Shatterhand and the People

by BJ Holmes

  Shatterhand shrugged. ‘Roman Nose is noble and can weather such storms.’

  The chief nodded. ‘All the chiefs must be at talks. It is good that Red Cloud has returned. We will sit in council this very morning.’

  Naturally Shatterhand could not be party to the council so he made use of his time by tending to his horse in the corral.

  At the appointed time the chiefs gathered in their circle. Roman Nose welcomed the Crow chief whom Red Cloud had successfully brought to the encampment along with several hundred braves. After the new chief had taken up his position Roman Nose began the proceedings by officially informing the council of the white emissary. Dull Knife, chief of the Northern Cheyenne, interrupted the discourse by raising his hand. ‘Before we speak of these things there is an important matter to discuss.’

  ‘Let the mighty chief of our Northern brothers speak,’ Roman Nose said.

  ‘I speak for my brother chiefs who have concern. There is need to choose a second-in-command,’ Dull Knife proclaimed. ‘While Roman Nose was communing with his gods we were without a leader. Furthermore we have learned of the attack upon Roman Nose while he was with the water spirit. Such an attack has demonstrated the chiefs mortality. We must choose someone now, so that there will be no argument should it come to pass that we are without an overall leader at a critical time.’

  Roman Nose glanced at Red Cloud and caught the slight shake of his head. As leader of the Oglala Sioux, the largest contingent, Red Cloud was the natural choice but he was a forthright man with his own ideas and no wish to be hampered by the task of attempting a consensus. Action not politicking was his forte. ‘Hear this,’ Roman Nose said. ‘Should it be that the fortunes decree that I am unable to fulfill my duties, I commend to you the leadership and warrior skills of Cold-Mist-From-The-Mountain. It is my wish that he should be vice-chief of The People. Does that sit well in the hearts of the chiefs?’

  There were assorted grunts, not all of approval, but no chief felt strongly enough to raise his hand to speak against the Chis-Chis-Chash leader. Cold Mist lowered his head. ‘This is a great honor.’

  ‘And one that is deserved,’ Roman Nose endorsed. ‘Now for the business of the day,’ he continued. ‘We have in our midst an emissary from the Bluecoats. A party headed by Great Star Chief Sherman has been sent from Washington to talk of a treaty. First he wishes to know the terms that will satisfy us. What are the feelings of the chiefs in this matter?’

  ‘We have had treaties before,’ Dull Knife said, ‘and they have all been broken by the whites. Why should this be different?’

  ‘We cannot maintain this strength indefinitely.’ It was Spotted Tail of the Brule Sioux. ‘The water becomes undrinkable, fouled with human droppings.’

  ‘And the game is scarce,’ Pawnee Killer, the Oglala chief, added. ‘It is not the redman’s way to live in such numbers. We cannot maintain this camp of many-number warriors. We have to act soon, whether it is to make an all out attack upon the whites or strike a treaty with them.’

  The Sioux chief Standing Elk waved his hand. ‘Standing Elk agrees. There is much discord between the tribes. Clans that have warred against each other in their homelands are no brotherhood in this foreign pasture. The notion of one People is but a pipe dream of Roman Nose and Red Cloud. We should withdraw and each clan make its own peace with the Bluecoats.’

  Roman Nose was angry. ‘I have heard Standing Elk say those words many times. But such a course would lose the advantage we have in our present strength. As it is, the white man dare not move against us. And by our quick attacks we have him on the run from the Powder to the land of the Platte. Now is the time to fix an all-embracing treaty.’

  All eyes suddenly moved to Red Cloud who rose and folded his arms, chest out. ‘The Great Spirit raised both the white man and the Indian. I think he raised the Indian first. He raised me in this land and it belongs to me. The white man was raised over the great waters, and his land is over there. Since they crossed the sea, I have given them room. There are now white people all about me. I have but a small spot of land left. The Great Spirit told me to keep it.’

  As the Sioux leader sat down, Roman Nose raised his hand. ‘Let us first hear the words of the white emissary. I beg leave of the chiefs to allow him to enter the council. But he must not see the discord between us.’

