THE NIGHT OF THE MESCALERO APACHE CALLED WINNETOU

By Andamogirl

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4. THE JICARILLAS

Old Shatterhand broke the surface of the river, gasping. He pushed water off his face and back in to his hair, smoothing it away from his face and then glanced around him, smiling broadly – happy and relieved to finally be outside the mountain.

He saw Winnetou and Artemus emerging a little further from him and swam over to them. "Are you alright?" He asked the two men.

Sucking air into his aching lungs Artemus nodded, "I'm okay," he rasped.

The Apache took in a lungful of air, ignoring the pain that seared through his chest. "Winnetou is alright," he responded and noticed that the landscape had changed. The mountain towered behind them now, the river was narrower and the banks were flat and tree-lined. He realized something then, in awe, "Winnetou, Old Shatterhand and Artemus swam under the mountain!" this extraordinary feat.

Old Shatterhand smiled. "Yes, we did, and it's amazing, isn't it? The bandits will take a while to locate us - if they ever can."

But Winnetou suddenly frowned in worry as he realized something else. "The bandits are on the other side of the mountain, and that is good news, but the bad news is that we are in Jicarilla territory and in mortal danger," he announced.

Old Shatterhand nodded. "I know. White buffalo still believes it was you who murdered his son, Running Cougar and he wants to kill you for revenge."

The Apache turned around, worried, surveying the place, all his senses on alert and he said, "Maybe one day White Buffalo will accept the truth."

The blond man nodded. "When he runs out of firewater maybe. He's addicted to firewater and alcohol messes with his head."

Swimming on the spot like his companions, Artemus said, "If they know that, they won't be venturing here, and that's good news anyway."

Old Shatterhand frowned. "They could if they offered whiskey and guns to White Buffalo, like Rollins did, but Castillo doesn't, so he won't wander out here in Jicarilla territory. They'll turn back. But they'll try to kill us as soon as we leave Indian Territory, they won't forget us."

The three men started swimming toward the bank which was littered with sand and small multicolored pebbles. Once there, they hid in the middle of a group of bushes and remained immobile and silent, listening carefully to every sound.

All they heard were the sounds of running water, the wind blowing in the trees, the birds singing on the branches... nothing suspicious.

Relaxing, as they weren't in any danger – for now, the three men lay down on the grass, exhausted and Winnetou fell asleep within seconds.

Curious, Artemus looked at Winnetou's noble face and asked Old Shatterhand, "What happened with Running Cougar?"

Old Shatterhand crossed his arms behind his head, staring at the deep blue sky above and whispered, "It's a long story, Artemus,"

The spy smiled. "I like long stories."

The blond man started, "Rollins stabbed Running Cougar with the knife Winnetou had left behind after the bandits second ambush, in the mountains."

Intrigued, Artemus asked, "Second ambush?"

Old Shatterhand nodded. "Yes, there was a first ambush on the road from Santa Fe to the Indian Territory. Iltschi sensed that something was wrong ahead and Winnetou knew that he would be attacked. He could escape Rollins and his men, with just a few bruises, but we're digressing. Winnetou and I were at the Jicarillas's settlement to warn White Buffalo that breaking the treaty between the 'great white father in Washington' and the Jicarillas would be foolish and dangerous, and would mean the end for all his people and the beginning of a new war, when Rollins showed up with Running Cougar's body bent across his horse, Winnetou's knife embedded in his chest. That stopped the ongoing talks."

Brow furrowed the spy asked, "What treaty?"

Old Shatterhand explained, "It's more a contract than a treaty really. The President gave lands to White Buffalo in exchange for parts of his territory the Jicarilla Chief promised to give to white settlers. But White Buffalo changed his mind, persuaded to reclaim land already ceded for settlers from the government by a man supplying him in alcohol and weapons, a greedy businessman called Vermeulen. The Governor in Santa Fe, asked Winnetou and I to tell White Buffalo that the President was willing to give White Buffalo lands with large forests as a compensation for the lands he promised to give to the white settlers if he respected his contract. But Vermeulen and his associates weren't okay with that. They wanted a war between the Jicarillas and the Mescalero Apaches in order to seize Winnetou's oil-rich land and make a fortune selling it. So Vermeulen sent Rollins and his men to stop Winnetou and I before we could reach the Jicarilla settlement and talk to White Buffalo about President Grant's proposition."

Nodding, Artemus said, "Okay, what happened with Rollins and White Buffalo?"

