorough ear-
bashing; but I know what to think of him.
Me, too, Stone agreed. Hell turn into a decent
Westerner.
And soon, I heard Parker say.
Yes, Hawkens confirmed. You know, gents, hes born
for it, truly born for it. And then theres his physical
strength! Didnt he pull our heavy oxen cart away yesterday,
on his own and without anyones assistance? A punch from
him and youll never be the same again. But, wont you
promise me one thing?
What? Parker asked.
Dont let him know what we think of him.
Why not?
Because it could go to his head.
Oh, no!
Oh, yes! Hes a very modest fellow and not suited to
arrogance; but praising people is always a mistake; it can
spoil the best characters. Keep calling him a greenhorn; he
really is one, even if hes got all the attributes of a capable
Westerner, they arent developed yet and he still has to
experience and practice much.
Did you thank him for saving your life?
It didnt occur to me!
No? Whats he gonna think of you?
I couldnt care less what he thinks of me, completely
unimportant to me, if Im not mistaken. Naturally he takes
me for an ignorant, ungrateful scoundrel; but thats
irrelevant; the main thing is that he aint turnin arrogant but
stays the way he is. But, of course, I would have loved to hug
and kiss him.
Phew! Stone exclaimed. Kiss you! Hugging would
already be risky, but kissingno!
Eh? Why not? Sam asked.
Why? Have you ever had a look in a mirror, or seen
your blessed countenance in a pool of clear water? This face,
this beard and this nose! Oh, boy, anyone who has the
nonsensical idea to put their lips on the spot where yours
might be, either suffers from sunstroke or his brain froze
over.
So! Ah! Hm! Spoken like a true friend. Ugly, am I? And
what dya think you are? A handsome person? Dont bet on
it! Should we ever participate in a beauty contest, Id win
first prize; youd get the wooden spoon, I promise, hihihi!
But thats for another day. We were talkin bout our
greenhorn. I didnt thank him back then and wont do it now;
but when the loins done hell have the best and juiciest
piece; Ill cut it myself; hes earned it. And dya know what
Im gonna do tomorrow?
What? Stone asked.
Give him a great treat.
What with?
He shall be allowed to catch himself a mustang.
You want to go chasing mustangs?
Yes. I must have another horse. Youll lend me yours
for the hunt. Since buffalo showed up today, the mustangs
wont be far off. I figure that I only have to ride back to the
prairie where wed staked and surveyed the railroad tracks
the day before yesterday. Thats where the mustangs are
Winnetou I [55]
going to be as soon as the wild horse herds move through
these regions.
I didnt hear anything else because I went back and
detoured through some bushes to approach the three hunters
from the other side of the tent. They werent to know that I
overheard what I shouldnt have.
We lit a fire and drove two forked tree branches into the
ground on either side of it. They were the end mounts that
took the spit, which consisted of a strong, straight bough.
Hawkens, Stone and Parker affixed the entire loin to it, and
then Sam started to slowly and artfully turn the spit roast.
The blissful face he made while doing so made me smile
inwardly.
When the others returned with their meat they followed
our example and lit their own fire. Of course, they werent as
peaceful. Because each one wanted to roast their own piece
of meat, there wasnt enough room and as a consequence
they had to devour their portions half raw.
I did receive the best piece; it would have weighed about
three pound, and I ate it all. It might sound as if I were a
glutton; on the contrary, I always ate less than others in
similar circumstances; however, someone who hasnt
experienced it will find the large amount of meat a
frontiersman can and must eat to survive hard to believe.
Human beings need a balanced diet that consists of
inorganic compounds as well as certain amounts of proteins
and carbohydrates. Someone who lives in a civilized region
is able to obtain the correct mixture of food. However, a
frontiersman who is away from civilization for months on
end, and only able to feed himself with meat, which contains
very little carbohydrates, has to eat large portions to supply
the necessary amount of carbohydrates to his body. The fact
that he ingests far too much protein, which is
counterproductive to his nutrition, has to be a secondary
consideration for him. I once witnessed an old trapper eat
eight pound of meat in one sitting and when I asked him
whether he was satiated, he smiled and said:
I have to be because I dont have any more; but if you
give me a piece of your meat you wont have to wait too
long for it to disappear.
During the meal, our Westerners conversed about our
buffalo hunt. I overheard that they had reconsidered their
understanding of the stupidity that I was supposed to have
committed, as soon as they had seen the two bulls.
Next morning I pretended to get ready for work; Sam
walked up to me and said:
Leave your instruments be, sir; theres something more
interesting to do.
What?
Youll see. Saddle your horse; well go for a ride.
A stroll? Works first!
