THE NIGHT OF THE MESCALERO APACHE CALLED WINNETOU
By Andamogirl
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5. THE AMBUSH
In the afternoon
Old Shatterhand rang the little bell that was on the wall near the door, the sound echoing through the narrow, deserted street. The heat was scorching, and everyone was cool at home, behind the stone walls that were painted white to repel the sun's rays.
Dr. Gerald opened the door of his office one minute later and was very surprised to discover, Winnetou, old Shatterhand and Artemus Gordon in front of him.
Moving his hand over his chest in a gesture of relief, he said, "You're alive! Thank Goodness! I thought I'd never see you alive again!"
The physician's relief morphed into concern when he noticed that the three men were staggering with dire fatigue and focused on Artemus. His friend had dark circles under his bleary eyes, his color was ashen and sweat was beading on his forehead and temples. He had a nasty cut on his neck - and assumed he had other injuries underneath his too big Indian clothes, to be in that state.
He glanced back at Old Shatterhand and Winnetou who looked a little better but not much. "Dear God! You look like you've been to hell and back," he said.
Old Shatterhand nodded faintly. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "It was close, yes. We came straight here from the Ute's settlement to get our horses and stuff back."
His stomach growling that it needed to be filled , Artemus said, "Without eating a single thing there, as we were in a hurry to come back here."
Gesturing inside, the surgeon smiled and said, "Please, come in. There's a fresh pot of coffee on the stove and I made cookies."
Desperately needing coffee and something to fill his empty and noisy stomach, Artemus entered the room first, before slumping in the closest chair in sight, feeling loose and boneless. "Don't you have something more substantial to offer us than cookies, Martin? We're positively starving! I'm so hungry I could eat a whole cow, horns and tail included." Seeing his friend's eyes scold at him, he said, "Please. And I wouldn't mind a glass of whiskey, too, please." Then he scrubbed his hand over his weary face, his head pounding. "And I'm going to add a two-year-long leave to that list."
His brow furrowed in worry, Gerald reached over and felt Artemus's forehead. "You'll have to ask Grant that last demand, my friend. You have a high fever. Your wounds must be infected."
His gritty eyes half-closed, Artemus asked, "How do you know I have wounds, plural?"
The doctor smiled. "A single cut on your neck can't be responsible for your alarming general condition, Artemus, and I know you, Mister trouble-magnet, you never do things by halves."
Artemus drawled, "Yeah, I know. But a Jicarilla warrior used me as if I was a living voodoo puppet. It wasn't my fault, ya know." He waved his hand dismissively in the air. "I'm fine," he rasped, "I'm exhausted, that's all. I need to sleep."
He was still awake by sheer force of will.
Old Shatterhand, bone-weary nodded. "We all do," he said, and then started rubbing at his shadowed eyes with the heels of his palms.
Winnetou's seemingly endless stamina was gone. The Apache was dead on his feet. "Winnetou needs to rest too," he slurred, shoulders slumped.
Martin Gerald nodded. "Go sit on the bed in the other room, it'll be more comfortable. I'm going to ask the hotel next door to get two mattresses here so you can all sleep comfortably. I won't be long;" and then he left them.
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Five minutes later, coffee pot in one hand, three mugs in the other, one of them half-filled with whiskey for his friend, Gerald entered the rest room and found the three men sitting on the bed, slumped against the wall, sleeping. "I brought coffee…" He trailed off and smiled.
Old Shatterhand was sitting on the bed, in the middle. His head was tilted back and his mouth half-opened and he was snoring. Winnetou's head was resting on his blood brother's right shoulder, his face hid by his long hair, and Artemus's had chosen the tall man's left shoulder for a pillow.
Gerald put what he was holding on the small table and left the room with a smile still on his face. They would sleep the dreamless sleep of the deeply exhausted, for hours, and hours, but he wouldn't let them sleep like this, he thought.
He silently took a blanket from the cupboard and then covered them with it up to their shoulders. "Sleep well," he whispered and then he let them alone.
He came back half an hour later with two mattresses which he had borrowed from the hotel and two people who worked there.
Once the mattresses have been placed on carpet-covered floor, he asked the hotel staff to carry Winnetou to the first mattress, the Apache remaining unconscious.
Then, they transferred Artemus on the other one – who murmured something incoherent, but immediately fell asleep again.
Shatterhand remained on the bed. He slowly slid to the side and then didn't move, his face pressed against the pillow.
They slept 24 hours in a row.
