Winnetou I

________________________________________________ This free e-book is a sampler and

contains the first one and a half chapters from the bestseller Winnetou I, written in 1893 by Karl May, translated into English by Marlies Bugmann in 2008. To purchase the book, please visit:

http://www.karl-may-friends.net

Cover image The Greenhorns First Grizzly: Marlies Bugmann

Cover photography: David Irwin Edited to international English standard:

Marlies Bugmann

Australian Friends of Karl May; English Karl May books:

http://www.karl-may-friends.net

All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now

known or hereafter invented, is prohibited without the written permission of the author/translator.

Publishing Date: August, 2008

Copyright 2008 Marlies Bugmann

Winnetou I Translated by Marlies Bugmann From volume 1 of the famous Winnetou Trilogy Published first in 1893 by Karl May (1842-1912) A story of the Wild West

________________________________________________ Marlies Bugmann 2008

Contents Acknowledgments Foreword by Translator Introduction by Karl May Chapter 1: A Greenhorn Chapter 2: Klekih-Petra Chapter 3: Winnetou Captured Chapter 4: Two Life-Or-Death Battles Chapter 5: Nsho-Chi Chapter 6: Sams Rescue Translators Biography More Karl May Translations Other Books

[vii]

Acknowledgments

________________________________________________ Thank you to my husband, David Irwin, for his time

to read the draft translations and his valuable feedback, and for his assistance with just the right word when a tricky twist in the plot required it.

Thankyou to Karl May for giving us Winnetou, Old

Shatterhand and friends.

[viii]

[ix]

Translators Foreword

________________________________________________ In 1893 the Winnetou trilogy appeared for the first time.

In contrast to other book series, for which the greatest part was based on complete stories previously published in sequel form, May had only a limited volume of existing text to utilise for this trilogy. Winnetou I is the only one of the three volumes that May wrote especially for the trilogy. Volumes two and three are compiled from four previously published separate stories, for which May also wrote a new framework and ending chapters.

The colourful characters of Mr Henry the gunsmith, Sam Hawkens the Westerner, Klekih-Petra the fugitive from Germany, Tangua the treacherous Kiowa chief, and above all Winnetou the young Apache warrior, his sister Nsho-Chi, and their father, supreme chief of all Apache, Inshu-Chuna, make the first volume of the Winnetou trilogy an unforgettable adventure.

The three books, known as the Winnetou trilogy, Winnetou I, Winnetou II and Winnetou III, are undoubtedly Mays most famous work.

Although Hatatitla (Old Shatterhands horse) and

Iltshi (Winnetous horse)two black Indian horses,

[x]

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

The last chapter, Sams Rescue, contains a passage

where three people swim across a river to get to an island. Sometimes, problematic flaws in text construction also reveal an authors lesser-known characteristicsfor example whether or not he is familiar with the difference in the dynamics of fast flowing and still water. (Anecdotal evidence has it that he didnt know how to row a boat, according to his publisher, Fehsenfeld, who published the very first edition of the Winnetou trilogy.)

The scene unfolds in a river. Three swimmers enter a river to swim across. After a few strokes, the ground dropped away beneath their feet and they arent all that far from the riverbankthis usually indicates a strong current. A canoe is being vigorously paddled downstream, despite the strong flow of the river, close to where the swimmers

[xi]

are who only moved enough to keep afloat and not drift too far, which would indicate that the swimmers are in relatively still water, otherwise they would be swept downriver.

The canoe is very close to them yet it is moving along with the strong flow of the river, while the swimmers are stationary in relatively calm water (as indicated by their minimal and noiseless movements to stay afloat). The scene is becoming confusing, is it taking place in a strong current or still water? If the swimmers are in still water and the canoe in fast-flowing water, the canoe wouldnt be close but would travel past them at a certain distance and far too quickly for anyone to successfully execute any of the actions that followespecially in a dense fog with restricted visibility, as indicated.

The man in the canoe stopped the canoe in order to take his weapon and attempt to shoot the swimmers. He might be able to do that in still water, but most likely not in a strong flow as he would, firstly, lose some control over his canoe, and, secondly, not be steady enough to aim his gun effectively. As the plot evolves, the canoe remains where it stopped for a few more moments, and after a tense moment or two, the man in the canoe takes the paddle into his hands and sets the canoe going again, and the water turns into a torrent to take him away and out of reach. The swimmers continue to cross the river and arrive at the island without having drifted off course.

Alas, every river has shallow and deep, still and fast-flowing water, and sometimes very close together. However, the confusion between the still and the fast-flowing water within the narration of the scene points to a small personal limitation in Karl Mays life: he couldnt swim, or at least not enough to have ever swum across a torrent of a river. The scene is described as if it unfolds on solid groundand has been adjusted very slightly, with very few words, so as not to ruin the tense moment.

***

[xii]

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

***

The spelling of some non-English words has been treated

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

[xiii]

Parentheses ( ) contain commentary by Karl May, square brackets [ ] contain notes or references by the translator.

Marlies Bugmann, 2008

Winnetou I [1]

Introduction By Karl May (1893)

________________________________________________ When I think of the American Indians, I am immediately

reminded of the Turkish people; although this might seem peculiar, it, nevertheless, has its justification. There might not be many points of resemblance between the Red Indian and the Turk, however, they have one thing in commonwith only a minor differentiationthe global community has given up on them: they talk of the Turk as an ailing man, while anyone who knows the plight of the Red Indian, must describe him as the dying man.

Yes, the Red Nation lies dying! From Tierra del Fuego to far above the Great Lakes of North America, the giant patient lies prostrate, struck down by a bitter fate that knows no mercy. He resisted with all his might, but in vain; his strength gradually failed; now he breathes his last sighs and the convulsions that seize his naked body time and again proclaim the approach of death.

Is he to blame for his early demise? Has he deserved it? If it is correct that every living thing is entitled to life,

and if that applies to the whole as well as to each individual, then the Red Indians rightful claim to existence is no less valid than that of the white man, and he is entitled to develop according to his own individuality within a social and

[2] Marlies Bugmann

national fabric. Of course, detractors maintain that Indians do not possess the necessary nation-building traits. Is that true? I say: No! However, I will not draw conclusions because it is not my intention of writing a scientific dissertation in that regard. White man had time to develop naturally; he gradually evolved from the hunter to the herdsman, over many centuries, and then went on to agriculture and industry. The Red Indian, however, didnt find that time because it wasnt granted to him. He was expected to make a giant leap from the lowest rung, the hunter stage, to the highest level, and this demand was put on him without any consideration of the fact that he must stumble and fall in the process and sustain fatal injuries.

It is a cruel law that dictates that the weak must surrender to the strong; but as it pervades the entire creation and is valid for all of Earths Nature we must assume that this cruelty is only superficial or is capable of Christian moderation, because the eternal wisdom that gave us this law is also the eternal love at the same time. Can we then claim that such mitigation has been applied to the dying Indian race?

Natives not only greeted the first palefaces with hospitality, but also revered them almost like gods. What was their reward? The land they inhabited was undeniably theirs; it was stolen from them. The rivers of blood that flowed because of the resultant cruelties are common knowledge to anyone who has read the history of the famous conquistadors. They provided the model by which the bloodshed and cruelty continued later. The white man arrived with sweet words on his lips and at the same time a sharp knife in his belt and a loaded gun in his hand. He promised love and peace yet meted out hatred and bloodshed. The red man was forced to retreat, step by step, and increasingly farther back. Occasionally, he was granted eternal rights to his territory, but then was evicted shortly afterwards and chased away again and again. The Whites bought the land from him but either didnt pay him at all or only with worthless trade goods. However, he was all-the-more thoroughly trained in the acceptance of the insidious

Winnetou I [3]

poison of the firewater, together with smallpox and other, even more debilitating diseases, which decimated many tribes and depopulated entire villages. When the red man dared to assert his rights, he was answered with powder and bullets, and again he had to give way to the superior weapons of the Whites. Embittered because of it, he took revenge on every paleface he came upon, the consequence of which always took the form of virtual massacres carried out on the red man. Once a proud, daring, courageous, truthful, upright and loyal hunter to his friends, he turned into a slinking, mistrustful, lying human being because of it and through no fault of his own because not he, but the White is to blame for it.

Where did the wild mustang herds go, from the midst of which he once caught his riding horse? Where are the bison that fed him when they populated the prairies in the millions? How does he survive today? From the flour and the meat deliveries? Have a look at how much gypsum and other nasty things the flour contains; it is unpalatable! And should a tribe have a hundred extra fat cattle apportioned, the animals turned into two or three emaciated cows along the way that wouldnt even yield a mouthful for a vulture. Or should the Red Indian make a living from agriculture? Can he count on a harvest, he who has no rights, is continuously driven away and is denied a permanent place to live?

