THE NIGHT OF THE MESCALERO APACHE CALLED WINNETOU

By Andamogirl

Author's note: this story is a crossover between the Wild Wild West and the movie "Winnetou III, The Desperado Trail" (German: Winnetou – 3. Teil). References to "The Treasure of the Silver Lake (German: Der Schatz im Silbersee) and to "Apache Gold (German: Winnetou, later retitled to Winnetou – 1. Teil), also known as Winnetou the Warrior."

Winnetou is a fictional Native American hero (Mescalero Apache) of several novels written in German by Karl May (1842–1912). He rides a horse called Iltschi ("Wind") and has a famous rifle called Silberbüchse (The Silver Gun, a double-barrelled rifle whose stock and butt is decorated with silver studs) His blood brother is a white man called Old Shatterhand who rides the brother of Iltschi, called Hatatitla ("Lightning"). Old Shatterhand owns two famous rifles, the Bärentöter (Bear Killer) and the Henrystutzen (Henry carbine), both made by a fictional gunsmith called Henry in St. Louis.

These novels initiated a western trend in Germany. They have been the subject of several film, television and comic book adaptations. French actor Pierre Brice played Winnetou and American actor Lex Barker was Old Shatterhand.

I watched all the movies and the TV series when I was a little girl, and I loved them a lot, Winnetou, the noble, proud, brave and fearless Apache was my hero. That's explains why I love 'Indians' so much and like to write stories with Cheyenne, Crow and other tribes.

Plus I'm a big fan of Pierre Brice.

Of course, I wrote this story while listening to the wonderful music of the Winnetou movies written by Martin Böttcher. You can find the original soundtracks on YouTube.

I did my best to put all the ingredients of the movies in my story, i. e. bandits, gunshots, explosions, the Pecos River and waterfalls, bad Indians, good Indians, and so on.

I placed several references to the previous movies, Winnetou I and II. But it is not necessary to have watched them (nor Winnetou III) to understand my story, but it might help.

According to Karl May Winnetou means Burning Water.

First story of my trilogy.

Story dedicated to Pierre Brice (1929-2015) and to all Winnetou's fans all around the world and I know there are a lot of them.

I would like to express my thanks to my beta reader for her work on my story.

Warning: graphic violence, blood and injuries, stitches, graphic wound description and graphic bullet removal description.

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1. WINNETOU AND OLD SHATTERHAND

1866,

New Mexico, near the Pecos River

Mid-day

Major Artemus Gordon, General Grant's spy extraordinaire, was running for his life, literally, his heart beating hard against his chest.

The banditos from Texas had killed his horse while coming down the mountain a few minutes ago, forcing him to run away, turning him into an easy, defenseless target, because, unfortunately for him, his revolver was empty as well as his gunbelt.

He had lost his hat too.

He had no idea as to where he was going, but kept running as fast as his legs could carry him, glancing back every now and then to check his pursuers trying to catch up - thankful that he was in great shape, even after spending hours on horseback.

Luckily for him, the very rough terrain which was dotted with large gray boulders and gullies slowed down the mix of American and Mexican bandits.

Chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temples, legs shaking, Artemus zigzagged up the steep slope through a cluster of jagged gray rocks, the blazing sun scorching the back of his head.

He abruptly skidded to a halt at the edge of a cliff, muscles aching, narrowly avoiding falling into a precipice. still in shock, he exclaimed, "Great jumping balls of Saint Elmo's fire!" then he stumbled on some rock and landed on his knees and hands, scraping them against sharp rocks.

His heart skipped a beat and he grimaced. "Artemus, old boy, you have a problem…" He rasped, blood rushing in his ears.

Panting, trying to catch his breath, he pushed himself up, his legs sore and he cautiously peered down at the depths below the cliff.

Crystal clear turquoise waters were glimmering in the sun, bordered by lush greenery and waterfalls, snaking through a large canyon a good hundred feet below.

He swallowed thickly. "Boy! It's high! Very high!" He said with nervousness.

He heard voices behind him shouting, "We've got him!" "Kill him!, "No puede escapar!", "Mátalo!" accompanied by the sound of hooves which echoed between the hilly, bumpy and rocky landscape and realized that his pursuers were closer than ever.