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In the morning
Dr. Gerald started turning his friend around, examining every inch of his naked body which was covered in scrapes, bruises and gashes. "You could start collecting something else less dangerous, you know, like rare books or watches or something like that."
Giving his friend a glare, the spy replied, "I thought about collecting young and beautiful women, but it's just as dangerous."
Martin chuckled. "It's mostly jealous boyfriends you should watch out for. I heard they're all over the country, most of them in Washington." He stopped in front of Artemus and looked closely at a deep cut his patient had right above his left nipple, and was surprised to see that the wound was not infected and was already almost healed. "I know. I was invited to come to the Capital last month by former officers of my regiment, and I learned that the charming Major Gordon - a friend of mine, had seduced a beautiful lady who had already been courted, and that the affair had ended in a duel between the jealous boyfriend and the womanizer. The offended man was wounded in the arm, and the swordfight stopped there, at first blood. Artemus Gordon left... and found another conquest the next night at a White House ball."
Hiding his private parts with his hands the US Army officer wasn't happy about the medical examination. Not that being naked and being scrutinized by Martin bothered him, he didn't mind, but because while he was there, Winnetou and Old Shatterhand were eating a copious breakfast - and he wasn't, and he was starving! And his stomach growled loudly to remind him of it.
In an impatient tone, he said, "Those scrapes, bruises and cuts are nothing, Martin. I've been through a lot worse, much worse. Are we done here? I'm hungry! No, I'm famished! I'd like to go for breakfast, too." And he scratched at his itchy chin.
Martin Gerald looked at his patient whose face was pale except for his feverishly flushed cheeks and said, "And I thought spies were supposed to be discreet and keep a low-profile… You still have a fever, but not as high as yesterday."
The spy shook his head. "Discreet and low-profile? Me? I'm a man who loves women, loves good food, and loves to party! I also perform in plays written by friends from time to time, because I miss playing on the stage, and I also work as a bodyguard for General Grant when he wants to be alone with me to give me some important cases to settle... and being glued to Ulysses S. Grant isn't something you don't notice. It's who I am, and it's also my cover. No one would imagine that Artemus Gordon, the handsome seducer, the bon vivant, the actor in his spare time, would be a spy in the service of the General of the Army. No, they wouldn't. And everyone in Washington also knows that I travel a lot for pleasure... and people are not surprised when I'm away from the Capital for several weeks... when in fact, I'm on a special mission."
Gerald nodded. "Let's change the subject, shall we? Tell me, Artemus, was it a medicine man who cured you with one of his remedies?"
Artemus shook his head. "No, it wasn't a medicine man, it was one of the Ute warriors who found us by the riverside. He had a small bag on him which contains a powerful healing ointment to put on wounds and he spread a little of it all over my body. Ute warriors use that ointment to treat themselves after a fight. It's like a first-aid gave it to me so I could keep putting ointment on my wounds."
The physician was impressed. "I wish I knew how to make this fantastic ointment. It would be very useful to me. Could you give me this pouch?"
The spy nodded. "With pleasure, but you'll never be able to find the right formula to make that ointment again. Medicine men use all kinds of ingredients they find around them in nature to make their remedies, and they keep the formulas secret."
Gerald nodded, "But you are an excellent chemist Artemus, I'm sure you could recreate this ointment after analyzing it."
Pleased by the compliment, Artie smiled. "Thank you, maybe I could, yes, but there's one ingredient that I couldn't recreate, the medicine man made this ointment while he was chanting prayers, so that the Great Spirit would intervene in the healing process."
Gerald nodded. "Chemistry and religion... I had forgotten this particular fact. Anyway, that mixture worked so well that you're not going to need any stiches and you probably won't have any scars. You were very lucky, my friend, as usual. There's someone up there protecting you." He placed the round end of the stethoscope which was wrapped around his neck over his patient's heart then put the two ear pieces in and listened carefully, eyebrows almost meeting in concentration.
Feeling a bit worried, Artemus asked, "Something wrong?"
The physician shook his head and shoved his stethoscope in the pocket of his jacket. "No, everything's alright, don't worry. The beating of your heart is strong and steady. I'll give you a potion against the fever and it'll go away in a day or two." He patted the other man's arm. "Perfect. I do now declare you fit for breakfast." He took a robe from a chair and placed it in Artemus's arms. "Before you get dressed, you're going to take a bath, because you're dirty and you smell awful. Go upstairs, I had the bathtub filled with hot water for you. You'll find everything you need to wash up and shave on the table and also something to towel you with. And don't get water everywhere in the bathroom! I had the floor redone!"