He once was a proud, beautiful figure when he dashed over the wide prairies with his mustangs mane fluttering about him, now he looks miserable and depraved, and is clothed in rags that cant even cover his nakedness! He who once brimmed with energy and tackled the terrible silvertip bear with his bare fists, now skulks along dark corners like a mangy dog, hungry, to beg for a scrap of meator to steal it!

Yes, the Red Indian has become an ailing mana dying man, and full of pity we stand beside his wretched bed, waiting to close his eyes. To be at someones deathbed is a solemn matter, but it is a hundred times more solemn when an entire race is dying. Many questions arise, these above all: what could this race have achieved had it been granted the time and space to develop its inner and external strengths and

[4] Marlies Bugmann

talents? What unique forms of culture are being lost to humanity through the demise of this nation? The dying red man didnt submit to assimilation because he had his own unique character; was that a reason to kill him, couldnt he be spared? If the bison is given asylum in the national parks of Montana and Wyoming so that it doesnt become extinct, then why not give the erstwhile, rightful master of the country a place where he can live in security and can grow spiritually?

But of what use are these questions in the face of inevitable death? Of what help are accusations where help is too late? I can only lament, but not change anything; I can only grieve, but not bring the dead back to life. I? Yes, I! During the many years I dwelled among the Red Indians, I became acquainted with them. There is one, in particular, who lives in my heart and in my thoughtsvivid, tall and noble. He, the best, most loyal and altruistic of all my friends, was a genuine representative of his race and it is perishing like he perished, his life extinguished by the murderous bullet of an enemy. I have loved him like no other human being and continue to love the dying nation whose noblest son he was. I would have given my life to preserve his, as he risked his own for me a hundred times. My wish wasnt granted; he died, saving his friends; but only his body has died, he will live on within these pages, just as he lives on in my soul, Winnetou, the great Apache chief. I am building his well-deserved monument here and if the reader, looking at it with his or her inner eye, reaches a just verdict about the folk, for whom the chief was a faithful representation, I am being richly rewarded.

Winnetou I [5]

[6] Marlies Bugmann

1 A Greenhorn

_________________________________________________ Dear reader, do you know what the word greenhorn

means? Its an annoying and disrespectful term for the one to whom it is applied. Greenhorn in this instance means to be a new arrival who is still inexperienced in the basic skills required in a new environment, and who has to carefully probe his surroundings to avoid ridicule.

A greenhorn is someone who wont get up out of his chair when a lady indicates that she wishes to sit there; who greets the master of the house before he bows to the wife and daughters; who loads his weapon back to front, first the wadding, then the bullet and the powder last. A greenhorn either speaks no English at all or a clean and affected version; he loathes Yankee-English or the backwoods idiom; it makes no sense to him, nor will it readily roll over his tongue. A greenhorn mistakes a racoon for an opossum and a pretty Mulatto girl for a Quadroon. A greenhorn smokes cigarettes and is disgusted at the tobacco-chewing and spitting gentleman. If an Irish Paddy boxes his ears, a greenhorn takes the affair to court instead of returning the punch or shooting the fellow immediately. A greenhorn takes the footprints of a turkey for those of a bear and a slim racing yacht for a Mississippi steamer. A greenhorn is too shy to put

Winnetou I [7]

his feet with dirty boots onto the knees of his fellow passengers and slurp his soup amid snorts that resemble those of a dying buffalo. For reasons of cleanliness, a greenhorn takes with him a bath sponge the size of a giant pumpkin and ten pounds of soap into the prairie, and a compass that will indicate all sorts of directions except north after a couple of days. A greenhorn writes down eight hundred Indian expressions and when he meets his first red man realizes he put the list into an envelope, posted it home and, instead, kept the letter. A greenhorn buys gunpowder and when he tries to fire the first shot, finds that he has been sold powdered charcoal instead. A greenhorn has studied astronomy for the past ten years but no matter how long he stares at the starry sky, he cannot determine what time it is. A greenhorn puts his Bowie knife into the belt so that, when he bends over, the blade will cut into his thigh. A greenhorn builds such a large campfire in the Wild West that the flames rise as tall as the trees and then wonders how the Indians were able to find him when they shoot him dead. A greenhorn iswell, a greenhornand I was such a greenhorn, too, all those years ago.

But, of course, I had no idea that this derogatory term applied to me! Oh, no, because a greenhorns most peculiar trait is to think of everyone else as green, except himself.

On the contrary, I thought that I was an extraordinarily smart and experienced person; I had received an education, as the saying goes, and had never feared an exam! My youthful mind didnt allow me to recognize that life is the real school where pupils are tested daily and hourly to pass the exam of providence. Unfortunate circumstances in my home country and an inborn thirst for action had driven me across the ocean to the United States where the conditions and opportunities for the development of an ambitious young man were much more favourable. I would soon have found a good income in the Eastern states, but I felt drawn to the West. Working here and there in all kinds of jobs, I had soon saved enough money, and then arrived in St. Louis well equipped externally and full of inner courage. There, my luck led me to a German family where I found accommodation

[8] Marlies Bugmann

and a temporary position as their childrens tutor. A family friend, Mr Henry, was a regular visitor. He was a real character and a gunsmith who carried out his trade with the devotion of an artist, and with old-fashioned pride called himself Mr Henry, the gunsmith.

He was a great humanitarian, although, on the surface, he gave an entirely opposite impression, because he didnt associate with anyone else outside my host family, and even treated his clients in such a brusque and offhand manner that they only went to him because of the high quality of his merchandise. He had lost his wife and children in a terrible event, of which he never spoke, but from some of his remarks I guessed they had been murdered during an attempted robbery. That experience had caused him to become coarse externally; he probably wasnt even aware of the fact that he was a perfect ruffian; but he was a kind and gentle man at heart and I often saw moisture well up in his eyes when I spoke of my home country and my dear family.

I couldnt understand, initially, why that older man took a liking especially to me, the young stranger, until he told me one day. From the time I had arrived, he visited more often than before, attentively listened while I taught the children, after the lessons spent time with me, and eventually invited me to his place. Such an invitation wasnt extended to just anyone and I guarded myself from taking advantage of it. Mr Henry didnt seem to appreciate my reservedness. I still remember his angry face one evening when I visited him, and the tone of his voice when he addressed me without having replied to my good evening:

Where were you yesterday, sir? At home. And the day before yesterday? At home. Dont try to fool me! Its true, Mr Henry. Pshaw! Newly hatched greenhorns like you dont

remain in the nest; they poke their beaks in everywhere else except where they belong!

And where do I belong, if you dont mind telling me?

Winnetou I [9]

Right here with me, Ill have you know! Ive been meaning to ask you something for quite some time.

Why havent you done so? Because I didnt feel like it, alright? And when will you feel like asking? Perhaps today. Then go ahead and ask, I encouraged him and squarely

sat on top of his workbench where he was working. He looked me full in the face, shook his head

disapprovingly and exclaimed: Go ahead! As if I needed to ask a greenhorns

permission to talk to him! Greenhorn? I frowned and felt deeply hurt. I assume

the word slipped out unintentionally, Mr Henry! Dont flatter yourself, sir! I said it deliberately; youre a

greenhorn, second to none! You memorized the content of your books, thats true. Im astounded about the things you people have to learn over there. A young person like you knows precisely how far away the stars are, what King Nebuchadnezzar wrote on clay tablets and how heavy the air is that he cant even see! And because he knows all this, he imagines hes a clever fellow! But poke your nose into real life for around fifty years, and then perhaps youll experience what genuine cleverness is made of! Your present knowledge is worth nothingnothing at all. And your practical skills count for even less. You cant even shoot!

He had spoken in a disparaging tone of voice, and with such conviction, he sounded altogether sure of himself.

Cant shoot? Hm! I smiled. Is that perhaps the question you wanted to ask me?

Yes, thats the one. Whats your answer to that? Put a good firearm in my hand, and then Ill tell you, but

not before. He put the rifle barrel he was working on aside, rose,

walked up close to me, stared at me and retorted: A firearm in your hand, sir? Wouldnt think of it, ever!

My guns are only meant for hands that do me proud! Ive got hands like that, I nodded.

[10] Marlies Bugmann

He gave me another look, this time from the side, returned to his seat and recommenced work on the barrel, and all the while grumbled to himself:

What a greenhorn! Could really make me mad with his audacity!