Old Shatterhand went back to his story, "Rollins immediately accused Winnetou of the killing, pretending he had witnessed the murder of Running Cougar. White Buffalo believed Rollins whom he considered as a friend, as the bandit sold rifles and whiskey to him. I told the chief it was a lie, but he didn't believe me. Winnetou and I were captured and ended up tied to a stake. At night, White Buffalo decided it was time to put us to death. Some warriors shot arrows at us first, to frighten us, and it didn't work, then the old Chief ordered other warriors to kill us with their spears – the points being reddened by fire to cause maximum pain. I could feel their heat as the warriors approached…"

Eager to know what happened next, Artemus asked, "What happened after that?"

Old Shatterhand resumed his story, "They were about to do so when Sam Hawkens, a friend, used fireworks to frighten the Jicarillas. Then he freed us. White Buffalo declared war on the tribe of Winnetou, who, in order to avoid the clash, and many dead, evacuated his settlement and fled with his people to the mountains, at Nugget-Tsil. I met him there. You know what happened there. Rollins, the bandits, and the Jicarillas led by White Buffalo attacked the Apaches. Rollins sneaked up in the rocks, aimed his rifle at me, and Winnetou threw himself into the path of the bullet and was mortally wounded."

Pointing at a sleeping Winnetou, Artemus said, "Well he 'tried' to kill Winnetou – and thought he had. But he was just in a coma."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "You're right, I'm still having a hard time processing the fact that he's not dead, after everything that's happened."

The Major smiled. "It's perfectly normal, after such a shock."

Old Shatterhand sighed warily. "If the Jicarillas find Winnetou and me, White Buffalo will have us tied to a stake again and he'll kill us this time, and you too, my friend will be put to death. Any white man is his enemy unless he brings him whiskey and guns."

Major Gordon nodded. "Like Rollins and his men."

The tall man said, "Yes, exactly. While Rollins and his men were being killed by the soldiers, Buffalo managed to escape with a few of his warriors and I'm sure he wants his revenge on Winnetou. He still thinks Winnetou killed his son, Running Cougar."

Frowning, Artemus said, "Hmm. I understand now why Winnetou's nervous about being here. What happened to Rollins?"

Old Shatterhand responded, "After what happened to Winnetou, Rollins tried to flee, but a group of Apaches grabbed his legs with ropes and they pulled him up along a rock face. They left him 'hanging' there, and as he was trapped, they executed him with their spears. I thought it was too gentle a death for what he'd done - killing Winnetou."

Looking up at the birds flying high above the trees, Artemus said, "I'm sure Winnetou would like to take his revenge on White Buffalo too. After all, the Chief is just as responsible for what happened at Nugget-Tsil as Rollins was."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "No, he wouldn't. I know Winnetou, he'd rather make peace with White Buffalo and the Jicarillas than take revenge even after they did to his people and to him. He's a man of peace, who seeks to prevent conflicts and appease them when they occur."

Artemus nodded. "He's some kind of a man."

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Later

Crouched beside Winnetou, Artemus tore off the sleeves of his shirt, tied them together and wound them around the Apache's chest, covering the stitched and nicely healing wound.

He smiled, satisfied with what he'd done, then said, "The wound looks a lot better. It should heal completely in a few days. The stitches are strong and will hold. The bandage will prevent dirt from reaching the wound and infecting it."

Old Shatterhand smiled. "Winnetou is very strong and resilient, he will be healed in no time. Thank you for your help, Artemus."

The Apache added, "The Great Manitou sent you to Winnetou to save his life. He has always chosen brave and wise men to help Apache Chiefs for as long as the Apache people have existed. If you were a Mescalero Apache, I would make you my First Warrior."

Bowing his head in both pride and pleasure, Artemus said, "Thank you, that's the nicest compliment anyone's ever paid me." He slowly stood, surveying the place for a few seconds and said, "The coast is clear… if you'll excuse me, I need to pee."

And he headed towards the tangle of vegetation.

Crossing his arms on his chest, Old Shatterhand looked upset. "He and not me?"

Smiling, Winnetou shook his head. "You have Winnetou's blood in your veins, he has not. You are my equal, he is not."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "So I'm an Apache Chief too, it's what you mean?"

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Smiling in relief, Artemus was emptying his full bladder against a tree which was towering by the river when he spotted a canoe sliding silently on the calm, blue water – with two Indians on board paddling directly opposite him, in his direction.

He was so surprised to see them that he only reacted after a few seconds - hiding behind the trunk, hurriedly, but it was already too late. The two Indians - and Artemus assumed they were Jicarilla warriors – started paddling at top speed, shouting.