Pshaw! Youve slaved enough. Besides, methinks that
well be back by midday. After that, you can measure and
calculate as much as you like.
I gave Bancroft the necessary information and then we
rode out. Along the way, Sam behaved in a very mysterious
manner and I didnt tell him that I already knew what he was
up to. We rode back along the route we had already
surveyed, until we reached the prairie Sam had mentioned
the night before.
It would have been about three kilometres wide and twice
as long and was framed by wooded hills. Because a fairly
broad stream irrigated it, there was enough moisture to
support a lush grass cover. The northerly access was framed
by two mountains and in the south the prairie ended in a
valley that continued on in that direction. When we arrived,
Hawkens stopped and scanned the plain; then we rode north
along the stream. He suddenly stopped his borrowed horse
and gave a short shout, dismounted, jumped across the
watercourse and walked towards a spot where the grass had
been trampled. He investigated the place, returned and
climbed back into the saddle. We rode on, no longer in a
northerly direction but, instead, turned away at a right angle
and kept riding in the new direction until we reached the
westerly edge of the prairie. Sam dismounted again and let
the horse graze but securely tethered it. He hadnt spoken
Winnetou I [57]
since he had inspected the tracks, however, an expression of
satisfaction had come over his bearded face like sunshine
over a forest. Then he instructed me:
Dismount as well, sir, and tether your horse well! Well
wait here.
Why tether it well? I asked although I knew what it
was all about.
Because you could easily lose it. Ive repeatedly seen
horses bolt on such occasions.
What occasions?
Anythin come to mind?
Hm!
Have a guess!
Mustangs?
What gave you that idea? he asked and quickly looked
at me.
Because I read about it.
What?
That tame horses like to run off with wild mustangs if
they arent tethered well.
Tarnation! Youve read about everythin and its
impossible to surprise you. I prefer people who cant read at
all!
Did you plan to surprise me?
Naturally.
With a mustang hunt?
Yes.
That wouldnt have been possible at all. Not knowing
anything about it is the prerequisite for a surprise; but you
would have had to tell me about it before the horses turned
up.
Thats right, hm! Alright, the mustangs have already
been here.
Those were their tracks before?
Yes; they passed through here yesterday. It was a kind
of scouting troop. I must tell you that these animals are
incredibly smart. They always send small troops ahead and
out to the sides. Theyve got their officers just like the army
does and the main leader is always the most experienced,
strongest and most courageous stallion. Whether they are
grazing or on the move, stallions always guard the periphery
of the herd; the mares are next and the young ones are in the
centre. They do this so that the stallions can protect the
mares, the colts and fillies. Ive described to you on several
occasions how to catch a mustang with the lasso. Can you
remember how to do it?
Of course.
Do you feel like catching one?
Yes.
Then youll have an opportunity to do so this morning,
sir.
Thanks! I wont take it.
No? All devils! Why not?
Because I dont need a horse.
But a Westerner doesnt ask whether he needs a horse or
not!
Then he isnt at all how I imagine a decent Westerner
should be.
How should he be?
Yesterday you spoke of vultures, of Whites who kill the
buffalo en masse even if they dont require their meat. I
regard that as a sin committed against the animals as well as
the red people whore being robbed of their food as a
consequence. Dont you?
Naturally!
Its the same with the horses. I dont feel like depriving
one of these magnificent mustangs of his freedom without
the excuse of needing a horse.
Thats a decent thought, sir, very decent. Thats just
how every human and Christian ought to think, speak and
act. But who said that you must deprive a mustang of his
freedom? Youve practiced your lasso throwing and shall
now put it to the test. I want to see if you pass your exam.
Understood?
Thats different; yes, Ill go along with that.
Great! In my case its for real, of course. I need a horse
and will catch me one. Ive told you a number of times, and
tell you again: make sure that you sit firmly in the saddle and
Winnetou I [59]
that you brace your horse against the jolt of the rope as soon
as its about to pull taut. If you dont, youll be toppled and
the mustang will run off and drag your horse along on the
lasso. Then you wont have a horse either and will be a
common foot soldier like I am at the moment.
He wanted to say more but didnt and, instead, pointed to
the two mountains at the northern end of the prairie. A horse
came into view, a single, riderless horse. It advanced slowly,
without grazing, and continually turned its head from one
side to the other, while it sniffed the air.
Can you see it? Sam whispered because he was
excited, even though it would have been impossible for the
horse to hear us. Didnt I say theyre coming? Thats the
scout whos ahead of the others to make sure the area is safe.
Its a smart stallion. See how hes looking and sniffing in all
directions! He wont detect us because were downwind of
him; thats why Ive chosen this spot.