  There were grunts of approval and Roman Nose clapped his hands to one of his attendants. Minutes later Shatterhand was ushered into the circle and, holding a large envelope, stood beside Roman Nose. ‘I bring the chiefs greetings from General Sherman and the peace commissioners,’ he said. His speaking in Cheyenne and then repeating the message in Sioux clearly impressed the listeners.

  ‘He brings with him a letter of credence from the white Star Chief,’ Roman Nose said.

  ‘Has it been examined and verified by the man Brent?’ Red Cloud asked.

  ‘It was inspected by Brent before it was brought hither,’ Roman Nose said, clapping his hands. The half-breed whose name had been mentioned moved into the circle and took the envelope. He opened it and drew out a letter. ‘It is written on paper bearing a government stamp,’ he said before beginning to read its contents. ‘This communication is entrusted to the hands of the man known to the redman as Shoh-tah-hay and to the white man as Shatterhand.’ Before he could continue a ripple broke out amongst the listeners.

  Red Cloud raised his hand and spoke. ‘There have been tales about a man called Shoh-tah-hay around the camp fires of my tribe for many years. The tales tell of the man fighting alongside the redman in the land of the desert in the days of legend. Surely this cannot be the same man? Such a man would be very old.’

  Shatterhand’s wizened features broke into further creases as he grinned and said in fluent Sioux with a chuckle, ‘I am not as young as I look, O chief.’

  Red Cloud’s face remained blank for a second then he laughed loudly. The others took their cue and joined in the laughter.

  George Brent raised the paper to indicate he would continue reading. ‘The blessing of the Great Spirit be upon Roman Nose and his fellow chiefs. I offer you greetings and gifts that we may talk and thereby bring the controversy which is at present between us to an end by honorable agreement.’

  ‘What gifts?’ Dull Knife asked.

  ‘I was set upon on my journey here,’ Shatterhand said. ‘I’m afraid the General’s peace gifts were stolen.’

  There were grumbles of disappointment amongst the chiefs.

  ‘Finally,’ Brent concluded, ‘the letter is signed: General William T. Sherman, United States Peace Commission.’

  Shatterhand raised his hand and Roman Nose nodded his permission to speak. ‘The Great Warrior Sherman sits in a council of his chiefs as does Roman Nose. He requests that you list your claims for him and them to think on. He wishes to know your grievances and complaints. He wishes you to speak fully and speak the whole truth. If any of the white man’s incursions into this land, their roads, their settlements, hurt you, then have it written on paper so that the whites may give them up or pay you for them. These are the words he has asked me to address to you.’

  ‘We accept your authenticity,’ Roman Nose said to Shatterhand after a pause. ‘The issues must be discussed further at council after the chiefs have had time to deliberate. Two days will be sufficient. We will give you our answer then. In the meantime we will suspend all attacks against our enemy.’

  ‘That will allow the whites to regroup,’ Cold-Mist countered. ‘We already have intelligence that white invaders are preparing to challenge on our eastern flank in Dakota and on the south along the Platte.’

  ‘What is a regrouping of their hundreds against our thousands?’ Roman Nose asked rhetorically. ‘Cannot two days be used to advantage, allowing our braves to rest?’ He noted the nods from other chiefs. ‘That is settled.’ He looked back at Shatterhand. ‘During that time you may rest in our lodges and eat of our food.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Shatterhand consid
ered using some time to exercise his horse but then realized it was not exactly judicious for a white to ride in the vicinity of a camp of hostile Indians at war with those of his color. Not all of the ten thousand would be aware of his special status. Later that morning he was grooming his mount in the common corral when he saw an Indian entering camp. The man was young but what aroused the frontiersman’s initial interest was the fact he was in the garb of an Apache. Shatterhand reacted as though he had seen a ghost. The young buck looked like a man whom Shatterhand had known in his younger days. The same square face, straight nose. The same stocky build, the same stumpy walk.

  Unable to believe his eyes, the white man ceased tending his horse and leant on the rough-and-ready greasewood fence to watch the man pass. The young brave looked tired. His pony looked even more so, hauling a travois loaded with a huge buffalo head and hide. Shatterhand shook his head and smiled in grim resignation at the tricks his mind played on him these days. Cruel tricks. That couldn’t be Winnetou. Winnetou had died in his arms many years before. Holle, he was going nuts in his old age.