Scowling, slightly offended, Artemus said, "I forgot about your nice bedside manners. You really need to work on them."
Gerald chuckled softly. "Still, my bluntness is legendary. Once you are clean and smell nice, you can join your friends for breakfast, Artemus. Oh, yes! I almost forgot. I bought a gunbelt and a gun for you. I thought you could use it. You'll pay me back one day."
Smiling, Artemus said, "Thanks," and put the robe on in record time. Then he rushed upstairs. The sooner he was clean, the sooner he ate, he thought.
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Later,
Smiling, Winnetou rubbed Iltschi's neck, very happy to mount his horse, and the black stallion nickered in happy anticipation at the thought of galloping on mesas, prairies and in the mountains.
The Apache said in his language, "You'll never spend several days in a stable again, I promise you." And ltschi snorted in excitement.
Mounting ltschi's brother, Hatatitla, Old Shatterhand palmed his precious Henrystutzen (Henry carbine) which was able to fire 25 shots without reloading and then said to his blood brother, "I'm sure you're looking forward to seeing your people again."
The Apache Chief nodded. "Winnetou's heart is filled with joy at this thought."
Riding the spotted horse one of the Ute warriors had given to him, Artemus moved between the two men and said, "I'm heading to the Fort. I need soldiers to find and stop Castillo. I've instructed Martin to send a telegram to General Grant in Washington on my behalf, so he knows what's been going on lately. I'll give him my full report in person, once the last part about Castillo's arrest and his entire gang being behind bars, is completed. I have a lot of work to do."
Old Shatterhand smiled. "We'll go a long way together then."
The three men said good-bye to Dr. Gerald and then, one behind the other, trotted away down the narrow street in downtown Santa Fe.
They didn't see two men hiding in a dark alley, watching them pass.
The taller of the two said to the other one, "Castillo was right, they came back to get their horses and stuff. Go tell him!"
The shortest bandit nodded. "They'll probably meet up with the Apaches at the tent camp in the mountains." And he walked to his horse that waited quietly behind him.
The other man had a cruel laugh. "Yes, and we're going to kill them all! And get rid of that damn spy once and for all too!"
Gomez mounted his gelding and asked, "What are you going to do, Henrique?"
Henrique put his foot in the stirrup. "I'm going to kill that damn redskin!" He saddled up and added, his face hardening, "Cortez was my friend! And that Winnetou killed him! Castillo may kill all the others, I don't care, but that damn Apache is mine! Don't say anything to Castillo!"
Gomez shook his head. "I won't."
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Much later
Henrique crouched down behind a boulder, smiling, as Winnetou entered his line of fire. "You're dead, red devil!" He said.
He aimed his rifle at the Apache.
He waited, ignoring the heat, his sweaty clothes, beads of perspiration rolling down his face and the scorching sun burning his hands.
Now, Winnetou was close enough to be killed, but the bandit waited.
The Indian had to be even closer because he wanted to see the surprise on the redskin's face before the life drained out of his eyes, Henrique thought.
Old Shatterhand looked up at the rocky mountain called Nugget-tsil, where Winnetou had been shot a few days before.
His throat tightened with intense and raw emotion, as he lived again, in his mind, what had happened up there and closed his eyes, fighting welling tears.
He remembered Winnetou's shocked face a split second after his brother felt a hot white pain in his upper left chest, where he had been hit, and then remembered all the blood gushing from a hole in his war shirt, close to where his heart was.
He remembered catching his brother before he hit the rocky ground and lowering him at his feet, as gently as possible, Winnetou whimpering in pain.
He remembered dropping to his knees and then applying pressure to the entry wound in an effort to stem the flow, blood seeping between his shaking fingers.
He remembered Winnetou thrashing against the pressure he was putting on the wound, moaning in pain, struggling to stay conscious.
He remembered Winnetou's struggling to bring in air into his burning lungs and his pained gasps, tears rolling down his face.
He could hear again his labored breaths and Winnetou's croaky 'my brother', blood pooling inside his mouth making it hard to speak clearly.
He remembered the Apache clenching his jaw and shutting his eyes tight, then biting his lips as hard as he could to ignore the overwhelming pain…
Pale, he shook his head to clear his head.
Moving Iltschi beside Hatatitla, Winnetou said, "Winnetou knows what his brother thinks. Do not be sad, Winnetou is still alive."