The mustang fell into a trot; it ran straight ahead, then to
the right, to the left, and finally turned around and
disappeared from sight where we had first spotted it.
Did you watch him? Sam asked. How smart he acted
and used every bush for cover sos not to be detected! A Red
Indian scout couldnt have done it any better.
Thats right. Im quite astounded about it.
He went back to report to his four-legged general that
the coasts clear. But he will be mistaken, hihihi! I bet
theyre all here in ten minutes; pay attention. Dya know
how were gonna do it?
Tell me.
You quickly ride south to the end of the prairie and wait
there. Ill ride near the entry and hide there in the forest.
When the herd arrives Ill let it pass and then chase after it.
The horses will flee in your direction; then youll show
yourself and theyll turn around and run back. That way
well drive them back and forth between us until weve
chosen the two best horses; well catch them; Ill choose the
best for myself and well let the other go. Are you agreed?
Youre asking me? I dont understand a thing about
chasing after horses, whereas youre definitely an expert at it,
therefore, Ive got to follow your instructions.
Well, youre right there. Ive had many-a-wild mustang
under me and tamed em, which means youre not that wrong
calling me an expert. Get going then, or else time will get
away from us and we wont be in position.
We mounted up and separated, he went north and I south
to where we had first entered the grassy plain. Because my
heavy bear killer was going to be a hindrance in the
anticipated chase, I would have liked to leave it behind; but I
had read and also heard that a cautious man of the West only
separated from his gun in a situation where it was certain he
had nothing to fear and, therefore, had no need for it. That
wasnt the case; an Indian or even a predator could appear at
any moment; hence I made sure the old gun was strapped
tight so it couldnt hit me.
I stopped between the first trees of the surrounding forest,
tied the end of the lasso to the saddle horn and then laid the
loops in front of me, ready to grab. With bated breath, I
waited for the arrival of the horses.
The other end of the prairie was so far away from me that
I couldnt see the horses when they appeared there. They
would only come within sight once Sam was driving them. I
hadnt been there a quarter of an hour when I spotted a lot of
dark spots that quickly grew in size, while they moved up
and down. First they were the size of sparrows, than they
seemed to be like cats, than dogs, calves, until they had come
close enough for me to see their true size. The mustangs
approached in a wild gallop.
The magnificent animals were a beautiful sight! The
manes fluttered about their necks and the tails streamed like
plumes in the wind behind them. There were three hundred
animals at the most, but the Earth seemed to tremble beneath
their hooves. A white stallion raced ahead of all others, a
splendid animal, and it would have been a treat to catch it,
but no prairie hunter would even think of riding a white
horse. A pale horse would reveal the riders presence from
afar.
Winnetou I [61]
It was time for me to make an appearance. I rode out into
the open from under the trees and the effect was
instantaneous: the leading white stallion recoiled as if a
bullet had hit him; the bewildered herd stopped; a fearful
snort; then the entire squadron turned around, the white
stallion resumed its lead at the other end and the animals
raced back to where they came from.
I slowly followed them; I was in no hurry because I was
sure Sam Hawkens would drive them towards me again. As I
moved along I tried to reflect on something that had caught
my eye. Although the horses had only halted for a short
moment in front of me, I was sure Id seen a mule. I could
have been mistaken but believed Id seen correctly and
decided to pay more attention. The mule had been running
with the animals closest to the lead stallion; it had not only
been accepted as an equal among the horses, but also had an
elevated rank in their pecking order.
After a while, the herd approached a second time, and
then turned again when the animals saw me. The process
repeated one more time and I saw that I hadnt been
mistaken; there was a mule among them, a light-coloured
animal with a dark dorsal stripe. It made a positive
impression on me and despite the large head and the long
ears was a beautiful animal. Mules are less demanding than
horses, more sure-footed and dont baulk along precipices.
Those are qualities that have weight. Of course, they can also
be very stubborn. Ive seen mules that preferred to be
whipped to death rather than move a single step, although
they carried no load and the road ahead was magnificent.
They simply didnt want to.
I felt the mule showed a lot of spirit, its eyes seemed to
shine brighter and more intelligent than those of the horses
and I made up my mind to catch it. It had probably escaped
its previous owner when the herd of wild horses went past,
and had then remained with the mustangs.
Sam drove the troop towards me again. We had
approached to within earshot. The mustangs could neither go
back nor forward; they broke out to the side. We followed
them. The herd split up, and I saw that the mule remained
with the main group; it ran alongside the stallion; the animal
had extraordinary stamina and speed. I stayed with that
troop, and Sam seemed to do likewise.