  For a moment his mind went back to happier days: to Intschu-tschuna, to Winnetou and the fire that shone in his eyes; and to the fair Nscho-tschi, Spring Day. He sighed as he remembered her beauty. Briefly he recalled the smell of the Apache camp, so different to the smell around him now. He shrugged at the unkind way his brain had ambushed him into thinking the young brave that had passed was Winnetou. Still lost in reminiscing, he returned to the curry-combing of his mount.

  Pawnee Killer pulled back the hide door of Roman Nose’s lodge. ‘I have just received word from the camp police the Apache has returned.’

  The chief roused. ‘What? He dares to show his face again!’

  ‘He strides openly through the camp towards the lodge of Roman Nose.’

  The chief hauled himself to his feet and pulled his robe about him. ‘Arrest him. Bind him and bring him before me. There will be a meeting of the elders.’

  As he approached the Cheyenne sector of the camp Winnetou was stopped by Drying Grass and four of the tribe’s warriors. ‘Surrender your weapons,’ Drying Grass said.

  The Apache allowed the rein of his horse to be taken from him. ‘What means this? I come bearing a gift of great medicine for the chief of the Cheyenne. We were parted at the lake but I know he fares well. It was the first thing I asked a guard when approaching the encampment.’

  ‘You have brought shame upon your tribe,’ Drying Grass said, shaking his head. ‘You must make an account of yourself. As I have seen you do so before, you have acted upon the whims of a child.’

  Winnetou nodded as he handed over his knife, bow, arrows, axe. He understood. For whatever reason, it would be seen that he had, to all intents and purposes, deserted his post. He knew there had been trouble in his absence. He had found a body near the lake.

  He was taken to the center of the Cheyenne part of the camp and, with his hands bound behind him and looped around a thick post, made to sit with instruction not to speak. Many came to look and whisper behind hands. Braves, squaws, children. Amongst them was an old white man dressed in buckskins.

  Shatterhand looked at the young brave being taunted by children. He asked Drying Grass for the reason for the degradation and received the explanation. Then Shatterhand understood why he had previously found the young man familiar in feature and movement. He was the son of his old friend! He not only had the same facial characteristics but he bore the same name! For the old man it was once more to look at a face from the long-distant past. Much as he wanted to speak to the young man and despite his feelings, he knew Indian law to be strict and that there was nothing he could do. It was not possible to even speak to him, tell him who he was.

  ‘What will happen to him?’ he asked Drying Grass.

  ‘That will be the decision of the council of elders.’

  It was some half an hour later that the circle was in position outside Roman Nose’s lodge. The old chief raised his hand for his medicine man to begin the proceedings. ‘The Apache has committed the grave sin of deserting his chief,’ White Bull said. He may speak but once.’

  Winnetou was brought into the center of the circle to face Roman Nose. ‘O elders of the mighty Cheyenne,’ he said, slowly picking words from the tongue which was still strange to him, ‘I kept watch over Roman Nose on the Sacred Lake for three days without losing him from my sight. At night I built a large fire at the lakeside so that its light might throw itself across the water in order that I could see him. But let the elders know that ever since journeying to these northern climes I have felt shame that my tribe could not send warriors to fight in the cause of The People. And so it was, on the fourth day that the mightiest buffalo my eyes have ever seen came to my view. It was in my mind that such a hide would be a gift of great medicine for the mighty Cheyenne chief, Roman Nose. A present from the Apache and a spiritual object to add to the strength of my new master Roman Nose. The hide of the creature is on the travois for all to see.’

  ‘That is of no matter,’ White Bull said stiffly. ‘Reasons are of no import. The Apache left his station.’

  ‘I do not yet know what happened in my short absence from the lake,’ Winnetou said, ‘but I see the great Roman Nose sitting before me and I know the spirits have watched over him.’ He paused. ‘That is all I have to say.’

  There was low talk between the elders, then Roman Nose asked, ‘Was it not the terms of his coming to us that he be treated as a Cheyenne?’

  ‘That is so,’ Drying Grass answered. ‘From the lips of his own chief.’