The blond man opened his eyes, fighting to keep his emotional composure and glanced at Artemus who was ready to part ways with them, heading to Fort Niobrara. "Yes, you are still alive, my brother, thanks to Artemus, here."
Moving his spotted horse next to Old Shatterhand's stallion, Artemus looked at the tall man and a soft smile spread across his lips. "It was a pleasure. Now I have to leave, my friends…"
Henrique grinned. It was time!
He felt his finger twitch nervously on the trigger, and holding his breath, he kept his rifle pointed at Winnetou's heart.
Old Shatterhand smiled. "The last time you said goodbye to us, you were shot. I hope it doesn't happen again..." he said.
Smiling, Artemus shook his head. "Me too. I hope to see…" He abruptly stopped his sentence feeling the hairs on the back of his neck standing up – signaling an imminent danger.
He suddenly caught a glint of metal reflecting the rays of the sun, among the cluster of rocks on the right. He instantly knew what it was. "Rifle! Look out!" he cried out.
He leaped on Winnetou as the shot rang out, just in time, as a bullet whizzed past them, and they both fell to the ground, hard, with a thud.
The horses, accustomed to gunshots, didn't flee the scene to safety, but moved a little away next to a group of rocks and a patch of tempting green grass.
Still in protective mode, Artemus tackled Winnetou down then arched his body over the top half of the Apache's body, lying protectively on top of him, as more bullets were fired and flew over their heads, missing them by mere inches.
Old Shatterhand slid off his horse, panic seizing his throat. "No! Not again! Not here!" He said, blanching, and, using his Henry rifle, fired in his turn, twice in quick succession. "Take cover!" He shouted.
Cursing, Henrique fired again.
Winnetou and Artemus rolled onto the ground, new shots hitting the grass and rocks all around them, and managed to take cover – hiding behind a boulder.
Laying as flat as they could on their stomachs, they kept their heads down as a spray of bullets rained down around them, making shards of rock fly in every direction.
Old Shatterhand hid behind a big rock nearby, anxiously surveying his brother's body for any injury, heart hammering wildly in his chest. "Winnetou, are you okay?"
Brushing splinters of rock from his shoulders, Winnetou responded, "Do not worry my brother, Winnetou is not harmed." He turned towards Artemus and said, "Winnertou is alright because Artemus saved his life again. Thank you."
Cocking his six-shooter, Artemus grinned and gave his red-skinned friend a gentle pat on the arm. "It's always a pleasure." He aimed a quick shot at the man hidden down the mountain.
Old Shatterhand heaved a long sigh of relief, took a steadying breath and then said, "I've lost you once, I mean I thought I had, I couldn't bear to live through all that again." Then he asked Artemus, "Are you okay Artemus?" and saw the other man nodding with a large smile. "Well, it seems fate doesn't want us to part, at least not yet," he said as more gunshots echoed through the valley.
Peering over the boulder, Winnetou said, "Winnetou can see one man up there... Winnetou thinks it might be one of Castillo's bandits."
Old Shatterhand nodded. "Winnetou is right. Castillo thought we'd go to the tent camp and he posted one of his men to ambush us here, to keep us under fire until he could arrive. Another man probably left to tell him we were here. He's probably waiting not far from here. He'll charge into the camp with all his men and others he's recruited, I'm sure, because he wants to kill everyone in the camp, women, and children included, to take his revenge on us, and knows there are soldiers in the camp and Apache warriors too. With his few men, he wouldn't make it. We must stop them!"
Gunshots continued to pelt the ground around the three men.
Artemus nodded. "We need backup, but the fort's too far away. The soldiers couldn't get there until tomorrow afternoon, after they've been riding all night."
Looking at his blood brother, Winnetou proposed, "Winnetou is going to go to the Ute settlement for help and will return to the camp with many warriors."
Concerned, the blond man said, "Stay safe!"
His brow set forward in determination, Winnetou nodded. "You too, my brother."
On this, the Apache pushed himself to his feet and then took off at full sprint towards Iltschi, bullets whistling above his head.
Old Shatterhand protected Winnetou's departure by firing several shots with his famous rifle; seeing Winnetou reach a group of rocks then disappear safely behind them.
Then the tall man glanced at Artemus and said, "Go to the camp and tell the soldiers that they will soon be attacked by Castillo and his horde, and take command – the Apaches will help the soldiers, for defense of the camp. I will take the women and children into the mountains to hide. Go! I'm going to cover you. I'm going to take care of that bandit up there, as soon as you leave."
Holstering his gun, Artemus replied, "Be careful," then he rushed towards the appaloosa grazing the grass nearby, ignoring the shootout around him.
