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Tom Sawyer Detective
By
Mark Twain
Contents
CHAPTER
I. AN INVITATION FOR TOM AND HUCK.
CHAPTER
III. A DIAMOND ROBBERY
CHAPTER
IV. THE THREE SLEEPERS
CHAPTER
V. A TRAGEDY IN THE WOODS
CHAPTER
VI. PLANS TO SECURE THE DIAMONDS.
CHAPTER
VIII. TALKING WITH THE GHOST
CHAPTER
IX. FINDING OF JUBITER DUNLAP
CHAPTER
X. THE ARREST OF UNCLE SILAS
CHAPTER
XI. TOM SAWYER DISCOVERS THE MURDERERS.
[Note: Strange as the incidents of t=
his
story are, they are not invent=
ions,
but facts--even to the public confession of the accused. I take them from an old-time Swedish criminal trial, change the actors, a=
nd
transfer the scenes to America=
. I have added some details, but only a c=
ouple
of them are important ones. --=
M.
T.]
WELL, it was the next spring after me and Tom
Sawyer set our old nigger Jim free, the time he was chained up for a runaway
slave down there on Tom's uncle Silas's farm in Arkansaw. The frost was wor=
king
out of the ground, and out of the air, too, and it was getting closer and
closer onto barefoot time every day; and next it would be marble time, and =
next
mumbletypeg, and next tops and hoops, and next kites, and then right away it
would be summer and going in a-swimming. It just makes a boy homesick to lo=
ok
ahead like that and see how far off summer is. Yes, and it sets him to sigh=
ing
and saddening around, and there's something the matter with him, he don't k=
now
what. But anyway, he gets out by himself and mopes and thinks; and mostly he
hunts for a lonesome place high up on the hill in the edge of the woods, and
sets there and looks away off on the big Mississippi down there a-reaching
miles and miles around the points where the timber looks smoky and dim it's=
so
far off and still, and everything's so solemn it seems like everybody you've
loved is dead and gone, and you 'most wish you was dead and gone too, and d=
one
with it all.
Don't you know what that is? It's spring fever.
That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want--oh, you d=
on't
quite know what it is you DO want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache,
you want it so! It seems to you that mainly what you want is to get away; g=
et
away from the same old tedious things you're so used to seeing and so tired=
of,
and set something new. That is the idea; you want to go and be a wanderer; =
you
want to go wandering far away to strange countries where everything is
mysterious and wonderful and romantic. And if you can't do that, you'll put=
up
with considerable less; you'll go anywhere you CAN go, just so as to get aw=
ay,
and be thankful of the chance, too.
Well, me and Tom Sawyer had the spring fever, =
and
had it bad, too; but it warn't any use to think about Tom trying to get awa=
y,
because, as he said, his Aunt Polly wouldn't let him quit school and go
traipsing off somers wasting time; so we was pretty blue. We was setting on=
the
front steps one day about sundown talking this way, when out comes his aunt=
Polly
with a letter in her hand and says:
"Tom, I reckon you've got to pack up and =
go
down to Arkansaw--your aunt Sally wants you."
I 'most jumped out of my skin for joy. I recko=
ned
Tom would fly at his aunt and hug her head off; but if you believe me he set
there like a rock, and never said a word. It made me fit to cry to see him =
act
so foolish, with such a noble chance as this opening up. Why, we might lose=
it
if he didn't speak up and show he was thankful and grateful. But he set the=
re
and studied and studied till I was that distressed I didn't know what to do;
then he says, very ca'm, and I could a shot him for it:
"Well," he says, "I'm right down
sorry, Aunt Polly, but I reckon I got to be excused--for the present."=
His aunt Polly was knocked so stupid and so ma=
d at
the cold impudence of it that she couldn't say a word for as much as a half=
a
minute, and this gave me a chance to nudge Tom and whisper:
"Ain't you got any sense? Sp'iling such a
noble chance as this and throwing it away?"
