The Rose of Shiraz (cont’d – part 3)

The Rose of Shiraz (cont’d)

Furnishing the evidence that Old Shatterhand really is who he says he is – by means of the famous hunting blow, the punch that renders any enemy harmless.

~~~

Excerpt from: SavageTo Saint: The Karl May Story, Lulu.com

Jim Snuffle leapt up when he heard that and called out, “Old Shatterhand? Blimey! Then we have the honor of the most famous—”

His brother interrupted him.

“Nonsense! Don’t be fooled, old Jim! Have a close look at the man! He and Old Shatterhand! I know that you have eyes in your head as well!”

Jim followed his brother’s advice, looked me up and down, and then agreed with apparent disappointment. “Well, you’re right, old Tim; this man is no Old Shatterhand. What did I think? If he were Old Shatterhand, then a raccoon would be entitled to be a grizzly.”

While he said that and sat back down, I remarked, “Whether or not you believe me cannot change the truth.”

“Pshaw!” he laughed. “Your name is not Old Shatterhand. I know who and what you are.”

“Well, who?”

“You are a joker, a jester who wants to pull our legs. But you won’t have much success with that. I forgot that I know the famous hunter because of the surprise to hear the name Old Shatterhand.”

“Ah! You know him, Mr. Snuffle?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps in detail?”

“Of course not in very great detail. We’ve met him once at Fort Clark on the Missouri.”

“At Fort Clark? Could he really have been there once? I know nothing of it.”

“I can believe that, because I’m convinced that you know nothing of Old Shatterhand except for his name. I tell you, this hunter is as tall as a tree, incredibly broad-shouldered and wears a pitch-black beard that reaches to his chest. Before he and Winnetou became friends the Apache hit him over the head with the hatchet and the scar is still visible today.”

“A hatchet across the forehead? A tall, broad figure with long, black full beard? Hm! You have been led up the garden path there, Mr. Snuffle. Old Shatterhand has never been in Fort Clark. The description you just gave was the one that fits a trapper from Iowa by the name of Stoke who on several occasions pretended to be Old Shatterhand, until a stop was put to his game.”

“By whom?”

“By the real Old Shatterhand.”

“By you then?”

“Yes.”

“Ah! And how did that come about, sir? I’m truly curious to hear it.”

“It happened very smoothly and decisively. It wasn’t at Fort Clark, but Fort Randall, also on the Missouri. I rode in to replenish my ammunition and met a company of men in the store. They sat around him and eagerly listened to his lies. I asked whether he really was Old Shatterhand, and when he confirmed it, I explained to him that I was the only man with the right to carry this name. Then he called me a liar and I furnished the evidence that I spoke the truth.”

“What evidence?”

“My fist. I punched him in the head so that he collapsed immediately.”

More: Savage To Saint: The Karl May Story,Lulu.com

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