The Son of Bear Hunter

By Karl May

Vohkadeh, the young Mandan, is galloping towards a blockhouse in the Black Hills to let Martin Baumann know that the Oglala had captured his father, Bear Hunter, and plan to execute him at the next full moon. Martin, Shortleg Frank (Bear Hunter's business partner), Bob (their servant), Tubby Jemmy and Long Davy (the experienced Westerners) s

• Language: English
• Publisher: CTPDC Publishing Limited
• Release date: Dec 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781910472095

Karl May

Karl May wurde am 25. Februar 1842 als fünftes von vierzehn Kindern einer bitterarmen Weberfamilie in Hohenstein-Ernstthal in Sachsen geboren. Ein durch Not und Elend bedingter Vitaminmangel verursachte eine funktionelle Blindheit, die erst in seinem fünften Lebensjahr geheilt wurde. Nach der Schulzeit studierte May als Proseminarist an den Lehrerseminaren Waldenburg und Plauen. Seine Karriere als Lehrer endete bereits nach vierzehn Tagen, als die Anzeige durch einen Zimmergenossen wegen angeblichen Diebstahls einer Taschenuhr zu einer Verurteilung führte und May aus der Liste der Lehramtskandidaten gestrichen wurde. In der Folge geriet er auf die schiefe Bahn und verbüßte wegen Diebstahls, Betrug und Hochstapelei mehrere Haftstrafen. Von 1870 bis 1874 saß er im Zuchthaus Waldheim. Nach seiner Entlassung wurde er im Alter von 32 Jahren Redakteur einer Zeitschrift und begann Heimaterzählungen und Abenteuergeschichten zu schreiben. Sein stetes literarisches Schaffen war ungewöhnlich erfolgreich und machte ihn bald zum bedeutendsten Autor von Kolportageromanen und Trivialliteratur des 19. Jahrhunderts in Deutschland. Seine Abenteuerromane, die an exotischen Schauplätzen im Wilden Westen und im Orient spielen, wurden in 33 Sprachen übersetzt. Durch seine archetypischen Wildwest-Helden Winnetou und Old Shatterhand erlangte Karl May literarische Unsterblichkeit und wurde zum meistgelesenen Autor deutscher Sprache. Mays letztes Lebensjahrzehnt war von einer beispiellosen Hetze wegen seiner früheren Straftaten und vermeintlicher Unsittlichkeiten in seinen Kolportageromanen überschattet. Zermürbende Verleumdungs- und Urheberrechtsprozesse, in die er sich verstrickte, vermochten seinen tief verwurzelten christlichen Glauben, von dem sein literarisches Werk von Anfang an durchdrungen ist, aber nicht zu erschüttern. Mit den letzten beiden Bänden des Romans Im Reiche des silbernen Löwen und seinem dem Surrealismus nahestehende Symbolroman Ardistan und Dschinnistan schuf er in seinen letzten Jahren ein heute literarisch hochgeachtetes mystisches Spätwerk. Jubelnde Anerkennung erlebte er am 22. März 1912, als er auf Einladung des Akademischen Verbands für Literatur und Musik in Wien einen Vortrag Empor ins Reich der Edelmenschen hielt. Eine Woche später, am 30. März 1912, starb Karl May in seiner Villa Shatterhand in Radebeul bei Dresden an Herzversagen.

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CTPDC Publishing Limited

28 Ashfield Road, Liverpool, L17 0BZ, United Kingdom

Translation and editorial material copyright M. A. Thomas 2014

Cover illustration A Chief - Chukchansi Yokuts by Edward S. Curtis, Library of Congress Prints and Photographic Division, Edward S. Curtis Collection LC-USZ62-130202

All rights reserved.

THE TRANSLATOR’S FOREWORD

Karl May was born in 1842, and in over 35 years he wrote a huge number of adventure stories. His popularity has been unbroken in many countries around the world, especially among the youth. This is in spite of his misfortune that Hitler named him as his favourite writer.