I ignored him because I was familiar with his idiosyncrasies, pulled out a cigar and lit it. We didnt speak for about a quarter of an hour. He couldnt bear it longer than that, held the barrel against the light, looked through it and said:

Shooting is a darn side more difficult than looking up at the stars or reading old clay tablets from Nebuchadnezzar. Do you get my drift? Have you ever held a gun in your hands?

Im sure I did. When? Many times. Aimed and fired? Yes. And hit what you meant to hit? Naturally! He quickly lowered the barrel he was in the process of

examining, looked at me again and probed: Yes, naturally, the question is: what? The target, of course. What? Youre not serious, are you? Im serious when I tell you that I hit my targets. Youre in league with the devil, sir! Youre not making

any sense at all. Im convinced that youd miss a brick wall twenty yards tall and fifty long, and yet your face is so irritatingly serious and confident. Im no schoolboy who needs tutoring, you know what I mean? Are you, the greenhorn and bookworm, trying to tell me you can shoot? You cant be leafing through Turkish, Arabic and other dumb old tomes and still have time to practice shooting! Take down that old gun from the wall back there and hold it as if you were aiming at something! Its a bear killer, the best I ever held in my hands.

Winnetou I [11]

I reached up, took the weapon down and put it to my shoulder.

Hello! Mr Henry exclaimed and jumped up. Whats that then? You handle that gun as if it were a lightweight walking stick, and yet it is the heaviest firearm I know! Are you really that strong?

In answer, I grabbed him his buttoned-up coat and the belt and lifted him up with my right arm only.

Tarnation! he cried. Let go of me! Youre even stronger than my Bill.

Your Bill? Whos that? He was my son, wholets drop the subject! Hes dead

like all the others. He was a decent, promising fellow, but was extinguished together with them while I was away. You resemble him in stature, have almost the same eyes and similar features; thats why Imno, its none of your business anyhow!

The expression of profound grief spread over his face; he wiped it away with his hand, and then cheerfully continued:

But, sir, considering your physical strength, it really is a pity that youve buried yourself in your books like you did. Should have done more sports!

I did. Really? Yes. Boxing? That wasnt on our school curriculum. But Ive

participated in gymnastics and wrestling. Horse riding? Yes. Fencing? I was the one who gave the lessons. Stop bragging like that, mate! Do you wish to try it out? Thanks; I got enough before! Besides, Ive got to keep

going with work. Sit down again! He returned to his workbench and I did likewise. What

ensued was a mainly monosyllabic conversation; Henry

[12] Marlies Bugmann

seemed to have something important on his mind. All of a sudden, he looked up from his work and asked:

Have you studied mathematics? It was my favourite subject. Arithmetic, geometry? Naturally. Surveying? I liked it very much. Ive often gone on surveying jaunts

with the theodolite just for fun. And you really understand how to take measurements? Yes. Im trained in taking surface as well as altitude

measurements, although I dont regard myself as a qualified geodesist.

Alrightvery good! Why are you asking, Mr Henry? Because I have good reason for it. Leave it at that! You

dont have to know for the moment; youll find out later what its about. First I must knowhm, I have to know whether or not you can really shoot a gun.

Then put me to the test! Thats what Ill do; yes, you can count on it. When will

you start your class tomorrow morning? At eight oclock. Be at my place at six oclock. Well go to the firing

range where I test my guns. Why so early? Because I dont want to wait any longer. Im very keen

to prove to you that youre still a greenhorn. Enough of that now, Ive got more important things to do.

Evidently finished with the gun barrel, he took a polygonal piece of iron from a cabinet and began to file its edges. I noticed that every one of its many sides had one hole.

He worked with such care and concentration it seemed he had forgotten I was present. His eyes sparkled when he inspected his work from time to time, and I was almost tempted to interpret it as an expression of love. That piece of iron had to be of great value to him. I was curious to learn why; hence I asked:

Winnetou I [13]

Will this also become a part of a gun, Mr Henry? Yes, his reply sounded as if he had only just realized I

was still there. But Im not aware of a firearm with such a part. I believe you. Its in the making. It will probably

become the Henry system. Ah, a new invention? Yes. Please forgive me for asking! It is, of course, a secret. For some time he inspected all the openings, turned the

piece of iron in all directions, held it several times against the rear end of the barrel, which he had placed aside before, and finally said:

Yes, it is a secret; but I trust you with it, because I know youre discreet, although youre a perfect, genuine greenhorn; thats why Ill tell you what it is supposed to turn into. It will be a twenty-five round repetition carbine.

Impossible! Put a sock in it! Im not stupid enough to tackle

something impossible. But you would have to have chambers to take

ammunition for twenty-five shots! I have! They would be awkwardly large and unwieldy. Theres only one chamber, its quite handy and not at all

awkward. This piece of steel is the chamber. Hm! I have no knowledge in your field of work,

butwhat about heat? Wont the barrel become too hot? It wouldnt think of it. The make-up of the metal and the

treatment of the barrel are my secret. Besides, will it always be necessary to fire all twenty-five shots in one volley?

Hardly. Well then! This piece of iron will become a sphere that

will move eccentrically; the twenty-five holes in the sphere contain just as many bullets. After each shot fired the sphere moves and places the next bullet to the barrel. Ive worked on this idea for many long years; it just wouldnt work; but now it seems to fall into place. I already have a good name as

[14] Marlies Bugmann

a gunsmith, but this will make me very famous and earn me a lot of money.

And a guilty conscience on top of it! For a while he looked at me in astonishment and then

asked: A guilty conscience? Why? Dont you think a murderer ought to have a guilty

conscience? Zounds! Are you trying to tell me that Im a murderer? Not yet. Or that Ill become a murderer? Yes, because complicity in murder is just as bad as

murder. Tarnation! Ill make darn sure that I wont become an

accessory to a murder. Not just one, but mass murder. What? I dont understand you. If you build guns that are capable of firing twenty-five

rounds and they fall into the hands of every villain around, then there will soon be a horrible slaughter on the prairies, in the forests, in the canyons of the mountains; soon the poor Indians will be shot down like coyotes and in a few years time there wont be any red men left. Do you want to have that on your conscience?

He stared at me and didnt reply. And, I continued, if anyone can obtain one of these

dangerous guns for a sum of money, then you will indeed be selling thousands of them in a very short time, but the mustang and the bison will be extinct and, together with them, all the game, the meat of which the Red Indians require for their survival. Hundreds and thousands of vultures will go west, armed with your carbine. Blood of humans and animals alike will flow in streams, and very soon the regions on either side of the Rocky Mountains will be devoid of all living creatures.

Hell! he exclaimed. Have you really only just arrived here from Germany a short while ago?

Yes. And have never been here before?

Winnetou I [15]

No. Least of all in the Wild West? No. A complete greenhorn. And yet you pipe up as if you

were the great grand father of all Indians and have lived here for thousands of years already! Boy, dont imagine that youre capable of getting under my skin! And even if things were as you said, to build a gun factory is the furthest thing from my mind. Im a loner and wish to remain a loner; I dont feel like bothering with a hundred or more workers.

Couldnt you sell the patent for your invention to make money?

Lets wait and see, sir! Thus far Ive always had enough to live on and I dont think that I will suffer in the future, either, even without a patent. And now go home for today! I dont have the patience for listening to a fledgling who has to learn the use of his wings first before he can whistle or sing.

It didnt occur to me to take offence at his rough expressions; thats how he was and I knew that he meant well. He had grown fond of me and certainly intended to help me along in every way, as far as it was possible for him. We shook hands and when he released mine from his stronger-than-usual grip, I left.

Little did I know how important that evening had been for me, and what important roles the heavy bear killer, which Henry called an old gun, and the unfinished firearm that was to become the Henry rifle, would play in my later life. But I was looking forward to the next morning because I had really practiced my shooting skills a lot and was convinced that, in the eyes of my old, peculiar friend, I would look good as a marksman.

I turned up at his place at six oclock sharp. He was already waiting for me, shook my hand and with an ironic smile on his kind old face he said:

Welcome, sir! Arent you just wearing a victorious expression on your face? Do you think you can hit that brick wall I mentioned yesterday?

I hope so.

[16] Marlies Bugmann

Alright, well find out shortly. Ill take a lighter firearm along and youll carry the bear killer; I dont feel like lugging around such a load.