Take them between us, me on the left, you to the right!
he shouted to me.
We spurred our horses on and not only kept pace with the
mustangs, but also quickly caught up with them before they
reached the forest. They didnt get to the trees; the troop
turned around and attempted to get away through the gap
between us. To prevent that from happening, we swiftly
moved towards each other; thats when they scattered in all
directions like a flock of chickens stirred up by a hawk. The
white stallion and the mule shot through between Sam and I,
and then separated from the others; we chased after them. As
we did, Sam swung his lasso above his head, ready for the
throw and shouted to me:
Typical greenhorn! Youll be one forever!
Why?
Because youre after the white, and only a greenhorn
would do that, hihihi!
I gave him an answer but he didnt hear it because his
loud laughter drowned out my voice. He thought I was after
the white stallion. So what! I left the mule to him and turned
to where the mustangs were running around in leaderless
confusion, snorting fearfully. As I looked back, I observed
that Sam had come close enough to the mule to throw the
lasso. The loop came to sit properly around the neck of the
animal. Sam had to stop then and, just like he had explained
to me so clearly, position his horse to anchor the taut lasso
and hold the resulting jolt. He did so, but just one moment
too late; his horse hadnt finished turning around and bracing
itself, and was thrown by the forceful yank. Sam Hawkens
sailed through the air in a most brilliant somersault and hit
the dirt. The horse quickly got up and continued running.
The lasso lost its tension, the mule stood firm and wasnt
thrown. It got its wind back and galloped away, pulling the
horse along across the prairie because the other end of the
rope was tied to the saddle horn.
Winnetou I [63]
I hurried to Sam to see whether or not he was injured. He
got up and was in a flap:
Tarnation! There goes Dick Stones nag including the
mule without saying adieu, if Im not mistaken!
Are you hurt?
No. Dismount quickly, and give me your horse. I need
it!
Why?
Because I want to go after the fugitives. Get down,
quickly!
Wouldnt think of it! Youd risk another somersault and
then both horses would be gone.
I drove my horse on and after the mule. It had gone quite
some distance already, but then got into conflict with the
horse. Each wanted to head in a different direction and in
doing so hampered their escape because they were tied
together. Thats why I soon caught up with them. I didnt
have to use my lasso at all and, instead, grabbed the one that
connected the two animals; I was confident I could subdue
the mule. Initially, I let it continue to run and galloped after it
with both horses, but gradually shortened the rope so that the
noose tightened gradually. It enabled me to steer the animal
fairly well; gradually, and in a wide arc, we returned to
where Hawkens was standing. When we got there, I pulled
the lasso tight with a sudden tug and cut the mules air; it
sank to its knees.
Hold tight until Ive got a hold of the rascal, and then let
go! Sam shouted.
He ran up to it and, although the animal on the ground
kicked out with its legs, stood hard against it.
Now! he said.
I let go of the lasso; the mule had its breath back and got
up; just as swiftly, Sam swung onto its back. For a few
moments the mule stood motionless, as if frozen with fear;
but then it leapt into the air, reared and bucked, suddenly
jumped sideways with all four, and then arched its back to
unseat Sam, but he sat fast.
Cant get rid of me! he called. Now itll resort to its
last option and race away with me. Wait here; Ill bring it
back tamed!
But he was mistaken. It didnt race off with him, instead,
it threw itself on the ground and rolled. Sam risked having
his ribs broken; he had to get off its back. I jumped out of the
saddle, grabbed the lasso, which was dragging on the ground,
and hastily wrapped it around the strong root of a nearby
bush.
The mule had got rid of its rider and rose. It wanted to
storm off, but the root held; the lasso tightened around its
neck again with a jerk; the animal fell again.
Sam Hawkens scrambled away to the side, felt his ribs
and legs, pulled a face as if hed eaten sauerkraut with plum
pudding and said:
Let the beast go; nobodys gonna tame it, if Im not
mistaken.
No way! Wouldnt want to be beaten by a mule whose
father was an ass instead of a gentleman. Itll have to obey.
Watch!
I retrieved the lasso from the root and with legs wide
apart stood above the animal. As soon as it got its wind back
it jumped up. Then it was a matter of applying the strongest
leg pressure I was capable of, and I definitely had an
advantage over short-legged Sam in that respect. While the
mule repeated its tricks to try and throw me, I gathered the
lasso and gripped it hard behind the noose around its neck. I
tightened it as soon as I noticed that the animal wanted to
roll; by manipulating the rope and using leg pressure I kept it
standing upright. It was an ugly fight, brute force against
brute force; I perspired from every pore; but the mule was
even worse off; it was in a lather, sweat ran down its entire
body and large flakes of foam dripped from its mouth. Its
movements grew increasingly weaker and less deliberate; its
furious snorting changed to a short cough, then, finally, it
collapsed beneath me, not intentionally, but because it was
exhausted. It remained lying on the ground with a vacant
stare. I drew deep, deep breaths; I felt as if every tendon and
sinew in my body had been torn.