He took a step back, "Damn!" and blamed himself for peeing by the river. He should have relieved himself somewhere in the undergrowth.

He rushed towards his companions, hidden higher up on the bank, among the bushes and rocks, stopped next to Old Shatterhand and said, "Two Indians traveling in a canoe on the river saw me! I think they're Jicarillas. It's my fault! I'm a stupid idiot! Don't show yourselves! Don't make a sound! Let them capture me, don't interfere or you too will be killed!"

But Winnetou disagreed. "Winnetou and Old Shatterhand can easily get rid of two Jicarilla warriors." And he propped himself up on his elbows.

Cringing, Artemus looked between the bushes and through a couple of trees saw four other canoes heading towards the riverbank. "No! more warriors are heading this way… There are ten of them now. I'll get them away from here, away from you! Goodbye my friends, it has been an honor and a pleasure to live all these adventures at your side. Be safe."

The Apache said, "Winnetou and his brother will free Artemus from the Jicarillas. Artemus will recognize my signal when he hears it, the cry of the owl, three times."

Gordon shook his head. "No, let me. Don't take the risk of being captured because of me. I don't want you to die because of my stupidity."

Old Shatterhand said, "Winnetou and I will never leave you. We'll go to the Jicarilla settlement to get you out of here."

He left the two concerned men – knowing that they would rescue him from White Buffalo, somehow, hoping he'd be in shape to go with them.

He started running downstream as fast as he could with two Indian warriors holding rifles already on his tail shouting 'Ayaaaa!'"

He zigzagged across the rocks to avoid the bullets whizzing around him but stumbled against a tree root and fell to the ground, hard.

He got up, and instead of running away again, he turned around, clenching his jaw, and faced his pursuers, brandishing his fist menacingly.

He wouldn't let himself be captured without a fight, he thought bravely.

One of the Indians, who was tall and muscular, placed his rifle at his feet and grabbed his tomahawk, a cruel smile on his lips.

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Much later

Winnetou looked at the two Jicarillas who were dragging Artemus, unconscious by the feet, along the ground, behind them.

He was tempted to intervene, but he knew that with a knife – the gun being empty and useless – they had no chance of getting rid of the warriors.

He shook his head. No, they had to stay alive, and wait for the right moment to rescue Artemus, before fleeing to Ute territory, he thought.

He said, with a long face, "They will take him to their settlement and tie him to the torture stake and then they will take their time to kill him. It will be long and painful."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "I know, I hope we can rescue him before it's too late, considering we're on foot and the settlement's a long way from here."

Feeling both helpless and frustrated, they watched the Indians drop Artemus into a canoe and then move away from the bank to join the others already paddling in the middle of the river.

Once the Jicarillas were far away, the two men left their hiding place and Old Shatterhand said; "At least we know where their settlement is."

The Apache nodded. "Yes, Winnetou and Old Shatterhand were kept prisoners there, and were freed overnight by Sam Hawkens after he scared the Jicarillas with some fireworks."

Glancing around him, Old Shatterhand said, "Yes, I remember. We have no canoe to follow the Jicarillas…and following them on foot will take hours and, unfortunately, Artemus may not have much time left to live. We must move quickly." He suddenly spotted the broken trunk of a dead tree washed up on the mini beach of sand and pebbles. "That'll do it. Let's go brother."

A few minutes later, the two men, sitting in an improvised canoe, were floating on the river, using their hands as paddles to move forward.

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Hours later

Moving like a silent and agile mountain lion, Winnetou climbed up a big gray rock almost completely covered in moss and watched the last Jicarilla warrior present on the bank, bring the canoes ashore.

Then when the other man was about to mount his painted horse, the Apache leaped on him, and they both fell on the grassy ground.

In a flash, Winnetou grabbed the Jicarilla's knife and used it to silence the warrior, stabbing him in the heart with his own blade.

He slid the knife in his belt and rubbed the pinto's muzzle to calm the skittish animal while Old Shatterhand was hiding the warrior's body under thick bushes.

Then the blond man joined his red brother and said, "It'll be dark soon. Once at the Jicarilla settlement it will be easier for us to rescue Artemus."

Winnetou mounted the horse and reached out his hand. "The night will be our ally, brother, but freeing Artemus and leaving the Jicarilla settlement will be difficult."

Old Shatterhand grabbed the Apache's hand and with his help mounted the black and white horse, sitting behind the other man. "With a valiant heart, nothing is impossible," he said with a smile. "And Winnetou and Old Shatterhand are valiant, aren't they?"