He shouldered his light, double-barreled rifle and I took the old gun he didnt want to carry. When we got to the shooting range, he loaded both weapons and fired his first two shots from the rifle. Then it was my turn with the bear killer. I was still unfamiliar with that weapon and because of it only clipped the edge of the black bulls-eye with my first shot; the second shot was inside the black; the third was dead centre and the bullets that followed all went through the hole made by the third. Henrys astonishment grew with each firing; I also had to try his rifle, and when that gave the very same results, he couldnt keep quiet any longer:

Youre either in league with the devil, sir, or youre a born frontiersman. Ive not seen a greenhorn shoot like this!

Not the devil, Mr Henry, I laughed. I dont want to know about such a league.

Then it is your calling, even your duty, to become a frontiersman. How would you like that?

Why not? Alright, well see what we can do with a greenhorn. And

you know how to ride a horse as well? If need be. If need be? Hm! Not as well as you can shoot? Pshaw! Riding isnt difficult! Its the mounting up thats

the toughest part. Once Im in the saddle theres probably no horse that can get me off.

He scrutinized me to determine whether I was serious or had only spoken in jest; I kept my facial expressions under control and so he remarked:

You really think so? Are you planning to hold onto the mane? That would be a mistake. You were quite right: mounting up is the most difficult part, because you have to do that yourself; getting off is much easier: the nag takes care of it and, therefore, its much, much faster.

No nag will take care of my dismounting! Oh? Lets wait and see! Do you feel like giving us a

demonstration?

Winnetou I [17]

Id love to. Then come! Its only seven oclock and youve still got

an hour. Well go to Jim Korner, the horse trader. He lets you ride his horses around the yard for a few dollars, and hes got a roan thats got you pegged.

We returned to the town and visited the horse traders stables where a corral, surrounded by stables doubled as a kind of exercise yard. Korner greeted us and enquired about our business.

The young man here claims that no horse can throw him, Henry replied. What do you think about it Mr Korner? Wont you let him climb onto your roan just the once?

The trader looked me up and down, nodded with a satisfied expression and replied:

His bones seem strong and subtle; besides, young people dont break their necks as easily as older ones. If the gentleman wishes to try out the roan, its alright with me.

He gave the order and after a short while two stable hands led the saddled horse out of the barn. It was very agitated and strained to tear loose. My old Henry had second thoughts and became worried about me; he asked me to reconsider; but, firstly, I wasnt afraid, and, secondly, the affair had turned into a matter of honour. I asked for a quirt, a kind of short whip, and had the spurs strapped to my boots. Then, I swung into the saddle, although only after a few failed attempts because of the horses refusals. As soon as I sat atop, the stable hands hurried away and the roan went straight up in the air with all four, and then to the side. I remained in the saddle, although my feet were still outside the stirrups. I quickly got them in. As soon as that was done the nag started to buck; when that didnt have the desired results it headed for the wall to scrape me off; but with the aid of the quirt I quickly managed to get it away from the boards. Then began a fierce, almost dangerous battle between rider and horse. I used all the scarce talent and insufficient training I had, and my strong thighs finally won the battle for me. When I dismounted, my legs shook from

[18] Marlies Bugmann

the strain; but the horse blew foam and dripped from sweat; it obeyed every leg pressure and tug on the reins.

The trader had become concerned about his horse; he issued the order to get it wrapped in blankets and slowly walked back and forth; then he turned to me:

I didnt imagine this, young man; I thought you would be thrown with the first leap. Theres no charge and if you want to do me a favour, then come back and set the beast completely straight. Im not hung up on ten dollars more or less, because it isnt a cheap horse and if it learns to obey, Ill get a good deal.

Itll be my pleasure, if you dont mind, I replied. Henry hadnt said anything from the time I dismounted,

instead, he only shook his head and kept staring at me. But then he clapped his hands together and exclaimed:

This greenhorn truly is a very extraordinary, or rather, unusual greenhorn! Squeezes the horse half to death, instead of being thrown in the sand! Who taught you that, sir?

Coincidence once gave me a half-wild stallion from the Hungarian Puszta to ride. I conquered it eventually but nearly risked my life doing so.

I dont wish for such creatures! Im happy with my old rocking chair that doesnt have any objections to me sitting on it. Come, lets go. Im getting dizzy. But Ive not seen you shoot and ride for naught today; you can count on that.

We went home, he returned to his house and I to my accommodation. He didnt visit during the following two days, and I had no opportunity to go and look in on him. However, on the third day he came by in the afternoon; he knew I had some time off.

Would you like to take a walk? he asked. Where to? To see a gentleman who wishes to make your

acquaintance. Why me? You should be able to guess that: because he has not

seen a greenhorn before. Then Ill go with you; he shall make my acquaintance.

Winnetou I [19]

Henry cut a very wily, enterprising face that afternoon and, knowing him, I expected he had planned some sort of surprise. We ambled through the streets, and then he led me through a large glass door into an office. He entered so quickly, I didnt have a chance to decipher the gold lettering on the glass panes, but I thought Id glimpsed the two words office and surveying. It soon turned out I hadnt been mistaken.

Three exceedingly friendly gentlemen sat in the office. They greeted me politely and with undisguised inquisitiveness. Charts and maps were laid out on the tables and between them an assortment of surveying instruments. We were in a geodesists office, in other words, in a surveyors office.

My friends purpose for the visit was unclear to me; he had no commission to effect, no enquiry to make; he seemed to be there only because of the friendly chat. Soon, it took a lively course, and it wasnt conspicuous at all that the subject turned to the array of objects, which was to my liking because I could more easily participate in the conversation. That wasnt the case when they only spoke of American things or situations because I was still quite unfamiliar with the so-called American way back then.

Henry seemed to have an interest in the surveyors craft; he wanted to know everything, and I was pleased about becoming involved so deeply in the conversation that, in the end, all I was doing was answer questions, explain the use of the diverse instruments and describe the drafting of charts and maps. I really was a thorough greenhorn because I didnt catch on to what was happening there. It was only during my lengthy discourse on surveying methods using polar and rectangular coordinates, perimeter measurements, the repetition procedure and trigonometric triangulation, when I observed the three gentlemen secretly wink at the gunsmith when the whole thing became conspicuous to me. I rose and indicated to Henry that I wished to leave. He acquiesced and we were farewelled even friendlier than we had been welcomed.

[20] Marlies Bugmann

When we had walked away far enough so that we couldnt be observed from the office, Henry paused, put his hand on my shoulder and, with a beaming smile of satisfaction, said:

Sir, man, youngster, greenhorn, mateyouve made me very happy! Im indeed very proud of you!

Why? Because youve surpassed my recommendation and

even the expectations of those people! Recommendation? Expectation? I dont understand. No matter. Its very simple. You said not so long ago

that you knew a little about surveying, and to find out whether or not it was just bragging, I took you to these three gentlemen, good friends of mine, and had you prodded and examined. Youve got a clean bill of health and passed with flying colours.

Bragging? Mr Henry, if you think that Im capable of such things I wont visit you anymore!

Dont be ridiculous! You wouldnt want to deprive an old fellow of the pleasure of your company. Its because of your resemblance to my son, you know! Have you been back to see the horse trader?

Every morning. And been riding the roan? Yes. Is the horse amounting to something? I should think so. The only thing is, the one who will

buy the animal wont be getting along with it as well as I am. Its become used to me alone and will throw anyone else.

Im enormously pleased, indeed; it seems the horse only wants to carry a greenhorn. Come, lets walk along this side alley here! Theres an excellent dining house where they serve great food and even better drinks. We have to celebrate the fact that you passed your exam in such outstanding form today.

I couldnt understand Henry; he was a changed man. He, the lonely, reserved man, wanted to eat out at a dining house! His face also seemed different and his voice sounded clearer, and more cheerful than usual. Examthats what he said.

Winnetou I [21]

The word was conspicuous, but it could have been an entirely innocent colloquial term.

He visited me daily from then on and treated me as if he was about to lose a dear friend. But he didnt allow pride about the preferential treatment to surface in me; he was always ready to put a damper on things, which consisted of the annoying word greenhorn.

Strangely enough, the attitude of my host family also changed at the same time. The parents paid noticeably more attention to me, and the children became increasingly affectionate towards me. I caught some of the clandestine glimpses they gave me but couldnt understand them; I could have described the gazes as loving and at the same time regretful.

About three weeks after our peculiar visit to the bureau, the lady of the house asked me to stay home in the evening, although I was off duty, and have supper with the family. She explained that Mr Henry and two other gentlemen had also been invited, and that one of them was a famous frontiersman by the name of Sam Hawkens. Being a greenhorn, I hadnt heard of the man, but looked forward to meeting my first Westernera famous one at that.