Winnetou I [65]
Heavens, youre one of a kind! Sam exclaimed.
Youre stronger than the animal! If you could see your face
youd get a shock!
I believe you.
Your eyes are bulging, your lips are swollen and your
cheeks are virtually blue!
Thats because Im a greenhorn and dont submit to
being thrown, while someone else, a master in mustang
catching, was smarter and let the mule brush him off, after he
had tied his own horse to it first and sent them both on a
leisurely jaunt.
He pulled an even more woeful face and begged:
Be quiet about that, sir! I tell you that this could happen
to the most capable hunter. Youve had two very good days.
I hope to experience many more such days. On the other
hand, they were really bad for you. How are your ribs and
other bones?
Dont know. Ill collect them later and count them as
soon as I feel better. They still rattle around everywhere in
my body. I never sat on a beast like this one! I hope itll see
sense now!
It will. See how tired its lying there, almost pathetic.
Saddle it up. Youll ride it home.
Then itll start bucking again!
No it wont! It had enough. Its a smart animal, and
youll be happy to have caught it.
Yes, I think so, too. Had my eye on it right from the
start. And you on the white stallion, which wasnt very
smart.
How do you know?
Of course, it wasnt smart!
I dont mean that, but what you said about having had
my eye on the white horse.
What else?
The mule as well.
Truly?
Yes. Even though Im a greenhorn, I know enough to
realize that a white horse is no good for a frontiersman. I
liked the mule as soon as I saw it.
Yes, youve got good horse sense, I have to admit that.
I hope that your own commonsense is just as well
developed, dear Sam! Come and help me get the animal off
the ground!
We pulled the mule up. It stood still and shivered all
over. It didnt object to having saddle and bridle strapped on,
and when Sam mounted up it obeyed the reins as readily as a
well-trained horse.
Must have had a master before, Sam remarked.
Someone who was a good rider; I can feel it. Probably ran
away. Do you know what Im going to call er?
What?
Mary. I rode a mule once by the name of Mary and
dont have to worry about thinking up another one.
A mule named Mary and a gun named Liddy!
Yes. Two lovely names, no? And now I hafta ask a big
favour of ya.
Sure. Which?
Dont tell anyone bout what happened here today! Id
really be indebted to you.
Nonsense! Theres no talk about being indebted to
anyone for something perfectly natural.
In this case there is. It would be a great hoot for the
gang in the camp if they found out how Sam Hawkens came
by his lovely new Mary! Theyd have some real fun with it.
If you keep your mouth shut, Ill
Please, dont mention it! I cut him short. Thats not
necessary. Youre my friend and mentor. I dont have to say
any more about it.
Moisture welled up in his small eyes and he became
emotional:
Yes, I am your friend, sir, and if I knew you felt a little
bit of affection for me as well, it would be a great and honest
joy and pleasure for my old heart.
I shook his hand:
I can give you that pleasure, my dear Sam. I can assure
you that I am fond of you, just likelikea favourite uncle.
Is that enough?
Winnetou I [67]
More than enough, sir! Im so excited about it, I wish I
could do you a huge favour right here and now. Tell me what
I should do! Shall Ishall Ieat my new mule, skin an all?
Or would you prefer I marinate, stew and then devour
myself? Or shall I
Stop! I laughed. Id lose you in both cases because
youd either burst your seams or die of a fur ball because
youd be swallowing your indigestible wig as well. Youve
done me plenty of favours so far and will probably continue
to do so. Mary can keep on living for the moment, and so can
you, but lets get back to the camp. Id like to continue
work.
Work! Thats what youve done here as well, if that
wasnt work, I dont know what is.
I tied Dick Stones horse to mine with the lasso, and then
we rode off. The mustangs were long gone, of course; the
mule obeyed its rider willingly and along the way Sam
repeatedly voiced his delight:
Shes got good training, my Mary, very good training! I
am getting more convinced with every step that I will ride an
excellent mount. Shes rememberin what she learnt before
she ran with the mustangs and then forgot. I hope that shes
not only got temperament but also character.
And if she doesnt youll have to teach her some. Shes
not too old for it.
How old do you think she is?
Five years, not more.
Thats my opinion as well. Ill take a closer look at her
later. Ive got you to thank for the animal, only you. They
were two nasty days for me, but very glorious for you.