  ‘Then he must submit to Cheyenne law,’ the chief said. ‘White Bull, you are the keeper of our ancestors’ words of which tribal law is made. What is the decreed punishment?’

  ‘He has committed grave offences, O chief, as a warrior not obeying an order and exposing his chief to possible death by the enemy. The offence is compounded by the fact that he acted as he did at a time when he had been entrusted with sole responsibility for the chiefs safety. In these circumstances there can only be one punishment. The same that must be undergone by any Cheyenne brave. In absenting his post he himself chose to forgo the role of warrior. So he ceases to have that status. The hand with which he wielded his axe as a warrior shall be itself severed by an axe.’

  Roman Nose looked around the circle of elders. One by one, heads nodded. ‘Then so be it,’ the chief said. ‘White Bull, arrange for the execution of the order. Appoint for the task that warrior amongst our clan who has counted most coup.’

  A flat rock was dragged into the circle and a painted brave stood by, hefting a heavy war axe. A large silent crowd had gathered at a respectful distance from the circle, its members craning their necks as Winnetou was unbound. He was ordered by White Bull to kneel and place his arm on the stone. He did so, White Bull gave the command and the warrior raised the axe.

  ‘Hold!’ Shatterhand shouted in Cheyenne, pushing into the circle.

  Roman Nose looked with annoyance in his direction, saw who it was and held up a hand to hold the action. ‘What is the cause of this interruption? Do not strain the hospitality that has been offered.’

  ‘Does Roman Nose give credence to the words of Shoh-tah-hay?’ the white man asked.

  At the sound of the name, Winnetou squinted to focus on the tall buckskin-clad stranger who dared to interrupt the ritual; for Shoh-tah-hay was a name he had heard many times at the knees of his clan’s story-tellers. Shoh-tay-hay, Shatterhand, a companion warrior to his own father.

  The chief was annoyed at the interruption and, worse, that it was perpetrated by a white man. But he spoke courteously. ‘Roman Nose grants that truth is on the tongue of Shoh-tah-hay. But for what reason has he become the intercessor between the raised axe and the execution of justice?’

  ‘You see with your own eyes how the noble Winnetou is willing to submit himself to the axe with the courage of any Cheyenne. He is worthy of his father’s name and of the title brave. But, is it not the law co
mmon to all clans of the redman that those in lineage to chiefdom cannot be judged in the ordinary way?’

  Roman Nose looked at White Bull for counsel. ‘That is indeed the case under Cheyenne custom,’ the medicine man said after some thought.

  ‘This Winnetou,’ Shatterhand said, ‘is in line for the chieftainship of his clan. He is of Apache royal blood. Custom decrees he enjoys more than the summary justice being dispensed here with the axe.’

  ‘Is the white eyes right in this matter?’ Roman Nose asked of his adviser.

  White Bull nodded. ‘He speaks rightly, chief.’

  ‘Then how shall we proceed?’ Roman Nose asked.

  Before White Bull could speak, Shatterhand said, ‘You offered me a boon, O chief, in repayment for the benefit done to your person during peril that befell you upon the Sacred Lake.’

  ‘That is so,’ Roman Nose said. ‘I did make such a promise. Many will have heard it.’

  ‘Well,’ the white man continued, ‘now is the time that I ask for that boon. And it is that you spare the Apache.’

  Roman Nose stood and folded his arms, then traversed the circle and exclaimed to the gathering, ‘Shoh-tah-hay has chosen his rightful boon, and though Roman Nose would rather he had asked for the wealth of horses, yet Roman Nose with honor may not refuse him.’ He turned to the white man. ‘So be it, mighty Shoh-tah-hay. Take this Apache therefore to your keeping. Use him as your bond-slave, to be disposed of as you will.’

  ‘This servant understands the words of Roman Nose,’ Shatterhand said.

  The chief flicked a dismissive hand and Winnetou rose to join the white man. ‘When after sun-up Shoh-tah-hay returns with our words to Star Chief Sherman,’ he said firmly, ‘the Apache shall accompany him.’ His voice lowered and with more gravity added, ‘And let him consult his own safety and never appear in my presence more.’