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Later, at night, at the Jicarillas' settlement,

On the edge of a big lake

Loud drums playing, a group of Jicarillas warriors were dancing around the large torture stake to which Artemus, still unconscious, was tightly bound.

He was surrounded by a circle of big fires whose flames rose very high. The Jicarillas were brandishing spears at their prisoner, acting like they're going to throw them at him.

The white man's bare chest was covered with lots of cuts, some more or some less deep, but they all bled sluggishly, painting his white skin red.

Hidden not far from there behind rocks, laid out in the long grass, within earshot, Old Shatterhand and Winnetou also noticed that a few tomahawks were embedded in the wood of the large stake, right above Artemus' head, two of them pretty close to his hair.

Frowning in concern Old Shatterhand whispered, "He was tortured."

His expression growing concerned, Winnetou said, "Yes. Jlin-Litzoque (Yellow Horse), the chief warrior wanted him to talk."

The blond man nodded. "Yes, to find out what Artemus was doing in Jicarilla territory, if he was alone, and knowing Artemus, he didn't say anything." Then his eyebrows almost met in deep worry. "And it looks like the warriors had a good time with their tomahawks. They almost scalped him."

The Apache nodded. "That was their intention. Jicarillas love to scalp the whites this way to show their skills. But they didn't succeed."

Old Shatterhand nodded, "No. But something tells me they're going to have some fun with their spears now. What can we do?"

Focused on Artemus who was regaining consciousness, Winnetou replied, "For now, nothing, brother. We have to wait until everyone's asleep, and kill the guards."

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Moving toward Artemus Gordon, a strongly-build Jicarilla warrior asked with a gruff voice, "Again, why are you here, paleface? Tell Yellow Horse!"

But like before, Artemus didn't say anything. He just spat out blood in the face of the warrior who growled with rage, wiping his nose and lips with the back of his free hand.

Insisting, Jlin-Litzoque repeated, "Tell Yellow Horse!" while running the tip of his knife along the line his prisoner's high cheekbone.

No word passed through Artemus's lips.

The Indian brought the sharp edge to the prisoner's throat and held it to his neck, staring at the other man straight in the eyes, hoping to see fear reflected there.

But the Major remained impassive, just as he had remained impassive when the other warriors had played with him with their tomahawks.

The muscular Jicarilla warrior pressed the curved blade into the white man's neck, until a drop of blood welled up, then ran his knife over Artemus's Adam's apple, cutting the skin there. "Talk!"

Keeping his cool – it wasn't the first time he'd been tortured, and certainly not the last - he was somehow used to it now, Artemus said, "You're wasting your time."

Eyes wide, Jlin-Litzoque took a step back, impressed by the courage and composure that the pale face was showing and said, "White man brave. Yellow Horse not kill pale face like an animal. Paleface will die like enemy prisoner, an arrow in the heart. Yellow Horse will take white man's scalp to give it to Chief White Buffalo when he comes back from hunt deer in the mountains, at dawn."

Unfazed, Artemus asked, "And in the meantime? What are you going to do to me? Torture me again? Go on, I'm not scared."

Jlin-Litzoque responded. "You scared, hiding it well. All white men weak." He cut the ropes binding Artemus to the torture stake (or rather to the tree trunk that was used as a stake), pushed him to the side, and pointing at his feet he ordered, "Kneel!"

Seeing that Artemus was glaring at him and not complying, the chief warrior hit his prisoner's face with a stone-like fist, sending the other man to the ground, on his knees.

Seeing stars, his jaw burning, Artemus didn't move. "I'm not weak!" He said.

Showing a satisfied smile, Yellow Horse slid his knife in his sheath and then looked at the warriors holding spears and said something in his language.

Shouting intimidating cries in the starry night the young men retreated to the middle of the settlement and then lined up in a row, one behind the other.

Raising Artemus' chin, Jlin-Litzoque said, "We see," determined to scare the prisoner to show he was weak, like any other white man.

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Intrigued by what he was seeing, Old Shatterhand furrowed his brow and asked Winnetou, "What are they going to do now?"

The Apache responded, "The warriors are going to show their skills again, this time at spear throwing."

Old Shatterhand sighed in concern. "If they keep playing games like this, one of the Jicarilla warriors will end up killing Artemus."

Winnetou nodded. "To become a warrior, the young Apache must undergo the same thing, at the stake, first with the knives and arrows, then with the tomahawks and finally with the spears," He reminded his brother noticing that old Shatterhand's hand was resting on the knife at his belt.

The blond man nodded. "I know, it's a test of courage, if the young Apache shows his fear, he will never be a warrior. It's not the same thing, here. It is not a test of courage, but torture."