He wrote his books in the style of village story tellers. A focus is on the adventures, and nothing restricts the flight of fantasy. There is no fully developed story line in May’s Western books: it is the series of escapades that give the impression of fullness. The characters in his books do not change as the plot develops, and there is very little analysis of the psychology of his heroes. Yet, in spite of these literary shortcomings, the popularity of his books has not suffered.

This enduring popularity, apart from the dare-devil adventures, could partly be explained by the basic moral foundation. In the world of May’s books the good and the evil struggle with each other, and the good always wins even if the positive heroes sometimes have to pay a heavy price for their victory. This moral stance and the adventure are united in the heroes. The positive heroes are men who have no shortcomings. They are not only just and honest people, who are ready to act for justice, but also strong and clever men, who can shoot and ride as nobody else. The evil is represented by villains who are overpowered by their own wickedness, and defeated by the heroes at the end.

The aim of this English translation was to retain these characteristics, while modernising the style, and editing parts that were erroneous or could evoke bad associations. Therefore, this English translation is an unabridged, but edited version of The Son of Bear Hunter.

As to the style, the editing involved some minor structural changes. May often used extremely long dialogues to carry the story forward. Without changing the content, these were made more concise, or were replaced by summarising paragraphs. Interjections (e.g. said, asked, etc.) were also introduced where appropriate. In some cases descriptive paragraphs were transformed into dialogues.

Two important characters' names were changed in this translation. May called Frank Hobble Frank, which is fine, but it does not give the picture of the man for an English-speaking audience as Frank does not hobble, but he limps. However, I could not see limping as a friendly nickname, and Frank certainly deserved one. Thus he is called Shortleg Frank in this book.

The naming of the Shoshone chief was more complicated. The original, journal version of The Son of Bear Hunter called him Tokvi-Tey, while the book version Oytka-Petay (which, in the journal version, is the name of the Oglala chief whose duel with Old Shatterhand triggered the whole story). As I followed the structure of the journal version in breaking up the text to chapters, I chose Tokvi-Tey to be the name of the Shoshone chief.

Geographic names were changed in the last chapter. The scene is the Yellowstone National Park. By the time May wrote his book, there were many reports (both scientific and travellers’ reports) about it, and May clearly used them (even if he exaggerated some descriptions). However, some of the geographic names have changed over the last almost 150 years, and May also added his own names. In this translation, the names follow the now accepted convictions, and the most likely candidates of places that May named in his own way were identified.

In this book there are fewer ethnographic errors than in May's other Westerns. One ethnographic error could not be removed, namely, Mo-haw's elevated role. The Shoshone lived in a strict matrilineal society, thus the Shoshone chief and his son would have belonged to two different clans.

The editing of sensitive issues, words, and passages that could be perceived as insulting to nations or races, involved different tasks.

Comments that could be perceived as prejudicial or racist were deleted. However, it was impossible to fully achieve this about the Oglala in this book. They are described in a particularly bad light. These were toned down as much as possible without breaking the story line.

Dealing with Bob, the black servant, was more difficult. His role is mainly comical, although also heroic in the last chapter. Still, there was a possibility for misunderstandings (May was not racist, and considering the era, when he wrote, he could be considered progressive). To address this, two editing measures were done. Firstly, in this translation Bob speaks proper English. There is no reason to assume that he would speak broken English. Moreover, it is highly likely that Bob was able to speak German, as his masters were Germans. Secondly, Bob's skin colour is mentioned only when it is absolutely necessary. With this, his behaviour is attributed to his personality, and not to his race (he wants to become a hero, he wants to be admired for his skills, he is faithful and committed to his friends which sometimes obstructs him from being reflective, he likes his stomach, etc.).

Finally, the translation largely follows the book version, but some passages that were cut out from this were lifted back using the journal version. However, Shortleg Frank's parts in dialogues were shortened, because he often expresses his wisdom in a way that would require from the reader to have an understanding of the regional differences of the 19th century Germany, and also the particularities of Frank's dialect. In addition, some of the jokes emerge from Frank's confusing foreign words. Without explanations, these jokes would have been inaccessible for the English-speaking reader, and these would have detracted from the story.