Would you have believed that youd get a taste of a bison,
and then a mustang hunt in such quick succession?
Why not? One has to be prepared for anything here in
the West. I hope to experience other hunts as well.
Hm, yes. I hope that youll get away just as lightly as
you did yesterday and today. Yesterday specially your life
was hangin by a thread. You dared too much. You mustnt
forget that youre a greenhorn. Ive never known anyone
lettin a buffalo approach like you did, and then shootin it
through the eyes! Youre still inexperienced and have
underestimated the bison. Take more care in future and dont
over-estimate yourself! Hunting bison is very dangerous.
Theres only one thing more dangerous.
Whats that?
Hunting bear.
You dont mean the black one with the yellow muzzle?
The black bear? Not at all! Hes a good-natured and
friendly creature and you could teach him to iron your
clothes and knit a cardigan. No, I mean the grizzly, the grey,
or silvertip bear of the Rocky Mountains. Youve been
readin bout everything, bout him, too?
Yes.
Count yrself lucky if you dont get to see one. If he
stands up hes more than two heads taller than you; hell turn
your skull into porridge in one bite and when hes been
attacked and agitated he wont rest until hes torn his enemy
to pieces.
Or vice versa!
Oho! There you go bein reckless again! You talk about
the mighty, indomitable grey bear with such contempt as if it
were a little harmless racoon.
Not quite. I wouldnt think so little of grizzlies; but I
also dont think theyre as unbeatable as you say they are. No
predator is invincible, not even the grizzly.
Didya read that as well?
Yes.
Hm! Methinks that all those books youve been readin
are to blame for your carelessness. Youre an otherwise
sensible fellow, if Im not mistaken. Youd be capable of
tackling a grey bear just like you did the bison yesterday.
If I had no choiceyes.
No choice! Nonsense! What do you mean by that?
Everybody has a choice, if he wants to!
That means he can run away if hes a coward. Thats
what you mean, isnt it?
Yes but theres no talk of cowardice. Not up against the
grizzly; on the contrary, it would be suicide to attack him.
Winnetou I [69]
Thats where our opinions differ. If a bear surprises me
and leaves me no time to flee then I have to defend myself. If
it attacks one of my comrades I have to go to his aid. These
are two cases, in which I cannot, or must not flee. And
besides, I can well imagine that a daring frontiersman will
tackle a grey bear even without being in strife, to prove his
courage, to render such a dangerous predator harmless and to
reward himself with a tasty meal of bear ham and paws as
well.
Youre incurable and I fear for your life. You better
thank God if you never get to know these hams and paws! At
the same time, I wont deny that theres no greater delicacy
on Earth; they surpass even the most tender buffalo loin.
You probably wont have to worry about me just yet. Or
could there be grey bears in this region?
Why not? Grizzlies are found throughout the Rockies;
they follow the rivers and at times even roam far out into the
prairies. Woe to those who come across one of them! Lets
not talk about it anymore!
Neither he nor I thought that the very next day we were
going to talk about the same subject again, from a
completely different angle, and that a grizzly would cross our
path. There was no time at all to continue our discussion
because we had arrived in the camp. It had advanced quite a
stretch, along which the survey work had continued in our
absence. Bancroft had put a lot of effort into it, together with
the three surveyors, to demonstrate what he was capable of.
We caused a stir.
A mule, a mule! they shouted. Where didya get it,
Hawkens, where?
Got sent by personal delivery, he replied in earnest.
Impossible! Who sent it, and how?
By express post, in a wrapper for two cents. Would you
like to see the envelope?
Some laughed, others cussed; but he reached his
objective; they stopped asking. I couldnt see whether or not
he was more talkative towards Dick Stone and Will Parker
because I resumed my surveying work immediately. It
progressed so well towards the end of the day that we were
going to be able to work along the valley the next morning,
where Sam and I had the encounter with the bison. When we
spoke of it in the evening, I asked Sam whether or not the
buffaloes could possibly inconvenience us since they
apparently wanted to follow their route through the valley.
We had been dealing with an advance guard and had to
expect the main host to turn up. He replied:
Not very likely, sir! The bison are no less smart than the
mustangs. The scouts we chased away have returned to warn
the herd; they will take a completely different direction and
avoid moving through this valley.
When morning broke we moved camp to the higher end
of the valley. Hawkens, Stone and Parker didnt participate
in the move because Sam wanted to put his new Mary
through her paces. The other two accompanied him when he
headed for the prairie where we had caught the mule; there
was plenty of room for his purpose.