The Apache lowered his hand on the white man's. "Winnetou sees that his white brother wants to act, but it's not the right time. Winnetou and Old Shatterhand would be captured and killed, and Artemus would die too. Winnetou and Old Shatterhand will act before dawn."

Frustrated, the tall man heaved a long sigh. "Alright."

Smiling, Winnetou moved his hand to place it on Old Shatterhand's shoulder and then said, "Like Apaches, my white brother needs to be patient."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "Alright, but to give Artemus even more courage and make him understand that he needs to buy some time, send him the agreed signal."

Moving his hands in front of his mouth, Winnetou imitated to perfection the cry of the owl, three times – sending the signal.

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Keeping a poker face, Artemus didn't react when he heard the cry of the owl, three times and immediately knew that Winnetou and Old Shatterhand were somewhere close. It was like them, he thought, to come to his rescue, despite the risks.

Dark eyes shining with anticipated pleasure, Jlin-Litzoque raised his hand then immediately lowered it – signaling the Indian who was standing at his side to throw his spear - and it dug into the ground, very close to Artemus's right knee.

The Major had no reaction.

Three others warriors threw their spears with force and precision, the points hitting the ground a few inches away from Artemus sides.

He remained immobile and stony-faced.

It angered Yellow Horse who grabbed a spear from the next Jicarilla on the line. "Yellow Horse scare white man!" He said. He threw it with a sharp cry and watched the spearhead hit the ground, right between the prisoner's legs, missing his private parts by about an inch – causing Artemus to recoil instinctively with a gasp. He smiled broadly in victory. "Paleface scared!" He bragged.

But Artemus replied, "I was not scared, it was just an instinctive reaction, nothing else. I'm not scared. Never was, never will be."

He realized that he needed to buy some time so his friends could set him free. And the only chance he had to stay alive long enough for that was to challenge Yellow Horse to a duel. 'By fighting bravely, he may spare you until the Chief returns. Indians respect their opponents when they show themselves worthy of what a warrior can accomplish,' he thought.

He straightened his shoulders, and puffed up his bloodied chest challenging Yellow Horse with a defying gaze, ignoring his blurred vision. He paused, to give more effect to what he was going to say next, "You are the one who's weak, Yellow Horse, not me."

Not wanting to lose face in front of the whole band which had gathered around the stake and the prisoner, Jlin-Litzoque sent Artemus a black look and then said, "Give white man a knife! And bring ropes for duel! We see who is weak!"

The Major cringed inwardly.

It wasn't going to be easy to fight against an experienced warrior, and he was going to be hurt, bad, and suffer a lot.

But it was the only way for his friends to save him from dying.

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Impressed by Artemus's bavery, Winnetou murmured, "Artemus challenged Jlin-Litzoque."

Old Shatterhand nodded. I heard, yes. They will have a knife-fight, bound at the stake by a long rope, exactly like I did with Big Wolf. No, not exactly. We had tomahawks and knives and I knocked out the chief of the Utes before he could throttle me."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "Artemus has not my brother's shattering fist and strength. He can't do that to Yellow Horse."

The blond man shook his head. "No, he's buying time. He hopes Yellow Horse will spare him until dawn if he sees that he fought bravely."

Winnetou nodded. "Yellow Horse is a noble warrior, he will – but when White Buffalo is back, Yellow Horse will kill the prisoner and offer White Baffalo Artemus's scalp, as a gift."

Old Shatterhand nodded. "We have to do something before White Buffalo comes back."

The Apache Chief said in a low voice. For now, we wait."

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Once the rope was tied around Artemus's waist and the other end to the torture stake, a Jicarilla warrior placed a knife in his hand.

Eager to begin the duel, sure of his victory, Yellow Horse beckoned to the people sitting cross-legged behind the drums, signaling them to start and the four men began to tap the drums, in rhythm, the music getting stronger and louder every minute that went by.

Gripping the knife tightly, Artemus looked at Jlin-Litzoque who was, like him, tied by a long rope to a massive stake and saw the Indian begin to advance on him and moved out of his way, walking to the right, forcing the Indian to turn as well.

They began to circle each other, the large stake between them, connected to it by the ropes, knifes held out and ready to both strike and defend.

Black eyes shining with pleasure, Jlin-Litzoque had a wild laugh and said, "Can't run away from Yellow Horse, pale face, Yellow Horse kill you, show you weak like all white men."