As I was a houseguest, I didnt have to wait for the clock to strike, but went to the dining room a few minutes earlier. To my astonishment, I discovered that the table had not been set in the usual arrangement, instead, it had been decked out as if for a festive occasion. Little five-year-old Emmy was alone in the room and had her finger immersed in the berry compote to pinch a lick. When I entered, she hastily withdrew it and wiped it clean on her platinum blonde hair. When I raised mine to chastisingly wiggle it, she ran up to me and whispered a few words in my ear. To atone for her indiscretion she divulged the secret of the past few days, which had almost broken her little heart. I thought I had misunderstood her; she repeated the same words when I asked her:

Your farewell-feast. My farewell-feast! That couldnt possibly be right! Who

knows what misunderstanding would have prompted the

[22] Marlies Bugmann

child to have such an idea. I smiled about it. Then I heard voices in the parlour; the guests had arrived and I went to greet them. All three had arrived at the same time, which had been prearranged, as I learnt later. Henry introduced Mr Black to me, a somewhat dull and clumsy young man, and then Sam Hawkens, the frontiersman.

The Westerner! I openly admit: I couldnt have looked very intelligent when I gawked at him. It was the first time in my life that I beheld such a figure; later, of course, I was to make acquaintance with many more eccentric types. Not only did his conspicuous appearance alone attract attention, the effect was enhanced by the fact that he looked just the same in the elegant parlour, as he would have in the remote wilderness, without having taken off his head covering, and with the gun in his hand. His exterior was as follows:

From under the sadly drooping brim of a felt hat, the age, colour and shape of which would have caused a considerable headache even to the sharpest thinker, a nose of such frightening proportions looked out from a forest-like, confused black beard, it could have doubled as a pointer for a sundial.

As a consequence of such an enormous beard growth, there were only two small, smart eyes noticeable beside the lavishly equipped olfactory organ. They seemed to be endowed with an extraordinary agility. His gaze was resting on me with mischievous cunning as he was scrutinizing me just as attentively as I was observing him; I was soon to learn the reason for his keen interest in me.

His head rested on a body that was invisible down to his knees because it was cloaked in an old buckskin coat. It had evidently been made for someone significantly larger and, therefore, gave the short man the appearance of a child who had donned the dressing gown of his grandfather just for fun. Two skinny, bowed legs poked out from under the more than ample wrap. They were clad in tattered leggings, which were so old, the manikin had out-grown them twenty years earlier. The attire permitted a comprehensive view onto a pair of Indian boots large enough to accommodate the whole person in an emergency.

Winnetou I [23]

The famous frontiersman held a firearm in his hand that I would have only handled with extreme caution; its appearance had more in common with a club than a rifle. At that moment, I couldnt imagine a more absurd caricature of a prairie man, yet, not much time was to pass before I came to realize the true value of the eccentric manikin.

After he had sufficiently scrutinized me, he asked the gunsmith in a thin, almost child-like voice:

Is this the young greenhorn you mentioned, Mr Henry? Yes, nodded Mr Henry. Alright! Not bad. I hope he finds Sam Hawkens to his

liking, too, hihihi! With his subtle, very strange chuckle, which I was to hear

a thousand more times, he turned to the door just as it opened. My hosts walked into the parlour and greeted the hunter in a manner that revealed they had met before and kept it from me. Then they escorted us into the dining room.

To my surprise, Sam Hawkens didnt take off either coat or hat, and he only pointed at his old shooting iron when we were getting seated at the table, and said:

A proper man of the West never lets his gun out of his sight and I even less my dear Liddy. Ill hang her onto the curtain rod over there.

He called his gun Liddy! Later, I learnt that many frontiersmen treated their weapons like living beings and gave them names. Hawkens hung it onto the rod and wanted to add his fabulous headdress; to my horror his entire mop of hair came off, too, when he lifted the hat. His skinned, blood-red skull was a frightful sight. The lady of the house screamed and the children screeched as loud as they could. But Sam turned around to us and quietly said:

Dont be shocked, ladies and gentlemen; theres nothing to it. I wore my bonnet honestly and with full right since birth and no lawyer ever dared contesting it, til one or two dozen Pawnee surrounded me and pulled my hair and skin off my head. It was a devilishly annoying sensation, but was lucky to survive it, hihihi! Then, I went to Tekama and bought myself a new skin, if Im not mistaken; called it a wig, and cost me three thick bundles of beaver skins. No

[24] Marlies Bugmann

harm done tho; because the new skin can be more practical than the old, specially in summer; can take er off when Im sweatin, hihihi.

He hung the hat over the rifle and placed the wig back on his head, took off the coat and placed it over a chair. The coat had been mended and repaired many, many times with leather patch upon leather patch and as a result, had attained a stiffness and thickness that prevented Indian arrows from penetrating.

Without the coat, we could more clearly see his thin, bowed legs. He wore a hunting shirt made from leather. In his belt he wore a knife and two pistols. When he returned to his chair at the table, he first gave me, then the lady of the house a mischievous glance and asked:

My lady, do you wish to tell this greenhorn what this is all about before we begin with the meal, if Im not mistaken?

The expression: if Im not mistaken, had become his stock phrase. The lady of the house nodded, turned to me and, by indicating the younger guest, explained:

Youre probably still unaware that Mr Black here is your successor, sir.

Mymy successor? I was completely taken aback. Indeed. Were celebrating your farewell today. Because

of your departure, we were forced to find a new teacher. Myfarewell? Luckily, no photographs were taken of me at that

moment because I would have looked like stupefaction personified.

Yes, your farewell, sir, she nodded with a kind smile, which I didnt feel was warranted because I was in no laughing mood. We should have given you notice, but we didnt want to be a hindrance to your good fortune as weve grown very fond of you. We are deeply sorry to see you go but youll take our best wishes with you. Godspeed; you will depart tomorrow morning.

Depart? Tomorrow? Where? I found it difficult to talk. Sam Hawkens stood next to me, patted me on the

shoulder and laughed:

Winnetou I [25]

Where? To the Wild West with me. Youve passed your exam brilliantly, hihihi! The other surveyors ride tomorrow and cant wait for you; you hafta go with em. Me and Dick Stone and Will Parker, were the hired scouts, all along the Canadian River and into New Mexico. Methinks you dont wanna stay here as a greenhorn!

Thats when the penny dropped. It had all been a put-up job! Surveyor, perhaps even for one of the great railways that had been planned. What a surprise! I didnt have to ask at all; the answer was forthcoming because my dear old Henry came up to me, took my hand and said:

Ive already told you why Im fond of you. These are decent people, but being a private tutor is no job for you, sir, not at all. You must go west. And thats why Ive applied to the Atlantic and Pacific Company and had them check you out without your knowing. Youve passed with flying colours. Here is the contract.

He handed me the document. When I read what my estimated earnings were going to be, I couldnt believe my eyes. But Henry continued:

Youll be riding; therefore, you require a good horse. Ive bought the roan youve been breaking in; its yours. And youll need weapons; Ill give you the bear killer, the old, heavy gun. I cant use it, but you hit the bullseye with it every time. What do you say to that, eh?

I didnt know what to say initially, and when I found my voice again, I attempted to refuse the gifts, but in vain. These good people had decided to make me happy, and I would have offended them deeply if I had insisted. To cut short any further discussions for the duration of the meal, the lady of the house sat down at the table and we were forced to follow suit; the subject wasnt mentioned again during dinner.

I only found out what I needed to know after we left the table. The railway was to run from St. Louis through the Indian Territories, New Mexico, Arizona and California to the Pacific Coast and the plan was to investigate and survey the long distance in several shorter sections. The section assigned to myself and three other surveyors under the supervision of a chief engineer was roughly situated between

[26] Marlies Bugmann

the headwaters of the Rio Pecos and the southern Canadian River. The three experienced scouts Sam Hawkens, Dick Stone and Will Parker were to take us to where we were to meet a group of capable frontiersmen whose job it was to ensure our safety. Naturally, we also had assured protection of the forts in the vicinity. In order to give me a real surprise, everyone had waited to the last moment to tell me, which was a little late, naturally. But they eased my mind with the news that they had procured my entire outfit down to the smallest item. There was nothing else for me to do but introduce myself to my colleagues who were waiting for me at the chief engineers house. Henry and Sam Hawkens accompanied me there and I received the most cordial welcome. The men knew about the surprise announcement and didnt worry about my being late.

The next morning, after I had said my goodbyes to the German family, I first went to Henry. He cut my words of thanks short in his usual rough manner:

Put a sock in it, sir! Im only sending you out there so that my old gun can have a say every now and then. When you return, come and visit me and tell me what youve experienced and learnt. Then well see whether or not youre still the perfect greenhorn you are today!