I believe that with these changes the core of May’s world, the action, the adventure, the dreaming of heroic deeds, and the struggle for justice have become more emphasised, and more accessible for the reader.

M. A. Thomas

VOHKADEH

Slightly to the West of the area where the straight borders of Dakota, Nebraska, and Wyoming meet two men rode in step on the prairie. They were strange people. One was a six foot tall, extremely lean man, the other was short, and stout. However, their heads were exactly at the same height when they rode because the stout rode on a very tall, strong boned grey horse, while the tall man on a small mule. The legs of the stout barely reached the stomach of the horse, while the tall man’s legs almost reached the ground. It must have been easy for him to get on his animal.

Their saddles were not saddles. The stout man simply tied a wolf hide on his horse, while the tall one simply wrapped up some ragged blanket to serve as a saddle.

The way in which these two men dressed would have called attention even in the West.

The leather trousers of the tall man were already short when he had bought them, but during the years of cold, warm, rain, and drought they had shrunk so much that they did not reach even his knees. Their colour, and shine were mysterious for the simple reason that the owner used them as towel, and serviette.

His shoes were probably made before the Deluge by a shoemaker who could make guaranteed waterproof shoes, but during the generations so many patches were sawn on the shoes that their original leather became invisible. But they still served their purpose, and were rather colourful.

The lean, but muscular body of the rider was protected by a bison leather hunting shirt against the vicissitudes of the weather, while a woollen scarf served as a guard around his long neck. It was impossible to say what the original colour of the scarf was, because blue, red, green, and yellow could all have been that.

The most astonishing part of the rider’s outfit was his hat. It must have been grey when it was new, and it was still recognisable. A grey top hat was high class at that time, and who knows in what way it got from a Lord in England, sinking lower, and lower on the social ladder, to the hands of Long Davy, the prairie hunter. Davy, while he had retained the elegance of the top hat, had cut off its rim all the way around, except for a small part in the front to protect his eyes. He had introduced other innovations. With his Bowie knife he had made a dozen holes in the material. The men of the prairie liked the fresh air, and Davy gave a free way to the breeze to his skull.

Instead of a belt, Long Davy wrapped a thick rope around his waist. In this two revolvers, and a Bowie knife was visible along with other important things, such as a bag of gunpowder, a bag for tobacco, a sewed cat hide that was good for storing flour to remain dry, a punk, the fire lighter of the prairie, and many other equipment. Among these, of course, a pipe. It had a huge head, but its stem which was made of wood was much weaker. It was weaker, because Davy chewed it when he ran out of tobacco.

Last but least, Davy had a Macintosh. A patent American rubber coat that could resist any kind of weather, except for the rain, because rain made it shrink. Once upon the time the coat had reached Davy’s knee, but now it reached only his waist. Thus it was unnecessary to put it on, and Davy wore it tied around his neck.

We must also mention his lasso which he wore over his left shoulder, and the right side of his waist. In the front of him a long-barrelled gun rested on the saddle.

His age was mysterious. There were thousands of small wrinkles on his lean face, yet it was youthful. As if joyful little devils had looked out of these wrinkles, ready for any joke. He shaved his face every morning, even in the most difficult circumstances which showed his bravery, and announced, Even if the wind blows, and a thousand tomahawks fall from the sky, my face is well groomed!

His large, light blue eyes were sharp like that of the seaman or the habitants of the infinite plains. Eyes that were attentive, cold, but faithful, calm, and childish.

His mule, in turn, looked small, but it was strong, and enduring. It carried his heavy, bony master easily, and could gallop very fast. But it happened that it evaluated the situation from his master, and at those times Davy had to persuade the stubborn animal with the pressure of his thighs. He would not exchange his mule for any horse. The walk of the mule is more secure especially on a bad terrain, and mountain paths.