He suddenly charged towards Artemus, who ran to escape certain death, putting distance between them - and the two men continued like this for long minutes, circling the large piece of rough wood, on either side, Jlin-Litzoque trying to approach his opponent, Artemus avoiding the Jicarilla warrior as best he could, until both of them stopped, sweaty and panting.

Hurt and exhausted Artemus collapsed to the ground, vision spinning, and his knife slipped from his hand, skidding a little further on the dirt.

With a wild cry, Jlin-Litzoque closed the space between them and descended on his adversary like an eagle on its prey.

He crushed Artemus's chest with one knee, pining the white man to the ground to keep him in place. Then he grabbed his neck in a firm grip, squeezing, while pressing the sharp tip of the knife against the other man's bobbing Adam's apple. "I like this much," he said.

He pressed the knife a little harder against Artemus's throat, drawing blood.

But Artemus didn't flinch, and, raising his chin up in a defiant move he rasped, "I'm not afraid of you, I'm not afraid of death!" looking straight in Yellow Horse's black eyes, the Indian looming over him. "Kill me! I will die my heart free of fear."

He showed no fear and Jlin-Litzoque was impressed again. He commanded, "Stand! You fight!" He pulled the knife away from his opponent's throat and stood before taking a fighting stance. "Yellow Horse kill paleface like he is warrior."

Struggling to his knees, with whatever meager strength he had left, Artemus scrambled back to his feet as fast as he could get them under him.

He grabbed his knife and slid his foot backward, taking a defensive stance.

Grinning in anticipated victory, Yellow Horse lunged forward at the paleface, thrusting his knife and making slashes with the blade.

In a bold move, Artemus side-stepped and grabbed the Indian's stabbing hand, stopping the knife just one inch from his neck. He gave his adversary's wrist a sharp twist, smiling when Yellow Horse cried out in pain and dropped his knife to the ground.

Immediately there were shouts of both utter surprise and admiration in the audience... the paleface had managed to disarm Jlin-Litzoque!

Even the drums went silent as the players were stunned.

Gordon shoved Jlin-Litzoque with both hands, throwing him back a few steps. "Who's weak?" he said, through his panting.

Feeling humiliated Jlin-Litzoque grunted in anger for having been disarmed so easily and picked up his knife from the dirt.

The loud, rhythmic sound of the drums resumed.

Gritting his teeth with revenge, a sneer crossing his face, the warrior stabbed downward with his knife once again, and Artemus side-stepped, his legs shaking, sweat racing down his bare back.

But he was too slow and Yellow Horse was on him in a flash – using the sharp end of his knife to slice a shallow cut across his already bloodied chest.

There was a roar of cheering.

His left hand pressing on his new painful injury, blood trickling down between his shaking fingers, Artemus rasped, "I'm sure you can do better than that, you fight like a woman!" teasing the Jicarilla warrior as his already foggy vision was blurring.

But it was just bravado, he knew. His adrenaline had been used, it was gone and his strength was rapidly declining.

He couldn't carry on for much longer. 'I hope my plan works,' he thought, his hands braced on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Yellow Horse snarled in response, throwing himself forward. "Jlin-Litzoque cut you into pieces! You going to die, paleface!"

Staggering, his breath coming in short, sharp pants, Artemus croaked, "Maybe next time…" His legs buckled and he fell to the ground, onto his knees, then he faded out of consciousness. He slid to the side, passed out, his right hand clutching the knife.

His face twisted, Yellow Horse let out a frustrated growl. "As the sun rises, Jlin-Litzoque takes scalp! Then you burn on stake a long time! And curse the day you were born," he said. Then he cut the ropes.

The drumming stopped.

He beckoned at two warriors and commanded, "Tie him to the stake!" in Jicarilla language and the other men complied.

Then Jlin-Litzoque headed towards his Chief's big, red, round tent to wait for him. White Buffalo would return from the hunt before dawn.

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Later, in the middle of the night

Old Shatterhand and Winnetou waited until almost everyone was asleep before they moved quietly and unnoticed towards the massive torture stake to which Artemus had been tied.

Using his knife, Winnetou cut the ropes biding the other man to the trunk then placed a hand to the side of his neck to feel his pulse. "Artemus is alive," he mouthed.

Old Shatterhand nodded, smiling in relief and wrapped his arm around the unconscious spy in order to keep him upright.

The Apache shook Artemus's shoulder and the white man opened his eyes groggily. He slurred, "Let... me… sleep," and blinked in confusion.

In a flash Winnetou clamped his hand over the other man's mouth to muffle his moan, ordering him to remain silent this way.

Artemus's brain registered what was going on and he nodded faintly.