The Mexican bandits were close, very close, close enough to kill him, to finish what they had started near the border between Texas and New Mexico Territory, he thought and watched them making their way through the jumble of rocks.

Suddenly a hail of bullets rained down around him and one of them hit its target. Injured in the arm, he hissed and sucked in a breath before crouching down behind a boulder for protection. His eyes screwed shut, he waited for the pain to subside.

When he opened them again, teeth gritted, he placed his hand over his wound, fresh blood seeping out from between his fingers – and made his decision.

If he wanted to live and fulfill his very important mission, he had no other choice. But jumping off the cliff could prove deadly as he didn't know how deep the river was. But it was either that or die with a body riddled with bullets, he thought.

Major Gordon listened carefully for a pause in the shooting, waiting for the assailants to reload their weapons, and then stood.

He walked away from the edge of the cliff, far enough to gain momentum, his heart racing, praying that no more bullets would hit him.

Then he took a deep breath, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He hesitated for a few seconds.

Then Artemus summoned some extra energy and suddenly broke into a run, running as fast as he could, heading straight for the cliff edge – as another burst of gunfire resounded in the mountain.

He jumped over it, bullets flying around him and he flung himself into the air, then dove, straight into the water below, gleaming in the sunlight.

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After a few heart stopping seconds of free-falling, Artemus Gordon touched the surface of the river with a loud splash, the air driven from his lungs at the impact.

He sank under the surface like a stone and a few seconds later, touched the sandy bottom, dotted with rocks and pebbles.

He twisted his ankle there while touching the river bed, hard, and cried out in pain, involuntarily swallowing cold water.

He resurfaced within seconds, coughing and spluttering, his blood pounding in his ears and looked around, finding himself swimming at the edge of the river.

Dizzy with relief – he was still alive and in one piece - Artemus let his joy burst forth and his head thrown back, he burst into laughter.

He swam in circles for a couple of minutes while the adrenaline pumping through his veins progressively subsiding in time with his heartbeats which slowed down.

He grinned. "Nice one, old boy!" he said, while wiping the dripping water from his face.

Staying afloat, keeping his head above water, the Major let himself be carried by the current which pulled firmly at him, relieved to escape his pursuers.

Half an hour later, he ended up in a pool of shallow water and waded towards the white sand beach of a small horseshoe-shaped cove which was nestled between two large rock piles, shrubs and bushes surrounding them.

Then, wincing, as pain lanced through his injured ankle, Artemus pulled himself onto a flat and smooth rock on which he sat.

He removed his jacket, gingerly, and noticed that the sleeve of his shirt was soaked with both blood and water. He ripped the fabric and searched for an exit wound and found none, then the bullet was still inside and in this case any infection was likely to spread very quickly, he realized in concern.

He had to get help fast. But where to? The place was secluded and there was no one there. No one, except the bandits and Indians.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "With the luck I'm having these days, I'll be captured by Indians, tortured, scalped and then burned at the torture stake," he said.

Artemus put his jacket back on and then looked around him for any signs of imminent danger… and was stunned at the beauty of the sight before him, taking in the scenery. The whole area was surrounded by steep rock cliffs dotted with patches of green foliage clinging to ledges and cracks, and dense and dark forests. It was quiet and secluded. The sparkling blue-green river was fed by a series of small waterfalls that tumbled over rounded rocks, separated here and there by boulders and spots of lush vegetation. A gentle spray of mist spiraled in the air, and golden ripples and swirls covered the surface of the cool water - so clear that he could see the sandy riverbed and the fish swimming.

If he wasn't being hunted by bandits trying to kill him, he would have swum here just for pleasure. It was so beautiful, so calm and peaceful around him, he thought – despite the dull, continuous roaring sound, the water splashing against rocks and the birds singing.

But, unfortunately, the calm and peace didn't last long. Suddenly shots rang out with bullets whizzing past him, causing mini geysers of sand, very close, and he had no other choice but to run towards the nearby cliff face for protection.

He cursed, scrambling to his feet, as bullets flew near him, Once sheltered there, the spy noticed that some banditos had found a passage, on the right, forcing their horses down a steep and stony slope. "Oh, this can't be good..."