It is time now to talk about the other hunter, the stout man. The first attractive thing on him was his fur coat. The origins of the fur coat disappeared in the mist of time. Its fur had dropped, and there was barely any fur left except for tufts here and there. The Sun was hot, but the rider still wore the fur coat. This was especially strange, because the man wore a Panama hat. It was so big that his head almost disappeared in it.

What was visible of his face showed, that it was a rosy cheeked, fatty, and completely hairless one. His small stub nose disappeared into this face, just as did his small, twinkling black eyes. But this face, this nose, and eyes attracted trust. You can see that I’m an excellent guy! Don’t be afraid of me. I don’t give in to challenge, but I’m friendly, because I like the world, and humans!

His equipment was similar to Davy’s, except that he had a belt, and a tomahawk. He kept his lasso, and his Kentucky gun on his saddle.

Who were these two men? The tall man was a true Yankee, David Croner, but everybody knew him as Long Davy. His friend, the stout rider, was born in Germany. His name was Jakob Pfefferkorn. He moved to the United States in his teens, and became known as Tubby Jemmy. He became Jemmy, because the German Jakob is James, and from this it was shortened to Jemmy.

These were, not their real names, by which they were known from New York to San Francisco, from Canada to Mexico. There was no hunter or settler who had not heard of the deeds of Davy, and Jemmy, even though in the infinite forests, and prairies such a respect was difficult to achieve.

Davy, and Jemmy were inseparable. If Davy turned up at a camp fire, people were looking around for Jemmy. If Jemmy entered a store to buy tobacco or gun powder, the first question was not what he wanted, but Where’s Davy?

Their animals stayed together also. Even if the bony, grey horse was thirsty, it did not hurry to quench his thirst at a stream, but waited for the arrival of the small mule, and together they put their muzzle in the water. If the mule found lush grass on a clearance, it called the horse loudly. In danger they helped each other with kicks, and bites. The two men, and the two animals belonged to each other, and could read each other’s thoughts. Even if they occasionally argued, it did not last long.

Now they rode happily to the North. The day started well. The morning had given good grass, and fresh water to the animals, and the two hunters had killed a young deer, whose leg they had roasted, and eaten. Now the grey horse carried the remaining meat. They had enough food for some days.

The hours passed quickly. It was afternoon. It was very hot, but not unbearable, because of the refreshing breeze, and the scent of the flowery grass. The autumn was approaching, but the grass was still green, without yellow or barren spots. In the distance a mountain rose up. The rays of the Sun illuminated the mountain tops, while on the East the shadows developed quickly.

‘How far are we riding today, Davy?’ asked Tubby, after many hours of silence.

‘Until we stop,’ Davy pouted his lips.

They rode in silence again. Jemmy did not want to give an opportunity to his friend for another victory. He glanced at him several times, and waited for Davy to break the silence. This is what happened. Long Davy felt that the quietness lasted too long. He pointed to the North with his right hand, and asked, ‘Do you know this area?’

‘Like the back of my hand.’

‘Then tell me where we are.’

‘In America,’ said Jemmy immediately with superiority in his voice.

Davy pulled his long legs under the belly of the mule, and waved angrily.

‘Porky,’ he said contemptuously, ‘you are wicked.’

‘I? Wicked? Why?’

‘Because you are vengeful!’

‘Not at all! I asked you something, and you gave a sharp answer. I have the right to be just as witty.’

‘Witty?’ Davy pulled his lips. ‘You, and wit! You are nothing but fat! There’s no room for wit!’

‘What? You forgot what I’ve done back in Europe?’

‘Why are you boasting about your one grammar school year? You mention it at least thirty times a day!’

‘I have to: you did only one class.’

‘Three!’

‘And why didn’t you continue? Were you kicked out?’

‘No! Just the family couldn’t put down the tuition fee. I had enough brain! But I understood well what you asked me about this area. It was behind those heights where we first met.’

‘Yeah, it was a bad day. I didn’t have any ammunition left, and the Sioux chased me. They captured me, but fortunately you came in the evening.’