But he warn't disturbed. He mumbled back:
"Huck Finn, do you want me to let her SEE=
how
bad I want to go? Why, she'd begin to doubt, right away, and imagine a lot =
of
sicknesses and dangers and objections, and first you know she'd take it all
back. You lemme alone; I reckon I know how to work her."
Now I never would 'a' thought of that. But he =
was
right. Tom Sawyer was always right--the levelest head I ever see, and alway=
s AT
himself and ready for anything you might spring on him. By this time his au=
nt
Polly was all straight again, and she let fly. She says:
"You'll be excused! YOU will! Well, I nev=
er
heard the like of it in all my days! The idea of you talking like that to M=
E!
Now take yourself off and pack your traps; and if I hear another word out of
you about what you'll be excused from and what you won't, I lay I'LL excuse
you--with a hickory!"
She hit his head a thump with her thimble as we
dodged by, and he let on to be whimpering as we struck for the stairs. Up in
his room he hugged me, he was so out of his head for gladness because he was
going traveling. And he says:
"Before we get away she'll wish she hadn't
let me go, but she won't know any way to get around it now. After what she's
said, her pride won't let her take it back."
Tom was packed in ten minutes, all except what=
his
aunt and Mary would finish up for him; then we waited ten more for her to g=
et
cooled down and sweet and gentle again; for Tom said it took her ten minute=
s to
unruffle in times when half of her feathers was up, but twenty when they was
all up, and this was one of the times when they was all up. Then we went do=
wn,
being in a sweat to know what the letter said.
She was setting there in a brown study, with it
laying in her lap. We set down, and she says:
"They're in considerable trouble down the=
re,
and they think you and Huck'll be a kind of diversion for them--'comfort,' =
they
say. Much of that they'll get out of you and Huck Finn, I reckon. There's a
neighbor named Brace Dunlap that's been wanting to marry their Benny for th=
ree months,
and at last they told him point blank and once for all, he COULDN'T; so he =
has
soured on them, and they're worried about it. I reckon he's somebody they t=
hink
they better be on the good side of, for they've tried to please him by hiri=
ng
his no-account brother to help on the farm when they can't hardly afford it,
and don't want him around anyhow. Who are the Dunlaps?"
"They live about a mile from Uncle Silas's
place, Aunt Polly--all the farmers live about a mile apart down there--and
Brace Dunlap is a long sight richer than any of the others, and owns a whole
grist of niggers. He's a widower, thirty-six years old, without any childre=
n,
and is proud of his money and overbearing, and everybody is a little afraid=
of
him. I judge he thought he could have any girl he wanted, just for the aski=
ng, and
it must have set him back a good deal when he found he couldn't get Benny. =
Why,
Benny's only half as old as he is, and just as sweet and lovely as--well, y=
ou've
seen her. Poor old Uncle Silas--why, it's pitiful, him trying to curry favor
that way--so hard pushed and poor, and yet hiring that useless Jubiter Dunl=
ap
to please his ornery brother."
"What a name--Jubiter! Where'd he get
it?"
"It's only just a nickname. I reckon they=
've
forgot his real name long before this. He's twenty-seven, now, and has had =
it
ever since the first time he ever went in swimming. The school teacher seen=
a
round brown mole the size of a dime on his left leg above his knee, and fou=
r little
bits of moles around it, when he was naked, and he said it minded him of
Jubiter and his moons; and the children thought it was funny, and so they g=
ot
to calling him Jubiter, and he's Jubiter yet. He's tall, and lazy, and sly,=
and
sneaky, and ruther cowardly, too, but kind of good-natured, and wears long
brown hair and no beard, and hasn't got a cent, and Brace boards him for
nothing, and gives him his old clothes to wear, and despises him. Jubiter i=
s a
twin."
"What's t'other twin like?"
"Just exactly like Jubiter--so they say; =
used
to was, anyway, but he hain't been seen for seven years. He got to robbing =
when
he was nineteen or twenty, and they jailed him; but he broke jail and got
away--up North here, somers. They used to hear about him robbing and burgla=
ring
now and then, but that was years ago. He's dead, now. At least that's what =
they
say. They don't hear about him any more."