They would stop at nothing to kill him, he knew.

In a few minutes, Cortez and his men would move along the sandy and rocky riverline and it would be over for him, unless…. There was only one way left for him to escape, to swim across the river, he thought, with a slim hope of survival.

His jaw tightened against pain, Artemus Gordon limped as fast as he could to the river, under a volley of bullets fired by the bandits posted at the top of the cliff.

He ran in the barely knee-high water, took a deep breath and dove into the blue-green river, when it was much deeper, and began swimming as fast as he could towards the opposite riverside, staying underwater as long as he could, more bullets piercing the rippling surface near him.

Concentrating on staying alive, he didn't see an Indian concealed by shadow, hid among the bushes and trees, fire at the bandits standing on top of the cliff.

He couldn't see either the bandits falling to the ground, wounded. Nor hear them crying out, "Take cover! Indians! Indians!"

Major Gordon resurfaced in the middle of the river, and took shelter behind a group of rounded rocks, which emerged from the water, panting short ragged breaths.

Glancing to the right, Artemus saw the bandits move on the small beach where he had been a few minutes earlier, leading their horses towards the river.

He swam again towards the opposite bank which was covered with trees and dense vegetation, knowing that Cortez and his men would chase him there too, and would not stop until he was dead.

Escaping ten armed men with a twisted ankle and a bullet in the arm seemed impossible to him, yet, he was still hopeful that he would survive - somehow.

His instincts had never failed him.

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Soaked from head to toe, his hair plastered flat to his head, Artemus Gordon forced himself to his feet, throwing out the very last reserves of his energy.

Panting, trying to draw breath into his burning lungs, he lurched across the thick undergrowth beneath the trees, earning a few scratches on his arms and face in the process, and continued to trudge through the wood for a few minutes.

Once out of the small forest… he came to a stop, seeing an Indian mounted on a dark horse, holding a powerful rifle, looking right at him.

His heart quickening he automatically lowered his hand towards his gun – and remembered that his .44 Remington was bullet-less - and then took two cautious steps back.

He was so dead! He thought, fear crushing his chest.

He lifted his hands and managed to keep a straight face. "My gun is empty! I mean you no harm!" Artemus said, his chocolate eyes scanning the other man up and down.

He recognized an Apache by his clothes – the Indian was wearing a war shirt with fringes, decorated with beaded designs, matching breechcloth with fringes hanging down the sides and moccasins. His long black hair was hanging loose on his shoulders and he had a snakeskin headband placed on top of his forehead to keep the hair from the eyes.

The Apache had a leather belt fastened around the waist to which was attached a sheath containing a knife and a tomahawk was slid into it, too, he noticed.

He cursed under his breath.

He was really out of luck. He was caught between the banditos and the Apache and had a choice between dying riddled with bullets, or being shot and scalped, he thought.

Knowing he was about to die, he braced himself for the shot when the Apache lifted his rifle - noticing that he'd never seen one like this before. It was a double-barreled rifle whose stock and butt were decorated with silver studs.

The Indian aimed… and Artemus's heart nearly stopped.

The Apache fired right above Artemus' head - who had plunged to the ground - hitting the bandit who had just appeared behind the other man, mounted on a horse.

The Mexican bandito wad dead, before falling to the ground with a thud.

Major Gordon hauled himself to his feet and released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and then ducked when the Indian fired again, and another bandit was catapulted from his mount and landed face down, dead, with a bullet in his head.

Cortez and his men immediately took cover in the underbrush.

Winnetou reached out his hand to Artemus who was standing, immobile, frozen like a living statue, bewildered to be still alive. "Come, if you want to live." He noticed that the other man hesitated and in order to persuade him, he added, "Winnetou will not kill you. If Winnetou wanted to kill you, you would be dead right now. Now come white man!"

Artemus opened his eyes wide in surprise. "Winnetou!"

If he had never met Winnetou before, he knew him by his reputation which was known well beyond the Indian Territory.

Mescalero Apaches were friendly towards the white men, and their Chief, the noble Winnetou, ferociously fought against those who brought disorder and death to the Indian Territory, like the many adventurers, bandits and gold diggers who entered it without the agreement of the tribes, doing his best to bring calm and peace back, putting his life in danger for it.