‘Yes they made a huge fire that I could have seen from Canada. I sneaked up, and saw five Sioux tying up a white man. I shot two, and three escaped, because they didn’t know how many were aiming at them., and so you became free.’

‘I became free, but angry with you.’

‘Yes, I remember! Because I only wounded the redskins. But the Indians are also human beings, and I don’t kill them unless it’s necessary.’ He remained silent for a moment, and then exclaimed, ‘Look! What’s that?’

He stopped his horse, and pointed at a cliff. There was a dark line by the leg of this cliff. Davy stopped his mule, put his hand above his eyes, and leant forward.

‘Looks like a track of a horse,’ he said musing.

‘It seems to me too,’ replied Jemmy. ‘Come on, let’s investigate it.’

‘Indeed, we must,’ nodded Davy. ‘We must check it if we value our life. We have to know who’s in front of us, and behind us.’

They rode to the cliff, and looked at the track. Finally Jemmy jumped off his horse, and knelt down. His horse stood quietly, and looked so cleverly at his master as if he knew what it was about. The mule also stopped, and stared at the track.

‘So?’ asked Davy a bit impatiently when the investigation lasted too long. ‘Did you find out something?’

‘I did,’ replied Jemmy. ‘An Indian rode here.’

‘An Indian? But this area doesn’t belong to any of the tribes. Maybe it’s a white man.’

Jemmy shook his head musing, and followed the track for fifty steps.

‘No, no!’ he shouted back. ‘It was an unshod horse, so an Indian one. It was tired, yet it had to gallop. It’s master urged him.’

For this Davy also got off his mule, and hurried after his friend. The two animals followed them.

‘You are right,’ said Davy leaning forward. ‘The horse was tired, because it was stumbling. Its master had to have a reason. Either he was chased or he had some terribly important business.’

‘It had to be the latter,’ stated Jemmy. ‘I don’t think he was chased.’

‘Why?’

‘How old is this track?’ asked Jemmy instead of an answer.

‘Very fresh. Not older than two hours.’

‘I agree. But where are the tracks of the chasers? Anyone having a two-hour advantage wouldn’t be a fool to chase his horse to death. He could have erased his tracks. This is a rocky ground, by riding in an arc, he could have got rid of the pursuers.’

‘You are right, ten minutes would have been enough to me.’

‘So he wasn’t pursued, he only wanted to get to his destination quickly.’

‘Where could it be?’

‘I don’t know, but it cannot be far.’

Davy looked at him surprised.

‘How do you know this?’ he asked.

Jemmy pointed at his head, and said, ‘From here. You must think!’

‘And what did you think?’

‘That if the target was only one day’s riding, he would not have spurred his horse so much, because he would have known that his horse would have collapsed before that. So the goal wasn’t that far.’

‘You could be right,’ said Davy, and scratched his head under the top hat.

‘That’s good of you. Maybe this Indian was a messenger with some extremely important news. I have to draw a very unpleasant conclusion from this.’

‘Yes?’ asked Davy a bit teasingly.

‘That there are Indians around.’

Davy’s face suddenly became stern. He even whistled. ‘It could be that there are Indians in front of us, and behind us. I wouldn’t like to sacrifice my scalp!’

‘I have to admit, I agree with you,’ said Jemmy. ‘So, let’s follow this track very carefully. We may learn something. For the time being we have the advantage, because they don’t know about us, and we know about them.’

‘I wonder what tribe they belong to,’ hummed Davy.

‘It’s difficult. In the North, in Montana, there are the Blackfeet, and the Piegan Blackfeet, but they won’t come down thus far. In the Missouri bend there are the Aricara, but they wouldn’t travel this far. Sioux? … It’s possible but as far as I know they aren’t on the warpath.’

‘Me neither.’

Well, let’s just follow the track. If we don’t make a stupid mistake, like you did the last time, we will be fine. Come on!’

They got on the animals again, and followed the