We surveyors were busy setting surveyors poles,
whereby some of Rattlers crew helped; Rattler and the rest
strolled idly around the landscape. In the process, we came
near the spot where I had killed the two bison. To my
astonishment, I saw that the old bull wasnt there anymore.
We went to investigate and noticed that a broad track led
from where it had been lying to the bushes; the grass had
been flattened almost two metres wide.
Blimey! Is that possible? Rattler exclaimed. When we
fetched the meat I checked both bulls; they were dead, but
this one seems to have had some life left in him.
Do you think so? I asked.
Indeed. Or do you think a dead buffalo can drag himself
away?
Why does it have to be the bull? Maybe it was dragged
away by something or someone else.
Eh? By whom?
Indians, for example. We discovered a moccasin print
further up the valley.
Ah! How smart and wise such a greenhorn can talk! If
hes been dragged away by Indians, where would they have
come from?
Winnetou I [71]
From somewhere.
Thats right. Maybe out of the blue! Thats where they
would have had to fall from because we would have seen
their tracks. No, the buffalo had to still be alive and when he
came to he dragged himself into the bushes; he would have
died there in the meantime. Lets have a look.
He and his people followed the track. Perhaps he
believed I would accompany them; I didnt because I
disliked his sneering and the way he spoke to me, and I also
had work to do; besides, I couldnt care less where the
cadaver of the old bull had ended up. I turned back to my
work, but hadnt reached for the next pole when screams of
terror arose; two, three shots cracked, and then I heard
Rattler shout:
Up into the trees, quickly into the trees, youre lost
otherwise! He cant climb.
Who was he referring to? One of his crew came running
out of the scrub in leaps that only mortal fear could produce.
Whats up, whats wrong? I called out to him.
A bear, a huge bear, a grey grizzly! he panted as he ran
past me.
At the same time someone screamed:
Help! Help! Hes got me! Ahhhahhh!
People only screamed like that when they were looking
into the gaping jaws of death. The man was in extreme
danger; he needed help. But how? I had left my gun in the
tent because it was a hindrance during work. That was not
carelessness because the Westerners were protecting the
surveyors. If I ran back to the tent first, the man was going to
be torn to pieces before I could return; I had to get to him as I
was: with only the knife and the two revolvers in my belt.
Inadequate weapons against a grizzly bear!
The grizzly is a close relative of the extinct cave bear and
a relic from prehistory. The animal can grow to more than
two and a half metres and I have killed specimens later that
weighed almost a ton. Its physical strength is enormous and
it can carry a stag, a foal or a bison heifer in its jaws and
easily trot away with it. A rider can only get away if hes got
a very strong horse with a lot of stamina, if not, the bear
surely catches him. Because of its gigantic strength, the
absolute lack of fear and inexhaustible tenacity, killing a
grizzly bear is considered to be an immensely daring feat
among the Indians, of course.
So I ran into the scrub. The trail led through it and to the
edge of the woods. The bear had dragged the bull back to
where it had come from; we hadnt seen its footprints earlier
because they were erased as it dragged the heavy buffalo
cadaver back over them.
It was a grim situation. Behind me, the surveyors ran
yelling back to their tents to fetch their weapons; ahead of
me, the Westerners screamed, and in the midst of it, the man
caught by the bear howled in indescribable agony.
I got closer and heard the voice of the bear already, or
rather, not the voice, because this bear also differs from
others by the lack of growling; the only sound it makes when
its angry or in pain is a peculiar, loud and fast snorting and
hissing.
And then I got there. In front of me lay the completely
butchered body of the bison; to my right and left the
Westerners screamed down at me. They had scrambled up
the trees and felt secure there because they obviously had
never seen a grizzly upright at full stretch. Straight ahead of
me, on the far side of the buffalo cadaver, one of the
Westerners had attempted to climb a tree, but in vainthe
grizzly had surprised him. The man lay across the first low
branch with his upper body and had both arms clenched
around the trunk of the tree. The grizzly stood upright and
tore his legs and abdomen to shreds with its front paws. The
man was doomed, irretrievably lost; I couldnt help him and
nobody would have had the right to judge me, had I turned
around again; but the sight made an irresistibly powerful
impression on me. I picked up one of the rifles;
unfortunately, it was empty. I turned it around, jumped
across the buffalo and hit the butt over the bears head with
all my strength. Ridiculous! The gun splintered like glass in
my hands; not even a war hatchet would dent such a skull;
but I still had some success in that I distracted the grizzly
away from its victim. It turned its head in my direction, not
Winnetou I [73]
fast like a feline or canine predator would have, but slowly,
as if it were perplexed at my dumb attack, and looked back at
me over its shoulder. It measured me up and down with its
small eyes and seemed to decide whether to stick to its
victim on the tree or turn around and grab me; those few
moments saved my life, because the only thought that would
help me in that situation came into my head. I pulled one of
the revolvers out, jumped close to the bear and shot once
twicethreefour times into its eyes, just like I had shot
the bison in the eyes. Of course, that all happened faster than
it can be told; then I jumped far to the side and remained
there to observe the bear, while I pulled out the Bowie knife.