He was friend and protector of all who needed help, whether they were red skins or white men. He was usually accompanied by Old Shatterhand, his white blood brother, who was a courageous and fearless fighter. But Old Shatterhand wasn't there – he ended his train of thought there.

With the Apache's help, Artemus climbed up behind him on his horse. "Thank you," he said, feeling reassured, and had the conviction that he would stay alive.

His instincts were right again.

He wrapped his arms around the Apache's waist and held him tightly, muscles burning with exertion, as the Indian put his powerful rifle back in its scabbard.

Then Winnetou set his horse at a gallop and the two men quickly left riverside, moving across the vast plain which was sprinkled here and there with piles of gray rocks.

In the meantime the bandits regrouped where the corpses of their comrades lay, dead, in the grass, looking down at them, furious.

Hector Cortez, was a bulky man dressed in black, with a bushy black beard and long black hair and he was also very hairy, which is why his men called him 'Oso Negro' (Black Bear). Growling like a bear, he said, "We have to catch up with them! We can't let that spy go!"

But the other men shook their heads and one of them replied, "You go on your own Cortez, we stay here. It was an Apache. This is Apache territory and we want to stay alive!"

The leader of the bandits let out a flow of Mexican curses, then concluded with, "You yellow-belly cowards!" He then added, with a gruff voice, "You have nothing between your legs! Then stay here, you bunch of females!" before baring his teeth to go along with his anger.

Kicking his white horse, he went after the Indian and the fugitive.

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Feeling the white man's tight embrace becoming loose, Winnetou slowed down his horse. Then, once the black stallion was immobile, he jumped from his horse and landed on his feet. He grabbed his injured 'passenger' in his strong arms before the other man fell to the ground.

He laid Artemus down in the shade of a large boulder and then examined the wound on his arm. "The bullet is still inside," he said.

Struggling to stay conscious, Artemus nodded. "I know… and I twisted my right ankle too when I hit the bottom of the river, but it's nothing," he said, between pained gasps. He frowned when he saw a dark silhouette on a white horse heading their way. "Cortez! He's still after me…"

Suddenly gunshots rang out before Winnetou had time to pick up his double-barrel rifle. Bullets flew in the Indian's direction, dangerously near to him, a few of them bouncing off the top of the rock right above where Gordon was lying.

Winnetou told his horse to take cover and clapped his horse's rump with the flat of his hand. The black stallion immediately moved away for protection.

Then Winnetou took the tomahawk that he had slipped into his belt and bent down, bravely ignoring the bullets passing by, barely missing his head, only a hair breadth away.

When the bandit was within his reach, Winnetou threw his weapon, which hit the chief of bandits square in the chest.

Hector Cortez yelped, both hands clutching at the tomahawk which was embedded in his chest. He fell off his horse, crumpled to the ground and didn't move, dead.

The white gelding naturally found refuge with another horse, Winnetou's Iltschi. which had taken cover behind a big rock.

Seeing what happened to their chief, the bandits decided to quit and leave before more Apaches came along and killed them.

Smiling in relief, Artemus Gordon rasped, "Thanks," His eyelids were suddenly heavy, and his head was starting to spin.

Then everything faded to black in front of his eyes.

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Later, at the Apache's settlement

Major Gordon regained consciousness hearing muffled voices and he slowly opened his eyes, his brow knitted in confusion.

The blurry figure before him slowly came into focus, revealing a blond, white man, sitting cross-legged in front of him. He was dressed Indian-like, he noticed, with a fringed buckskin shirt and matching pants, both stained brown. He had a black belt around his waist which was decorated with rectangular and oval pieces of silver Indian jewelry and a sheathed knife. "Who are you?"

The blue eyed man responded, "My name is Old Shatterhand."

The spy nodded. "Old Shatterhand, yes, I heard about you. You earned your nickname thanks to your powerful right hook, knocking out any opponent with just one punch, as if lightning had struck him and your bullets never miss their marks too."

Old Shatterhand smiled. "That's a correct description."