"What was his name?"
"Jake."
There wasn't anything more said for a consider=
able
while; the old lady was thinking. At last she says:
"The thing that is mostly worrying your a=
unt
Sally is the tempers that that man Jubiter gets your uncle into."
Tom was astonished, and so was I. Tom says:
"Tempers? Uncle Silas? Land, you must be
joking! I didn't know he HAD any temper."
"Works him up into perfect rages, your au=
nt
Sally says; says he acts as if he would really hit the man, sometimes."=
;
"Aunt Polly, it beats anything I ever hea=
rd
of. Why, he's just as gentle as mush."
"Well, she's worried, anyway. Says your u=
ncle
Silas is like a changed man, on account of all this quarreling. And the
neighbors talk about it, and lay all the blame on your uncle, of course,
because he's a preacher and hain't got any business to quarrel. Your aunt S=
ally
says he hates to go into the pulpit he's so ashamed; and the people have be=
gun
to cool toward him, and he ain't as popular now as he used to was."
"Well, ain't it strange? Why, Aunt Polly,=
he
was always so good and kind and moony and absent-minded and chuckle-headed =
and
lovable--why, he was just an angel! What CAN be the matter of him, do you
reckon?"
WE had powerful good luck; because we got a ch=
ance
in a stern-wheeler from away North which was bound for one of them bayous or
one-horse rivers away down Louisiana way, and so we could go all the way do=
wn
the Upper Mississippi and all the way down the Lower Mississippi to that fa=
rm
in Arkansaw without having to change steamboats at St. Louis; not so very m=
uch
short of a thousand miles at one pull.
A pretty lonesome boat; there warn't but few
passengers, and all old folks, that set around, wide apart, dozing, and was
very quiet. We was four days getting out of the "upper river,"
because we got aground so much. But it warn't dull--couldn't be for boys th=
at
was traveling, of course.
From the very start me and Tom allowed that th=
ere
was somebody sick in the stateroom next to ourn, because the meals was alwa=
ys
toted in there by the waiters. By and by we asked about it--Tom did and the
waiter said it was a man, but he didn't look sick.
"Well, but AIN'T he sick?"
"I don't know; maybe he is, but 'pears to=
me
he's just letting on."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because if he was sick he would pull his
clothes off SOME time or other--don't you reckon he would? Well, this one d=
on't.
At least he don't ever pull off his boots, anyway."
"The mischief he don't! Not even when he =
goes
to bed?"
"No."
It was always nuts for Tom Sawyer--a mystery w= as. If you'd lay out a mystery and a pie before me and him, you wouldn't have to say take your choice; it was a thing that would regulate itself. Because in= my nature I have always run to pie, whilst in his nature he has always run to = mystery. People are made different. And it is the best way. Tom says to the waiter:<= o:p>
"What's the man's name?"
"Phillips."
"Where'd he come aboard?"
"I think he got aboard at Elexandria, up =
on
the Iowa line."
"What do you reckon he's a-playing?"=
"I hain't any notion--I never thought of
it."
I says to myself, here's another one that runs=
to
pie.
"Anything peculiar about him?--the way he
acts or talks?"
"No--nothing, except he seems so scary, a=
nd
keeps his doors locked night and day both, and when you knock he won't let =
you
in till he opens the door a crack and sees who it is."
"By jimminy, it's int'resting! I'd like to
get a look at him. Say--the next time you're going in there, don't you reck=
on
you could spread the door and--"
"No, indeedy! He's always behind it. He w=
ould
block that game."
Tom studied over it, and then he says:
"Looky here. You lend me your apern and l=
et
me take him his breakfast in the morning. I'll give you a quarter."
The boy was plenty willing enough, if the head
steward wouldn't mind. Tom says that's all right, he reckoned he could fix =
it
with the head steward; and he done it. He fixed it so as we could both go in
with aperns on and toting vittles.