Had I remained standing near the grizzly, I would have
paid with my life because the blind predator let go of the tree
and lunged at the spot where I had been not a moment
earlier. As I was no longer there, the bear began to search for
me amid treacherous snarling and furious pawing at the
ground. Enraged, it moved in circles and reached out with its
front paws and jumped in all directions to find me, but
couldnt because, luckily for me, I had aimed well. Perhaps
its sense of smell might have guided it to me; but it was too
furious to calmly follow its senses, its instinct.
At last, it directed its attention more towards the injury
than the one who had caused it. The bear sat down, snarled
and pawed its eyes. I rushed alongside it, took aim and thrust
the knife between its ribs twice. The bear immediately
reached for me but I had already jumped away. I hadnt hit
the heart and its search for me recommenced with twice the
fury. That continued for about ten minutes. The animal lost a
lot of blood and obviously became tired because of it. It sat
down and lifted its paws to its eyes again. That gave me the
opportunity to stab it twice more and the second time around
my aim was better; I jumped to the side, and while the bear
staggered forward a few steps, sideways than backwards, it
slowly collapsed. It didnt have the strength to rise again and
after rocking back and forth a few times it stretched out and
lay still.
Thank God! Rattler cried from his tree. The beast is
dead. We were in terrible danger.
I would have thought you were in no danger at all, I
replied. You made sure you were safe. You can come down
now.
No, no, not yet. Check the grizzly first to make sure hes
really dead.
He is dead.
You cant say for sure. You have no idea how tough a
beast like that is. Check him out!
For you by chance? If you want to know whether hes
still alive check him out yourself; youre the famous
Westerner, Im only the greenhorn.
I turned to his comrade who still hung on the tree in the
same position as before. He had ceased screaming and
wasnt moving any longer. His face was distorted and his
open eyes were glazed over. The flesh had been torn down to
the bone from his thighs and the intestines protruded from
his abdomen. I suppressed my horror and called to him:
Let go, sir! Ill take you down.
He didnt reply and there wasnt the slightest sign that he
had heard me. I asked his comrades to come down from the
trees and assist me. The famous frontiersmen only dared to
descend after I proved to them that the bear was really dead
by rocking it back and forth a few times. With their
assistance, I managed to take down the terribly mutilated
man. It was difficult because his arms were rigidly clamped
around the tree trunk. He was dead.
His horrific demise didnt seem to affect his comrades in
the least because they callously turned away from him and
their leader said:
Now itll be the other way round: the bear wanted to eat
us before, now hell be eaten by us. Quickly, men, down
with the pelt so that we can get to the ham and the paws!
He pulled his knife and knelt down to do as he had said;
thats when I told him:
It would have been more praiseworthy had you tested
your knife on him when he was still alive. Its too late for
that now. Dont bother.
What? he roused at me. Are you perhaps going to
prevent me from cutting out a piece of roast?
Winnetou I [75]
Indeed I am, Mr Rattler.
What right have you got?
The most indisputable right of all. Im the one who
killed the bear.
Thats not true. Dont tell me that a greenhorn can kill a
grizzly with a knife! We shot at him when we first laid eyes
on him.
And then withdrew up the trees as fast as you could; yes
thats true, very true!
But our bullets hit him; he succumbed to them in the
end, but not to the few needle pricks that you inflicted upon
him when he was already half dead. The bear is ours and we
do with the carcass as we please. Understood?
He really wanted to get to work; but I warned him:
Let go of the bear immediately Mr Rattler; or else Ill
teach you to pay attention to what Im saying! Do you
understand me as well?
When he knelt down and drove his knife into the bears
pelt, regardless, I grabbed him by the waist, bent over as he
was, lifted him up and flung him crashing against the nearest
tree trunk. In the moment of anger I couldnt care less
whether he broke any bones or not. Even before he hit the
ground, I pulled my second, loaded revolver to forestall
possible retribution. He rose and blitzed a furious gaze at me,
pulled his knife and called:
Youll pay for this! Youve hit me once before and Ill
make sure you cant assault me a third time.
He was about to make a step in my direction; I aimed my
revolver at his head and warned:
One more step and youll get a bullet! Away with the
knife! Ill shoot at the count of three if its still in your hand
then. Onetwo
***
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