Major Gordon wrinkled his nose as he smelled a strong odor. He glanced at his right arm and noticed that it was covered with a poultice of healing plants and herbs. The pain was dull too, he realized. "I'd like to thank whoever took care of me. I feel better."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "Then you will thank the medicine man Sháa tsét'soyé (Sun Bear). He removed the bullet and stitched the wound. Then put a poultice of healing plants and herbs on it, to prevent infection. You should regain the full use of your arm in a few days."

Gordon hissed through his teeth and gingerly sat up – incidentally noticing that he was half-sitting half-lying on a soft pallet of furs, with a rolled blanket in his back.

He leaned against the wall behind him and said, "Let me introduce myself, I'm Major Gordon, recently posted to Fort Niobrara."

Old Shatterhand took a cup of terracotta and plunged it into a jar of water. "You're a Major? Really? You don't look like an office, more like a cowboy who should take a bath. Then where's your uniform?" He asked with curiosity.

Realizing he was wearing grimy, smelly civilian clothes and was unshaven – because his last disguise was a trail-worn cowboy - Artemus scratched his scalp, making his curly oily hair a little more tangled, and then explained, "I was on leave – and out of uniform - going back to Fort Niobrara when I was attacked by several bandits." He eagerly accepted the offered cup of water and then added, "They chased me up to the river and they would have killed me if Winnetou hadn't stopped them. I guess they wanted to steal my horse and my things, I didn't ask them." He swallowed the cool liquid with pleasure, quenching his thirst. "Thank you."

Old Shatterhand took the empty cup back, and said, "You see, Major, I have a gift, I can recognize a liar when I see one, no matter how good he is, and you're very good at it. First, I know every officer at Fort Niobrara and it's the first time I see you, second, you're here on a covert mission, that's why you don't wear your uniform and look like a trail-worn cowboy to go unnoticed, and third, I can identify a spy when I see one too. It's all about flair and I've got more flair than a pack of hounds."

Keeping a poker face Artemus watched Old Shatterhand refill the cup with fresh water and he said, "And you have a lot of imagination, too."

He surveyed the place. The room was in semi-darkness and cool due to the thick stone walls. On the right there were traces of soot, and he spotted a small fire pit on the ground, surrounded by large pebbles. In a niche were sitting colorful baskets, clay bowls and jars – and his gun-belt and Remington. There was an opening in front of him, which could be closed with an animal skin, currently rolled up. The door on the left was closed with an orange blanket with black and white zigzag patterns. "It's a nice room."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "Yes, it is. It was Nscho-tschi's room," he said, picturing the young woman in his mind, then let his thoughts wander… remembering that Winnetou's sister had taken care of him just here, in this bed, for over a week, after the battle of Roswell, where he had first confronted Winnetou's father Intschu-tschuna, then his son - who had stabbed him in the throat, almost killing him. Thanks to the dedication of Nscho-tschi, he had survived. "Now, Winnetou leaves it at the disposal of his guests," he said.

Seeing Old Shatterhand's eyes clouding with sadness, Artemus deducted that Nscho-tschi was dead – and that she was a woman. "Where am I by the way?"

Old Shatterhand responded, "At the Apaches's pueblo."

Suddenly, Winnetou pushed the blanket closing the door to the side and entered the room. "Winnetou wants to know how the white man feels," he told Artemus.

Old Shatterhand said, "The Major here is not much of a talker, brother. I'm sure he's a spy, but I don't know who he works for or what his mission here is."

Intrigued the Apache Chief frowned and said, "Winnetou saved your life and wants to know everything in return. Now talk to me."

He stared down at Artemus with his penetrating gaze, arms folded across his chest, showing that he was determined to know everything.

Curious to know how the two men had become blood brothers, Artemus said, "Alright. Let's make a deal. Tell me how Old Shatterhand and you became blood brothers, and then I'll tell you everything. But you'll have to promise not to tell a single word of it to anyone. It's secret."

The two men nodded and Winnetou said, "Winnetou will not tell anyone, nor Old Shatterhand either." He sat cross-legged on the blanket next to the blond man. "Speak."