On that note, he pushed me out the door, but before he could shut it, I caught sight of the tears in his eyes.

Winnetou I [27]

[28] Marlies Bugmann

2 Klekih-Petra

________________________________________________ The glorious North American autumn came to a close.

We had been on the job for three months without having solved our assignment yet, while the other surveying parties had already returned home. There were two reasons why.

Firstly, we had a very difficult region to cover. The railroad was to run over prairie country and follow the southern Canadian River; the direction was, therefore, given, right up to the source of the river, while the lay of the valleys and passes likewise dictated the route through New Mexico. Our section, however, was situated between the Canadian and New Mexico and we were forced to reconnoitre and discover the most suitable route first. That required time-consuming rides, arduous walks and the taking of many trial measurements for comparison before we could begin the actual work. The fact that the region was also made dangerous because of the local Kiowa, Comanche and Apache. The latter didnt want to know about having a railroad constructed through a landscape they considered was theirs, and that compounded the matter. We had to be on our guard constantly, which severely impeded our activity, of course, and slowed us down.

Winnetou I [29]

We had to forego hunting, as shooting would have alerted the Red Indians to our presence. Instead, we procured everything we required from Santa Fe, delivered by oxcarts. Unfortunately, that transport was unreliable and we were forced to interrupt our survey work repeatedly to wait for the arrival of the carts.

The second reason was the composition of our party. As mentioned, I had received a cordial welcome by the chief engineer and the other three surveyors in St. Louis. Such a welcome had led me to anticipate good and productive cooperation; unfortunately, I was mistaken in that respect.

My colleagues were genuine Yankees who saw in me the greenhorn, the inexperienced Dutchman, a term used as an invective. They wanted to make money and didnt care how inferior their work was. They regarded me, the honest German, as an obstacle and 0st had enough common sense to understand that I was slaving away for them without having been obliged to do so. The fact that the work suffered under those circumstances was a foregone conclusion.

The rest of the company was no better. We joined twelve so-called frontiersmen on arrival in the camp. They had been expecting us. As a newcomer, I felt significant respect for them, initially, but then soon recognized that I was dealing with men of low moral calibre.

They were supposed to protect us and assist with the chores. Luckily, for a full three months, nothing happened, which could have forced me to seek their dubious protection and, with regard to their help, I can state unequivocally that our camp was the venue for a gathering of the twelve laziest layabouts in the United States.

Discipline suffered badly in such circumstances! Bancroft was the man in charge by title and by

assignment, and he acted accordingly, but nobody obeyed him. When he issued an order, the others laughed in his face; then he cussed like I had never heard anyone else cuss and went to the whiskey barrel to reward himself for that effort. Riggs, Marcy and Wheeler didnt act much differently. I had plenty of reasons to take the reins, and I did, but without being too obvious. A young and inexperienced man wasnt

[30] Marlies Bugmann

going to be respected by such people. Had I been foolish enough to speak in a peremptory tone of voice, the result would have been resounding laughter. No, I had to work quietly and cautiously, like a smart wife who knows how to steer her obstinate husband, with him being oblivious to it. Those uncivilized, hard-to-control Westerners called me a greenhorn at least a dozen times a day, and yet they unsuspectingly followed my lead because I let them believe that they were doing as they pleased.

In that respect, I had excellent support in Sam Hawkens and his two companions Dick Stone and Will Parker. Those three men turned out to be honest, experienced, smart and courageous prairie runners with names of good repute. The threesome mostly stayed near me and kept away from the others but so that they couldnt feel slighted. Sam was especially skilled in getting the obstreperous company to pay attention to something, despite his peculiarities and, with his half-stern and half-comical voice, succeeded in talking them into doing things to assist my endeavours in achieving our objective.

A silent understanding, broadly based on feudal principles had developed between Sam and I. He had taken me under his protection as a matter of course and with the implied assumption that there was no need for my express consent. I was the greenhorn and he the experienced frontiersman whose words and actions were infallible. When time and opportunity permitted, he gave me theoretical and practical lessons in everything I had to know and be able to do in order to survive in the Wild West. And truth be told, although it was Winnetou who subsequently put me through the high school of survival skills, I must admit that it was Sam Hawkens who taught me the basics. He even fashioned a lasso for me and allowed me to practice throwing the dangerous weapon on his horse and himself. When I had perfected my throws so that each one always found its mark, he was as pleased as punch and exclaimed:

Thats very nice, my young sir; thats it! But dont get all high n mighty! A teacher must praise even the slowest student once in a while to motivate him. Ive already been a

Winnetou I [31]

teacher to many-a-young man othe West and they all were much less hard of comprehension and quicker on the uptake than you are, but if you keep practicin it might just be possible that they cease calling you a greenhorn in about six or eight years. Until then, be consoled by the old sayin that even a dumb fellow occasionally does much better than a smart one, if Im not mistaken!

He pretended to be serious with his deliberation, and I did likewise in taking it, although I knew only too well how he meant it.

The most welcome of his lessons were those with practical applications, because the surveying work required my fullest attention and, without Sam Hawkens, I wouldnt have taken the time to acquire the skills necessary to be a prairie hunter. Besides, we kept our exercises a secret; we always went some distance from the camp so that we couldnt be observed. It was Sams idea and when I asked him for the reasons he explained:

Thats for your benefit, sir. You have so little talent for such things that I would have to be ashamed for your soul if one of those fellows were to see us. There, now you know, hihihi. Take that to heart!

The upshot of it was that nobody in the entire company believed me capable of handling a weapon or possess significant physical dexterity, which didnt offend me in the least.

In spite of all the hindrances, we had finally come within a week of connecting up with the next section. We had to send a messenger to inform the other party. Bancroft decided he would undertake the ride himself and take one of the frontiersmen along as a guide. It wasnt the first message exchange because we had to keep in contact with the group ahead of us as well as the one behind us. Consequently, I knew that the chief engineer of the party ahead of us was a very capable man.

Bancroft intended to head off early Sunday morning. He thought it was necessary to have a farewell drink with everyone. I wasnt invited, and Hawkens, Stone and Parker didnt follow up on the invitation. And just like I had

[32] Marlies Bugmann

expected it, the drinking dragged on until Bancroft couldnt even blabber. His boozing buddies had kept up with him and were no less drunk than he was. There was no talk of going for a ride. The fellows did what they had always done in their state: they crawled behind the bushes to sleep it off.

What now? It was high time for a messenger to be on his way, however, those drunks were going to sleep way past midday. It was best if I undertook the ride; but could I afford to leave the camp? I was convinced that there was going to be no talk of work during my four days absence. While I consulted Sam Hawkens about the matter, he pointed west and said:

Wont be necessary for you to ride, sir. You can give the message to those two.

When I looked in the direction he indicated, I saw two riders approach. They were Whites and in one of them I recognized an old scout who had previously delivered messages and progress reports from the next section. Next to him rode a younger man. He wasnt dressed like a frontiersman and I hadnt seen him before. I walked towards them; when we met, they halted their horses and the stranger asked for my name. I gave it to him and he looked at me with a friendly but searching gaze and said:

Then you must be the young German whos doing all the work here while the others sit around on their lazy derrieres. Youve undoubtedly heard of me, sir. My names White.

He was the chief engineer of the next section where the messenger was supposed to have been sent. There had to be a good reason for Mr Whites personal visit. He dismounted, shook my hand and then looked over the camp. When he spotted the sleeping men behind the bushes and the whiskey barrel, a knowing but not at all friendly smile crossed his face.

I guess theyre drunk? he asked. I nodded. All of them? Yes. Mr Bancroft was heading off to your camp and

organized a small farewell drink. Ill wake him and

Winnetou I [33]

Wait! he cut me short. Let them sleep! That gives me the opportunity to talk to you without them overhearing us. Lets leave them to it and walk to the side a short stretch! Who are the three men who stood next to you just then?

Sam Hawkens, Will Parker and Dick Stone, our three most reliable scouts.

Ah, Hawkens, the short, peculiar hunter. Capable fellow; Ive heard of him. Those three should come with us.

I followed his request and signalled them to join us, and then enquired:

Youre coming in person, Mr White. Are you bringing important news?

Nothing special, except that I wanted to check out the situation here for myself and talk with you in particular. Weve completed our section, yours is not even close to being finished.

Thats because of the difficult terrain, and I will I know, I know! he cut in. Unfortunately, I know

everything. Had you not made a threefold effort, Bancroft would still be at the starting point.