Winnetou looked at the guards who were still chatting amongst themselves sitting by the nearest fire, their rifles resting on their laps.

They didn't realize a single thing, he thought and remembered being tied to a tree where the Kiowas had camped for the night.

His mind stayed in the past and he remembered that Tangua, the Kiowa Chief, who was his sworn enemy, had threatened to burn him at the 'stake' at dawn, but fortunately Old Shatterhand had rescued him - without making himself known.

He had thought then that it was Manitou who had intervened to free him and brought him Klekih-petra's body on a horse too, so that they could both go back to the pueblo.

Thanks to sister Nscho-tschi, he had later found out that it was the man who would become his blood brother, who had cut his ties, saving his life.

He looked at his blood brother with a heavy heart and sighed, remembering Nscho-tschi dying in Old Shatterhand's arms.

He had lost his beloved sister and Old Shaterhand the woman he loved that day at Nugget-Tsil, and his father Intschu-tschuna too, both killed by the bandit Santer.

Santer had not suffered when he had fallen on the spears erected by his warriors at the bottom of the cliff, dying instantly, and it was too bad, he thought.

He ended his musing there when Old Shatterhand hoisted Artemus's body over his broad shoulder. "Artemus is strong, he is going to be alright," he said.

The tall man nodded. "Artemus can survive anything," he said, following Winnetou through the bushes and rocks bordering the Jicarillas settlement.

He placed Artemus across the horse's back, close to its mane and then climbed onto the pinto, Winnetou doing the same thing a few seconds later.

They moved away silently, the clouds hiding the full moon, camouflaging their departure and let the horse - which knew the way by heart - lead them to the river.

WWW / W

Old Shatterhand kicked the horse's sides forcing him to move more rapidly and the pinto did its best with three men on its back.

Suddenly several gunshots resounded in the night, almost muffled by the close sound of rumbling water coming from waterfalls nearby.

The blond man said, "The Jicarillas have discovered that Artemus is no longer their prisoner." Glancing above his shoulder, he spotted points of light in the dark - and knew they were burning torches held by the Jicarillas. Concerned, he said, "If we don't find a way to escape, they'll catch us, capture us and burn us at the torture stake."

He led the painted horse towards the rocky hills located at the very back of the Jicarillas' camp, set opposite the lake.

They reached the craggy top half an hour later, a steep slope opening on the right side with a raging river down below, flowing fast for miles and miles.

The blond man halted the black and white horse next to a group of boulders and dismounted. "The river's going to drag us away from here."

Winetou helped Artemus to get off the horse and then slapped the animal's rump and the pinto continued its way towards the river where the canoes were, used to going this way. "They'll follow the horse, but it won't fool them for long," he said.

Staggering with exhaustion, his eyes glazed, his vision foggy and his pulse thudding in his temples, Artemus slurred, "River… not again…"

Old Shatterhand sighed. "I'm sorry, we have no choice."

The Apache was the first to descend into the rocky scree that formed a steep incline plunging down to the river below, where a series of waterfalls were located.

His right arm wrapped around Artemus's waist, Old Shatterhand followed and soon the three men were trudging towards the raging river, the sound of the rushing water hitting stone and boulders on its way, continuing to grow louder.

It took them more than two hours of abrupt descent to reach the river which was illuminated by the full moon, immense in the dark, starry sky.

Not wanting to be spotted by the Jicarillas from the top of the deep ravine, the three men hid among large rocks dotting the water's edge.

They stayed there for a few minutes, resting.

Then Winnetou said, "It is too dangerous to stay here. The Ute territory starts on the other side of the river. The Jicarillas will not follow us there."

Old Shatterhand looked at the waterfalls upstream where the water was much more peaceful. "We're going to cross the river there."

He pointed towards the powerful water cascading into a large pool over clusters of polished rocks in a spray of mist.

Grimacing, Artemus rasped, "I hate water."

WWW / W

Crossing the waterfalls pool took Artemus's last remaining strength. Black spots started to appear in front of him and he lay down against a boulder and was out like a light.

Both Old Shatterhand and Winnetou looked across the river, at the other bank, where Jicarillas warriors had just arrived, coming out of the thick vegetation, shouting in anger.

Several of them grabbed their bows and arrows and shot them off. But the arrows fell on the bank, away from the three men.

Others warriors used their rifles and gunfire erupted. Several bullets ricocheted on the boulders, sending jagged fragments of rock flying in all directions, the projectiles ending up in the trees towering all around as the Jicarillas didn't have a good line of fire.

The blond man said, "Please, Winnetou, tell me they won't cross the river with their horses or use the canoes to come after us."