He didn't sleep much, he was in such a sweat to
get in there and find out the mystery about Phillips; and moreover he done a
lot of guessing about it all night, which warn't no use, for if you are goi=
ng
to find out the facts of a thing, what's the sense in guessing out what ain=
't the
facts and wasting ammunition? I didn't lose no sleep. I wouldn't give a der=
n to
know what's the matter of Phillips, I says to myself.
Well, in the morning we put on the aperns and =
got
a couple of trays of truck, and Tom he knocked on the door. The man opened =
it a
crack, and then he let us in and shut it quick. By Jackson, when we got a s=
ight
of him, we 'most dropped the trays! and Tom says:
"Why, Jubiter Dunlap, where'd YOU come
from?"
Well, the man was astonished, of course; and f=
irst
off he looked like he didn't know whether to be scared, or glad, or both, or
which, but finally he settled down to being glad; and then his color come b=
ack,
though at first his face had turned pretty white. So we got to talking toge=
ther
while he et his breakfast. And he says:
"But I aint Jubiter Dunlap. I'd just as s=
oon
tell you who I am, though, if you'll swear to keep mum, for I ain't no
Phillips, either."
Tom says:
"We'll keep mum, but there ain't any need=
to
tell who you are if you ain't Jubiter Dunlap."
"Why?"
"Because if you ain't him you're t'other
twin, Jake. You're the spit'n image of Jubiter."
"Well, I'm Jake. But looky here, how do y=
ou
come to know us Dunlaps?"
Tom told about the adventures we'd had down th=
ere
at his uncle Silas's last summer, and when he see that there warn't anything
about his folks--or him either, for that matter--that we didn't know, he op=
ened
out and talked perfectly free and candid. He never made any bones about his=
own
case; said he'd been a hard lot, was a hard lot yet, and reckoned he'd be a
hard lot plumb to the end. He said of course it was a dangerous life, and--=
He
give a kind of gasp, and set his head like a person that's listening. We di=
dn't
say anything, and so it was very still for a second or so, and there warn't=
no
sounds but the screaking of the woodwork and the chug-chugging of the machi=
nery
down below.
Then we got him comfortable again, telling him
about his people, and how Brace's wife had been dead three years, and Brace
wanted to marry Benny and she shook him, and Jubiter was working for Uncle
Silas, and him and Uncle Silas quarreling all the time--and then he let go =
and
laughed.
"Land!" he says, "it's like old
times to hear all this tittle-tattle, and does me good. It's been seven yea=
rs
and more since I heard any. How do they talk about me these days?"
"Who?"
"The farmers--and the family."
"Why, they don't talk about you at all--at
least only just a mention, once in a long time."
"The nation!" he says, surprised;
"why is that?"
"Because they think you are dead long
ago."
"No! Are you speaking true?--honor bright,
now." He jumped up, excited.
"Honor bright. There ain't anybody thinks=
you
are alive."
"Then I'm saved, I'm saved, sure! I'll go
home. They'll hide me and save my life. You keep mum. Swear you'll keep
mum--swear you'll never, never tell on me. Oh, boys, be good to a poor devil
that's being hunted day and night, and dasn't show his face! I've never done
you any harm; I'll never do you any, as God is in the heavens; swear you'll=
be
good to me and help me save my life."
We'd a swore it if he'd been a dog; and so we =
done
it. Well, he couldn't love us enough for it or be grateful enough, poor cus=
s;
it was all he could do to keep from hugging us.
We talked along, and he got out a little hand-=
bag
and begun to open it, and told us to turn our backs. We done it, and when he
told us to turn again he was perfectly different to what he was before. He =
had
on blue goggles and the naturalest-looking long brown whiskers and mustashe=
s you
ever see. His own mother wouldn't 'a' knowed him. He asked us if he looked =
like
his brother Jubiter, now.
"No," Tom said; "there ain't
anything left that's like him except the long hair."
"All right, I'll get that cropped close t=
o my
head before I get there; then him and Brace will keep my secret, and I'll l=
ive
with them as being a stranger, and the neighbors won't ever guess me out. W=
hat
do you think?"