Making his own costumes for the characters he played while working undercover and fascinated by Indians in general, by their language, culture, way of life, religions, weapons, clothes, etc., Artemus was fascinated by Winnetou's light gray war shirt, made of the finest, pliable and softer deer leather, which he thought was beautiful and a true piece of art, especially the glass beadwork.

One large vertical band made with white seed beads covered each shoulder, going down up to the waist and back and there was one too on each fringed sleeve. They were decorated with geometric patterns and bands made with blue, red and yellow seed beads.

The collar had a V under the neck which was adorned with seed beads of the same colors and different patterns. The war shirt had fringes on the front and back.

The Apache had a small medicine pouch next to the sheath of his knife, which was also fringed and ornamented with colorful beadwork.

Focusing on Winnetou's necklace made with bear claws and bits of the animal's fur too, Artemus remembered that Indians carried animals' powers with them in their daily life or in war, whether parts of the animal were sewn on their clothes, or painted or embroidered, or simply worn around their necks. Like this they could maintain a connection with the animals they had chosen for their strengths and characteristics – appropriating those strengths and characteristics that way – and they used them to be great warriors or wise and beloved leaders. It depended on the animal they chose.

He knew that Winnetou had chosen to wear a necklace made with bear claws and bits of fur of the animal, and thus had taken the bear's powerful attributes, meaning its brute strength and ferocity, but also its courage and power.

The Chief had a snakeskin headband too and Artemus knew that the reptile which was close to earth energies, had a special meaning for the Indians, it represented primal energy, primal instincts - qualities that warriors had to rely on in order to attack their enemies and survive.

Noticing that the white man was fascinated by his war shirt, Winnetou, curious, asked, "Is this the first time you've seen a war shirt?"

Feeling embarrassed, Artemus said, "No, it's not the first time I've seen one. I have… I had some Indian friends who fought at my side during the war, and died." His eyes turned sad and his gaze wandered back in time for a few seconds. Then he pulled himself together, and said, "For example a Crow named Daxpitcheehísshish, it means Red Bear. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be impolite. I think your war shirt is absolutely beautiful. Please, continue, I'm all ears."

The Apache explained, "Old Shatterhand saved Winnetou from Tangua who is the Chief of the Kiowas. Tangua wanted to burn Winnetou at stake because Winnetou killed many Kiowas in battle. We became blood brothers then Winnetou offered Old Shatterhand the clothes he is wearing, the belt, the knife and its sheath to symbolize his kinship with Winnetou and his band. Winnetou gave his brother a horse too, called Hatatitla which means Lightning."

Old Shatterhand added, "For your information, Major, Hatatitla is Iltschi's brother, they're twins. Iltschi is the name of Winnetou's horse, it means Wind." He chuckled and then said, "Even our horses are brothers. Winnetou's done it right."

Frowning in frustration, Artemus said, "That's it?"

His face calm, Winnetou nodded. "Winnetou has spoken, howgh!"

It meant, 'I'm finished'.

Old Shatterhand couldn't help but chuckle. "It's the short version. My brother Winnetou prefers acts to words. I'll tell you the whole story one day, I promise. Now it's time for you to tell us everything, Major."

Gordon nodded and said, "You're right, I'm a spy, doing stealth reconnaissance and covert operations. I report directly to General of the Armies Ulysses S. Grant in Washington D.C. Grant sent me here to investigate arms smuggling between Mexico and Texas to supply former Confederate soldiers wanting to kill high-ranking US Army officers to wreak havoc in the Capital and disorganize the Army... and to avenge General Lee and their defeat too. Unfortunately for me, I was caught exploring the warehouse located near the border between Texas and New Mexico Territory where the bandits hoarded the weapons. I managed to escape, but Cortez, the man leading the arms smuggling, and his men came after me. They chased me all the way from Texas to New Mexico." He took a sip of water and then said, "Cortez is dead, but his accomplices are still alive. They're gonna hurry to sell and deliver the weapons to their intended recipients before they pack up with the money and disappear into thin air. I've got to stop them before it's too late, and to do this I've got to get to Fort Niobrara and ask for help, and it's urgent."

Old Shatterhand stood and helped Artemus up by offering his hand to the other man. "I'll take you to the fort., we'll leave in a few minutes," he said.