Thats not the case at all, Mr White. I dont know what made you think I was the only one doing any work, but it is my duty

Quiet, sir! Messengers have been going back and forth between us; Ive sounded them out without them suspecting anything. It is very noble of you to defend these drunkards, but I want to hear the truth. I can see that youre too kind-hearted to tell me, therefore, Ill ask Sam Hawkens instead. Lets sit down here!

We had reached our tent. He made himself comfortable on the grass in front of it and invited us to do likewise. Then he began to question Sam Hawkens, Stone and Parker. They told him everything without embellishments; I added a comment or two here and there, regardless, to soften the occasional harshness and defend my colleagues, but that didnt have any effect on White. On the contrary, he asked me repeatedly not to do so because it was of no use.

Once he knew everything, he requested to see our drawings and the logbook. I wasnt required to do so, but

[34] Marlies Bugmann

still did because I would otherwise have insulted him, and because I could see that he meant well. He checked everything thoroughly, and when he then asked questions, I couldnt lie about the fact that I was the draftsman and the author, because none of the others had drawn a line or written a single letter.

But it isnt evident from this log book how much, or how little work is attributable to any individual, he said. Youve gone too far with your commendable loyalty.

Thats when Hawkens piped up: Reach into his chest pocket, Mr White! Theres a little

tin that once contained sardines. There are no sardines in it now, but some paper instead. Might just be his private diary, if Im not mistaken. Theres a different story to the official report where hes tryin to cover up his colleagues bone-idleness.

Sam knew that I had made personal notes, and that I kept them in the empty sardine tin. He caused me slight embarrassment for revealing it. White asked to see that as well. What was I to do? Did my colleagues deserve that I shut up about me having done all the work without getting any thanks for it? I neither wanted to cause them harm, nor be impolite against White. Thats why I handed him my diary, with the condition that he didnt speak to anyone about its contents. He read it, then handed it back to me and said:

I should really take the pages with me and deliver them to the appropriate address. Your colleagues are completely incompetent people who shouldnt have another dollars pay; you should be paid three times as much. Butas you wish. I will only advise you to keep your private notes very secure. They could easily be of great value to you later. And now lets go and wake these illustrious gentlemen.

He rose and made a lot of noise. The gentlemen came out from behind the bushes, bleary eyed and bewildered. Bancroft wanted to rant and rave about having been disturbed in his sleep, but turned polite when I informed him that Mr White from the section ahead of us had arrived. The two had never met before. The first thing he did was to offer White a shot of whiskey; but he barked up the wrong three

Winnetou I [35]

with that. White used the offer immediately as the starting point for a lecture like Bancroft would not have experienced before. He listened to it for a while, speechless from astonishment, and then lunged at White, grabbed his arm and shouted at him:

Mister, tell me your name again? White; you heard it before. And what are you? Chief engineer of the next section. Does anyone from here give any orders there? I dont think so, no. Alright then! My names Bancroft and I am the chief

engineer of this section. Nobody is going to give me any orders, least of all you, Mr White.

Thats correct, were on the same level of authority, White calmly responded. Neither of us is required to accept orders from the other. But when one sees that the other is acting to the detriment of the undertaking for which both are working, it is his duty to make the other aware of his mistakes. Your lifes purpose seems to be inside the whiskey barrel. Im counting sixteen people here who were all drunk when I arrived here two hours ago, and so

Two hours ago? Bancroft cut him short. Youve been here for that long?

Indeed. Ive checked the survey results and found out who drew them up. Youve had a cushy life while one single man from your team, and the youngest at that, has been doing all the work!

Bancroft spun around and hissed at me: You said that, you and nobody else! Deny it you

miserable liar, you despicable traitor! No, White responded. Your young colleague is a

gentleman and has only spoken well of you. He protected you and Id advise you to apologize to him for calling him a liar and a traitor.

Apologize? Wouldnt think of it! Bancroft sneered. This greenhorn doesnt know how to differentiate between a triangle and a square and yet imagines that hes a surveyor. We havent progressed because he did everything backward

[36] Marlies Bugmann

and held us up and now, instead of admitting to it, he denounces and slanders

He didnt get any further. I had been patient for months and let them think about me whatever they wanted. The moment had come for me to show them how wrong they had been about me. I grabbed Bancrofts arm, squeezed it so that he couldnt finish his sentence because of the pain and said:

Mr Bancroft, youve had too much whiskey and havent quite slept it off yet. Im assuming that youre still drunk and will pretend you didnt say a thing.

Me? Drunk? Youre mad! he retorted. Undeniably drunk! Because if I knew you were sober

and hurled such abuse at me with intent, I would be forced to knock you down like a brat. Understood? Do you still feel you have to deny your inebriation?

I kept a grip on his arm. It certainly hadnt occurred to him that he might ever have reason to be afraid of me; but he was afraid then; it was obvious. He wasnt a weak man by any means; but the expression on my face seemed to shock him. He didnt want to say that he was still drunk, but also didnt dare to maintain his accusations; hence he turned to the head of the twelve Westerners who had been assigned to us for assistance:

Mr Rattler, are you tolerating this person attacking me? Arent you here to protect us?

Rattler was a tall, broad-shouldered fellow who seemed to have the strength of three or four people, a ruffian and at the same time Bancrofts favourite drinking buddy. He couldnt stand me and was delighted about having the opportunity to air his grievances against me. He quickly approached, grabbed my arm in the same manner I held Bancrofts, and replied:

No, I cant tolerate that, Mr Bancroft. The kid hasnt even worn out his first stockings and attempts to threaten adults with slanderous accusations. Take your hand off Mr Bancroft, you brat, or Ill show you what sort of greenhorn you are!

The warning was meant for me. He shook my arm as he spoke. I liked that better because he was a stronger opponent

Winnetou I [37]

compared to the chief engineer. If I taught him some manners it would have an even greater impact than if I showed Bancroft I wasnt a coward. I tore my arm from his grip and retorted:

I am a brat, a greenhorn? Retract it immediately, Mr Rattler, or Ill knock you down!

You knock me down? he laughed. This greenhorn is really stupid enough to believe that

He couldnt continue because I punched him in the temple so hard that he collapsed like a sack of potatoes and remained on the ground unconscious. There was dead silence for a few short moments; then one of Rattlers comrades shouted:

Hell! Are we just going to watch while this jumped-up Dutchman punches our boss? Lets get the scoundrel!

He lunged at me. I received him with a kick in the solar plexus. Thats a sure way of downing an opponent, but one has to be well balanced on the other leg. The fellow crashed to the ground. Not a moment later I knelt on top of him and delivered the knockout blow to his temple. Then, I swiftly rose, pulled both revolvers from the belt and warned:

Anyone else? Let him come! Rattlers entire gang was probably itching to avenge the

defeat of their two comrades. They looked at each other. But I warned:

Listen up, people: Anyone who takes one step in my direction, or reaches for a weapon, will get a bullet in his head! You can think what you like about greenhorns in general; but Ill demonstrate to you that a German greenhorn can easily tackle twelve so-called Westerners of your ilk!

Sam Hawkens came to my side: And I, Sam Hawkens, am also warninya, if Im not

mistaken. This young German greenhorn is under my very special protection. Ill shoot a hole through the first one of you lot who tries to touch a single hair on him. Im dead serious; mark my words, hihihi!

Dick Stone and Will Parker thought it was prudent for them to also flank me, an indication that they agreed with Sam. That impressed the antagonists. They turned away from

[38] Marlies Bugmann

me amid suppressed cusses and threats and turned their attention to reviving the two men on the ground.

Bancroft thought the smartest thing to do was to return to his tent and disappear from view. White stared at me, shook his head and expressed his genuine astonishment:

But, sir, thats dreadful! I wouldnt want to get on the wrong side of you. We should really call you Shatterhand because youve knocked a man as tall and strong as a tree out with a single punch. Ive never seen a thing like it.

That suggestion seemed to meet with Hawkens approval. He cheerfully chuckled:

Shatterhand, hihihi! Still a greenhorn and already got himself a prairie name, and one suchlike to boot! Indeed, when Sam Hawkens has his eyes on a greenhorn hell amount to somethin, if Im not mistaken. Shatterhand, Old Shatterhand! Just like Old Firehand, another Westerner, strong like a bear. What dya say to that name, Dick, Will?

I didnt get to hear their response because White took me aside and said:

I like you, sir. Would you like to join my team? Whether Id like to or not, Mr White, I cant. Why not? Because my duty keeps me here. Pshaw! Ill shoulder that responsibility. Thats no good to me if I cant justify it myself. Ive

been sent here to help survey this section and cant leave because were not finished yet.