Tom he studied awhile, then he says:
"Well, of course me and Huck are going to
keep mum there, but if you don't keep mum yourself there's going to be a li=
ttle
bit of a risk--it ain't much, maybe, but it's a little. I mean, if you talk,
won't people notice that your voice is just like Jubiter's; and mightn't it
make them think of the twin they reckoned was dead, but maybe after all was=
hid
all this time under another name?"
"By George," he says, "you're a
sharp one! You're perfectly right. I've got to play deef and dumb when ther=
e's
a neighbor around. If I'd a struck for home and forgot that little
detail--However, I wasn't striking for home. I was breaking for any place w=
here
I could get away from these fellows that are after me; then I was going to =
put
on this disguise and get some different clothes, and--"
He jumped for the outside door and laid his ear
against it and listened, pale and kind of panting. Presently he whispers:
"Sounded like cocking a gun! Lord, what a
life to lead!"
Then he sunk down in a chair all limp and sick
like, and wiped the sweat off of his face.
FROM that time out, we was with him 'most all =
the
time, and one or t'other of us slept in his upper berth. He said he had bee=
n so
lonesome, and it was such a comfort to him to have company, and somebody to
talk to in his troubles. We was in a sweat to find out what his secret was,=
but
Tom said the best way was not to seem anxious, then likely he would drop in=
to
it himself in one of his talks, but if we got to asking questions he would =
get
suspicious and shet up his shell. It turned out just so. It warn't no troub=
le
to see that he WANTED to talk about it, but always along at first he would
scare away from it when he got on the very edge of it, and go to talking ab=
out
something else. The way it come about was this: He got to asking us, kind of
indifferent like, about the passengers down on deck. We told him about them.
But he warn't satisfied; we warn't particular enough. He told us to describe
them better. Tom done it. At last, when Tom was describing one of the rough=
est
and raggedest ones, he gave a shiver and a gasp and says:
"Oh, lordy, that's one of them! They're
aboard sure--I just knowed it. I sort of hoped I had got away, but I never
believed it. Go on."
Presently when Tom was describing another mang=
y,
rough deck passenger, he give that shiver again and says:
"That's him!--that's the other one. If it
would only come a good black stormy night and I could get ashore. You see,
they've got spies on me. They've got a right to come up and buy drinks at t=
he
bar yonder forrard, and they take that chance to bribe somebody to keep wat=
ch
on me--porter or boots or somebody. If I was to slip ashore without anybody
seeing me, they would know it inside of an hour."
So then he got to wandering along, and pretty
soon, sure enough, he was telling! He was poking along through his ups and
downs, and when he come to that place he went right along. He says:
"It was a confidence game. We played it o=
n a
julery-shop in St. Louis. What we was after was a couple of noble big di'mo=
nds
as big as hazel-nuts, which everybody was running to see. We was dressed up
fine, and we played it on them in broad daylight. We ordered the di'monds s=
ent
to the hotel for us to see if we wanted to buy, and when we was examining t=
hem
we had paste counterfeits all ready, and THEM was the things that went back=
to
the shop when we said the water wasn't quite fine enough for twelve thousand
dollars."
"Twelve-thousand-dollars!" Tom says.
"Was they really worth all that money, do you reckon?"
"Every cent of it."
"And you fellows got away with them?"=
;
"As easy as nothing. I don't reckon the
julery people know they've been robbed yet. But it wouldn't be good sense to
stay around St. Louis, of course, so we considered where we'd go. One was f=
or
going one way, one another, so we throwed up, heads or tails, and the Upper
Mississippi won. We done up the di'monds in a paper and put our names on it=
and
put it in the keep of the hotel clerk, and told him not to ever let either =
of
us have it again without the others was on hand to see it done; then we went
down town, each by his own self--because I reckon maybe we all had the same
notion. I don't know for certain, but I reckon maybe we had."
"What notion?" Tom says.
"To rob the others."
"What--one take everything, after all of =
you
had helped to get it?"
"Cert'nly."