Looking down at his painful ankle, Artemus said, "Thank you. It still hurts, but a lot less. I think I can walk," And he took a few steps, wincing. "Lead the way."

Placing a hand on the officer's shoulder Old Shatterhand said, "Then let's go!" and the two white men followed the Apache outside.

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Once outside, Artemus was instantly assaulted by harsh heat. The sun would set in a one hour or so but the air was still dry and hot.

He found himself standing on the first floor terrace of a large, multi-story building. The pueblo had walls covered in dried mud and farther back on the right, he noticed that a dozen tepees were set up. Surprised, he said, "I thought Apaches lived in tepees?"

Old Shatterhand shook his head. "Not all of them. Winnetou and the other important members of the band live in the pueblo, the others live in tepees. You know the pueblo was an abandoned old dwelling before they completely transformed it and made it habitable," he explained.

Artemus nodded. "They did a good job, and they made a stronghold of it too. The pueblo can be easily defended against attackers."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "Yes, but no one will ever dare to attack the pueblo, Major. Mescalero Apaches are formidable warriors."

The three men climbed down a rudimentary ladder and thirty seconds later, they reached the ground between sun-drying fish and buffalo-hide shields.

Gordon moved toward the edge of a cliff overlooking a rocky gorge at the bottom of which the blue-green Pecos River ran. There was a half-moon shaped strip of sediment on the opposite bank where the water was less clear.

It was a perfect place to admire the view in every direction. "It's beautiful!" he said, in awe, and, in the distance he saw a cloud of dust, and in front of it a large herd of buffalo was running. He also spotted some Indian silhouettes near them, the warriors chasing them.

Old Shatterhand nodded. "Yes it is."

Standing beside the Major, Winnetou said, "Everything around the pueblo, on each side, all the way up to the horizon is Mescalero Apache land, the mountains, the rivers, the forests and fertile pasture land for the horses and where the buffalo graze."

Looking at Winnetou, Artemus said, "It's a beautiful land, Winnetou. Unfortunately, your territory is coveted, like others…"

The Indian nodded. "Winnetou knows this, and Winnetou will defend his land against the white men who want to take it from the Mescalero Apaches. Winnetou will do what it is needed to do that, peacefully, but he will go to war if he has to."

Major Gordon smiled. "Winnetou is a wise and prudent man, he'll make the right decision, I'm sure." He did the Apache salute instead of reaching out his hand. "Thank you for saving my life, Winnetou. I hope we meet again, someday, in better times."

Imitating Artemus's gesture, Winnetou said, "Winnetou hopes so too, Major. Be careful. You have a dangerous mission to complete."

He watched Artemus Gordon mount Cortez's white horse that he brought to the settlement so the officer could ride out on it.

He looked at Old Shatterhand and said, "Come back soon."

Old Shatterhand nodded, "I will." And the two men moved away, their mounts trotting towards the vast mesa to the south, which dominated the Pecos River.

Winnetou was heading for the pueblo, when he abruptly halted beside a colorful totem, as a sinking feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach.

He suppressed a shudder, feeling that something very bad would happen to him, soon, but he didn't know what exactly.

He suddenly winced and gasped as his chest suddenly hurt as if an arrow had pierced it.

Was it a sign from the Great Manitou to warn him that his death was near and that his soul would soon enter the eternal hunting grounds? he thought, believing in premonitions.

Standing there, he raised his hands towards the sky tinged with sunset-orange and closed his eyes. "Manitou is great, and Winnetou's life is in his hands!" He said, under the surprised glances of the men, women and children who circulated around him.

Then he added, fearless, 'If Manitou has decided it, Winnetou will die and his soul will be reunited with his ancestors in the eternal hunting grounds." And he pictured his parents, his father Intschu-tschuna, his mother Icimanipi-wihopawin (travels beautiful woman), his sister, Nscho-Tschi and his white father Klekih-petra in his mind; smiling, their arms opened, welcoming him.

Pensive, the Apache turned around and then headed toward the edge of the canyon, where he liked to think, his eyes lost in the distance.

He sat down, cross-legged on a rock and, immobile and silent, facing west, he watched the horizon where the immense, red-orange sky was quickly fading.

To be continued.