Bancroft will complete it with the other three surveyors.

Yes, but when and how? No, I must stay. But consider how dangerous this is for you! Why? You have to ask? You must realize that youve made

mortal enemies of these people. I havent. I didnt do anything to them. Thats true, or rather it was, until now. Youve knocked

out two of them, it is over between you and them. Maybe so; Im not afraid of them. And Im bound to

have earned myself some respect especially with those two

Winnetou I [39]

punches; I dont think any of em will dare to come near me. Besides, Hawkens, Stone and Parker are on my side.

As you wish. Each to his own, you must know whats good for you. You would have been very useful to me. But youll at least ride with me part of the way, wont you?

When? Now. Youre departing already, Mr White? Yes, the situation here isnt exactly to my liking and I

dont feel like staying any longer than I really have to. But youll have to eat something before you head off,

sir? Thats not necessary. Weve got everything we need in

our saddlebags. Dont you want to say farewell to Bancroft? I dont care to. But youve come here to discuss business with him! Indeed. But I can tell you just as well. Youll have more

common sense than him in any case. I wanted to warn him about Red Indians above all.

Have you seen any? Not directly, only their tracks. Now is the season when

the wild mustangs and bison migrate south; the Indians leave their villages to hunt and make meat. The Kiowa dont pose a threat because weve come to an agreement with them in respect of the railroad; the Comanche and Apache know nothing of it as yet, therefore, we have to stay out of sight. As far as Im concerned, Ive finished work on my section and will leave the region. See to it that you finish yours as well! This area is becoming increasingly dangerous for you with each day. Saddle your horse and ask Sam Hawkens if he wants to come along.

Naturally, Sam didnt say no to a short ride. I had really planned to work that day. But it was Sunday,

the Lords day when every Christian, even in the wilderness, ought to reflect upon his spiritual duties. In addition, I deserved a day of rest. I went to Bancrofts tent and told him that I wasnt going to work and, instead, was going to accompany White part of the way, together with Hawkens.

[40] Marlies Bugmann

Go in the name of the devil, I hope hell break your necks! he replied. I didnt imagine that the uncouth wish would almost come true.

I hadnt been out riding for a few days and my roan cheerfully neighed when I saddled up. He proved to be an outstanding horse and I was looking forward to telling Henry, my old friend the gunsmith.

We rode out into the beautiful autumn morning, spoke about the planned grand railroad venture and anything else on our minds. White gave me the necessary hints in respect of connecting to his section, and at midday we stopped at a watercourse to have a frugal lunch. Then, White continued on with his scout, while Sam and I stretched out a little longer, chatting about things of a religious nature.

Despite his appearance to the contrary he was a very devout man.

We were making ready to mount up and head back. I bent down to scoop some water for a drink, when I spotted a depression on the bottom of the crystal clear brook that seemed to have been made by a foot. Naturally, I alerted Sam. He closely inspected the print and then said:

Mr White was quite right to warn us about Indians. Do you think that the imprint was made by an Indian? Yes, wearing moccasins. Does that give you a strange

feelin, sir? Not at all. Eh! You must think or feel somethin no? What should I think, other than a Red Indians been

here? Then youre not afraid? Wouldnt think of it! At least worry? Not either. You dont know them! I hope to get to know them. I expect them to be just like

other people, thats to say, the enemies of your enemies and the friends of your friends. And since it isnt my intention to treat them with enmity, I assume that I dont have to fear them.

Winnetou I [41]

Youre the eternal greenhorn. Doesnt matter how you intend to treat the Indians, itll always turn out differently. Events arent determined by your intentions. Youll find out and I can only hope that the experience wont cost you a piece of your own hide or even your life.

When would these Indians have been here? About two days ago. We would otherwise see the tracks

in the grass here had it not straightened up again in the meantime.

A scout probably? Scouting for buffalo meat, yes. The tribes are at peace,

therefore, it couldnt have been a war scout. The young fellow was extremely careless.

Why young? An experienced warrior doesnt leave a print in shallow

water where the tracks are going to be visible for a long time in the soft ground. Such a mistake could only have been made by a numbskull, a red greenhorn like you are a white greenhorn, hihihi. And white greenhorns are usually much dumber than red ones. Mark my words, sir!

He quietly chuckled to himself and then climbed onto his horse. Dear old Sam loved to express his affection by explaining to me how dumb I was.

We could have returned by the same route we had come; but as a surveyor it was my job to explore the terrain; hence we deviated a stretch and then turned parallel.

By doing that, we came to a fairly broad valley that carried lush grass; the surrounding slopes carried scrub along the bottom and forest higher up. The valley was perhaps half an hour long and straight enough to see from one end to the other. We had only advanced a few steps into the friendly depression when Sam stopped his horse and attentively looked ahead.

Hey-ho! he uttered. There they are! Yes indeed, thats them, the very first ones!

What? I asked. What? he repeated while he nervously shifted about in

his saddle. Shame on you for such a question. Ah, right, youre a greenhorn and a great one at that! Fellows like you

[42] Marlies Bugmann

cant see a thing even with their eyes open. Please be so kind, my dearest sir, and take a guess at what kinda things your beautiful eyes can see out there!

Guess? Hm! I would say theyre deer, if I didnt know that they only formed herds of no more than ten individuals. I also must consider the distance and as small as those animals seem to be from here, they must be significantly larger than deer.

Deer, hihihi! he laughed. Deer, up here, near the source of the Canadian! Thats another one of your masterpieces! But the other things you worked out werent so bad. Yes, they are much, much larger than deer!

You dont say, Sam, they wouldnt be buffalo? Naturally, buffalo! Theyre bison, genuine, true bison on

their migration, the first ones Ive spotted this season. Now you know that Mr White was right: bison and Indians. We only saw an Indian footprint; but the buffalo are here, life-size. What dya hafta say to that, eh, if Im not mistaken?

We must go there! Naturally! To observe them! Observe? Actually observe? he asked and gave me a

bewildered sideways look. Yes. Ive never seen a bison before and would really

like to eavesdrop on them. At that moment I only felt a zoological interest, which

was completely incomprehensible to short Sam. He clutched his hands together and remarked:

Eavesdrop, only eavesdrop. Just like a young lad who peers through the crack in the wall of the rabbit stall to listen in on the little bunnies! Oh, greenhorn, what do I have to put up with! Not observin and listenin, but a-huntin them I will, actually be huntin!

Today, on Sunday! That had slipped out unintentionally. He really got angry

about it and roused at me: Oh, shut up, why dont you! Whats a proper

frontiersman to ask about Sunday, if hes got the first buffalo before him! That means meat, understood, meat and then

Winnetou I [43]

some, if Im not mistaken! A piece of bison fillet is even more delicious than the heavenly Ambrosius or Ambrosianna or whatever the stuff was called the old Greeks lived on. I must have a buffalo fillet, even if I die in the process of getting it! The winds in our favour; thats good. Theres only sunshine on our northern side of the valley; theres shadows on the opposite slope. If we stay in it the animals wont detect us too soon. Come!

He checked the barrels of his Liddy and steered his horse towards the southern side of the valley. I followed his example and checked my bear killer. He noticed and stopped his horse immediately to ask:

Do you want to partake, sir? Naturally! Leave that be if you dont want to be trampled to mash

within a few minutes! A bison is no canary that sits on your finger and sings. Before you dare approach such dangerous game theres a bit more good and bad weather to cross them Rocky Mountains.

But all I want Shut up and do as youre told! he cut me short in a tone

of voice that he hadnt used against me before. I dont want your demise on my conscience, and youd be ridin into certain death. You can do as you like any other time; but I wont tolerate any backchat here!

Had there not been such a great understanding between us, I would have given him a strong retort, but as it was I shut up and slowly rode behind him in the shadow strip of the forest. Along the way he explained, in a milder tone:

There are twenty of them, as far as I can see. But wait until a thousand and more thunder across the prairie! In times gone-by Ive seen herds of over ten thousand. They were the staple food of the Indians; the Whites have taken it away from him. The red man cared for the game because it gave him food; he only killed enough for his needs. But the white man rampaged through the countless herds like a mad animal that keeps killing even after being satiated, only to spill blood. How long do you think it will take before theres no buffalo left, and after a short time no Indians either. God

[44] Marlies Bugmann

only knows! And its the same with the horse herds. There once were troops of a thousand mustangs and more. Now hunters get excited about being lucky to see a hundred in one go.

Meanwhile we had closed in on the bison to about four hundr