The Apache asked, "Is my brother tired? Is Old Shatterhand getting old?" With a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Old Shatterhand laughed out loud. "I'm only ten years older than you, brother, I'm not that old, despite my warrior name," he said. He paused feeling his sleep-heavy legs shaking and added, "We've been moving from one adventure to another for several days now, and a break would be nice."

Smiling, Winnetou sat on the ground, on a patch of grass and then said, "Old Shatterhand and Winnetou will rest when they are both dead."

Old Shatterhand smiled. "Winnetou is right. Old Shatterhand and his red brother must continue to bring justice and peace in this territory."

Winnetou glanced at Artemus who was sound asleep then continued, "The Jicarillas will not come here. It is Ute's land. The Jicarillas are afraid of the fierce warriors led by the Chief Big Wolf. They will not seek confrontation with the Utes because they know many of their braves will die in battle."

Old Shatterhand sighed in relief and sat beside Artemus who was snoring lightly. He frowned at the sight of his friend's upper body which was covered with nasty bruises and cuts, some more serious than others, but they were not life-threatening, and he was relieved to notice that. "That's good news, the first in a long time. I'm looking forward to returning to Apache settlement safely."

But Winnetou shook his head. "The prairie through the Utes lands is wolf territory. It will be dangerous to cross it to get to the settlement."

Making a long face, Old Shatterhand groaned, falsely upset and replied, "And I thought everything would be all good now... you just ruined it."

Sitting next to his blood brother, the Apache said, "Winnetou always speaks straight, even if Old Shatterhand does not like the sound of it."

Pressing his brother's shoulder in a brotherly gesture, the tall man said, "I know, I was only kidding. Let's see, you have a knife, I have one, then we can defend ourselves against wolves if they attack us. And you killed a grizzly bear with your knife to save Ribanna, so you can kill a wolf or two easily." Seeing pain cloud Winnetou's eyes, he lowered his voice in sympathy. "You're still in love with her..." He whispered.

The Mescalero Apache nodded, fingering his bear claws necklace, remembering rescuing Ribanna from a bear that attacked her.

He had sacrificed his love for Ribanna to whom he wanted to marry - for the sake of peace that day, at Fort Niobrara, but his heart had been broken forever, he thought.

He exhaled a heavy sigh. "Yes. Winnetou should not. Ribanna is Lieutenant Merril's wife now. Ribanna is not Winnetou's wife – and Ribanna never will be."

But she might have and a heavy silence hung between the two men, for a moment, as they both remembered the wedding ceremony.

Old Shatterhand remembered that his heartbroken brother had left the fort's chapel after Ribanna agreed to marry Lieutenant Merril, before the end. He was in too much pain to stay till the end.

The Apache lowered his head, closing his eyes. His heart was still in a thousand pieces and he knew only time would ease the immense sorrow that tightened and crushed his chest and made him catch his breath, each time he thought about Ribanna.

There was a pause.

Old Shatterhand lay down and turned his head to the other riverbank. The Jicarillas warriors were gone. "They're gone. When he finds out what happened, White Buffalo will be furious."

Following his brother's gaze, Winnetou said, "Yellow Horse will pay the price. He will be put to death." He lowered himself to the ground and watched the full moon shining in the now cloudless sky. "Let's have some rest." He glanced at Artemus who was dead to the world. "It will be a long walk."

WWW / W

The next morning

Old Shatterhand opened his eyes when he felt someone – Winnetou, he thought, shake his shoulder and he smiled to his brother who was crouched at his side. It was dawn, he noticed.

He smiled. "Morning."

He looked up as he saw someone standing behind the Apache - someone who had his legs covered with breechcloth and leggings and wore sandals made of yucca fiber.

Not Artemus, he realized and his hand immediately slid to his sheathed knife at his side – and he was stopped halfway by Winnetou's hand.

Old Shatterhand looked up, higher and saw that a Ute warrior was standing beside his red-skinned brother and he smiled in relief. "I thought he was a Jicarilla," he said.

He glanced around him and saw that a group of six Ute warriors surrounded them, bows and quivers filled with arrows on their backs.

The Apache Chief stood and explained, "No, he is a Ute. Little Bear and the other warriors were riding along the riverbank – patrolling – when they saw us."

Old Shatterhand smiled in relief. "It means that we won't have to walk across the wolf-infested prairie. Ah! Now that is good news!"

Winnetou smiled. "Old Shatterhand can see that I can tell good news to him."

Old Shatterhand smiled. "Touché!"

Tbc.