He jumped in the saddle and threw his gelding at a gallop soon after, protected by Old Shatterhand's repeated fire.
Holding his rifle pressed against him, the tall man made a dash towards the foot of the pile of gray rocks where the bandit was posted; narrowly dodging his bullets.
He climbed the rocks one by one, agile as a mountain lion, then managed to sneak up behind the shooter without him noticing.
He pointed his rifle at the man and said, "Hands up!"
Henrique, surprised, froze.
Old Shatterhand added, "Drop your rifle! Now! And turn around slowly and, if you want to stay alive, don't try anything stupid."
Henrique straightened up, and did as he was told and dropped the rifle at his feet. Then he turned around slowly... taking up the knife that he had slipped into his belt.
But the bandit didn't have time to throw it – Old Shatterhand fired and Henrique fell backward, clutching his chest, and he was dead before he landed.
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At the Army's tents campsite,
Dismounting from his Appaloosa, Artemus Gordon gestured towards the sergeant who was coming towards him. "You must prepare for an imminent bandit attack!" He told him.
The sub-officer quirked a brow, a mite irritated. Who was this 'civilian' dressed in Indian clothes, with an Indian horse, giving him orders? "Who the hell are you?" he asked, disagreeably.
Major Gordon ignored the sergeant's open hostility and replied, "I'm Major Artemus Gordon, US Army, it's all you have to know, sergeant. Old Shatterhand should join me soon and will confirm my identity. In the meantime, I'm taking command! Gather all the soldiers! Do it! and do it now!"
The old sergeant who could identify an officer just by the sound of his voice and even his rank by his demeanor saluted and then said, "Yes, Sir!" And he shouted to his men to line up in pairs, and they obeyed, grouping behind their sergeant.
Speaking Apache, Artemus asked the warriors to gather rapidly and then told them to regroup next to the 'blue coats', and they complied.
Once all the soldiers and the warriors were assembled, Artemus said, "I'm Major Gordon, and you are now under my command now. Dozens of bandits will attack this camp soon! Get ready to defend yourselves! Use the wagons and buckboards and anything else you can find, crates, bags of food, bunks, to make a barricade, everything!" He looked back at the sergeant and then added, "Old Shatterhand is going to take the Indian women and children up the mountain for cover, and a few warriors will accompany them, the others will stay here and fight with us. Backup is under way. Winnetou will come back with Ute warriors to help us, later. We'll have to hold the camp until then. Get the women and children together, Sergeant, and choose a few warriors to go with them, hurry! There's no time to lose."
The sergeant saluted again. "Yes, Major!"
Then Artemus translated what he had said in Apache, in an abbreviated version because he didn't speak that language very well, yet. Within seconds, the Indians ran to get their bows and arrows and spears from the US Army tents.
Old Shatterhand halted his black horse next to Artemus and then dismounted. "The shooter's dead. What's our status?" He asked.
Glancing at the soldiers bringing the wagons and buckboards together and piling bags between them and under them, Artemus responded, "The camp defense is being set up." Then he noticed that the Apache women and children had been assembled in front of the tents, framed by a dozen warriors. "It's time for you to take the women and the children up in the mountain to keep them out of harm's way. Take those warriors with you too, they'll help you."
Old Shatterhand nodded and pressed Artemus's shoulder in a friendly way. "Good luck!" Then he ran towards the Indians, Hatatitla following him like the faithful horse he was.
It took almost half an hour to 'fortify' the camp, during which time Old Shattterhand led the Apache women and children, and the warriors up into the mountain, where they'd sought refuge a few days earlier, to avoid being killed by Rollins and his men, and White Buffalo and his warriors.
Old Shatterhand felt shivers running down his spine when he crouched behind a rock on the edge of the outcropping where Winnetou had been killed, no; not killed, seriously wounded by Rollins a few days ago, he thought.
From there, he had a perfect view of the fortified tent camp below. He blocked all the images that came to his mind because he should not let himself be emotional and distracted.
In the distance he saw Artemus ordering his men and the Apache warriors he kept with him, to move into position and then looked towards the horizon, where a cloud of dust was rising. The bandits were coming, and there were a lot of them!, he realized.
The broad-shouldered man turned to the ten warriors accompanying him and told them to be ready to shoot their arrows, in Apache language.
Then he pointed his rifle at the front of the barricade behind which the soldiers and the Apaches were posted. From there, he could take down several bandits.
Now they just had to wait.
Tbc.