It disgusted Tom Sawyer, and he said it was the
orneriest, low-downest thing he ever heard of. But Jake Dunlap said it warn=
't
unusual in the profession. Said when a person was in that line of business =
he'd
got to look out for his own intrust, there warn't nobody else going to do i=
t for
him. And then he went on. He says:
"You see, the trouble was, you couldn't
divide up two di'monds amongst three. If there'd been three--But never mind
about that, there warn't three. I loafed along the back streets studying and
studying. And I says to myself, I'll hog them di'monds the first chance I g=
et,
and I'll have a disguise all ready, and I'll give the boys the slip, and wh=
en
I'm safe away I'll put it on, and then let them find me if they can. So I g=
ot
the false whiskers and the goggles and this countrified suit of clothes, and
fetched them along back in a hand-bag; and when I was passing a shop where =
they
sell all sorts of things, I got a glimpse of one of my pals through the win=
dow.
It was Bud Dixon. I was glad, you bet. I says to myself, I'll see what he b=
uys.
So I kept shady, and watched. Now what do you reckon it was he bought?"=
;
"Whiskers?" said I.
"No."
"Goggles?"
"No."
"Oh, keep still, Huck Finn, can't you, yo=
u're
only just hendering all you can. What WAS it he bought, Jake?"
"You'd never guess in the world. It was o=
nly
just a screwdriver--just a wee little bit of a screwdriver."
"Well, I declare! What did he want with
that?"
"That's what I thought. It was curious. It
clean stumped me. I says to myself, what can he want with that thing? Well,
when he come out I stood back out of sight, and then tracked him to a
second-hand slop-shop and see him buy a red flannel shirt and some old ragg=
ed
clothes--just the ones he's got on now, as you've described. Then I went do=
wn
to the wharf and hid my things aboard the up-river boat that we had picked =
out,
and then started back and had another streak of luck. I seen our other pal =
lay
in HIS stock of old rusty second-handers. We got the di'monds and went aboa=
rd
the boat.
"But now we was up a stump, for we couldn=
't
go to bed. We had to set up and watch one another. Pity, that was; pity to =
put
that kind of a strain on us, because there was bad blood between us from a
couple of weeks back, and we was only friends in the way of business. Bad
anyway, seeing there was only two di'monds betwixt three men. First we had
supper, and then tramped up and down the deck together smoking till most
midnight; then we went and set down in my stateroom and locked the doors an=
d looked
in the piece of paper to see if the di'monds was all right, then laid it on=
the
lower berth right in full sight; and there we set, and set, and by-and-by it
got to be dreadful hard to keep awake. At last Bud Dixon he dropped off. As
soon as he was snoring a good regular gait that was likely to last, and had=
his
chin on his breast and looked permanent, Hal Clayton nodded towards the
di'monds and then towards the outside door, and I understood. I reached and=
got
the paper, and then we stood up and waited perfectly still; Bud never stirr=
ed;
I turned the key of the outside door very soft and slow, then turned the kn=
ob
the same way, and we went tiptoeing out onto the guard, and shut the door v=
ery
soft and gentle.
"There warn't nobody stirring anywhere, a=
nd
the boat was slipping along, swift and steady, through the big water in the
smoky moonlight. We never said a word, but went straight up onto the
hurricane-deck and plumb back aft, and set down on the end of the sky-light.
Both of us knowed what that meant, without having to explain to one another.
Bud Dixon would wake up and miss the swag, and would come straight for us, =
for
he ain't afeard of anything or anybody, that man ain't. He would come, and =
we would
heave him overboard, or get killed trying. It made me shiver, because I ain=
't
as brave as some people, but if I showed the white feather--well, I knowed
better than do that. I kind of hoped the boat would land somers, and we cou=
ld
skip ashore and not have to run the risk of this row, I was so scared of Bud
Dixon, but she was an upper-river tub and there warn't no real chance of th=
at.
"Well, the time strung along and along, a=
nd
that fellow never come! Why, it strung along till dawn begun to break, and =
still
he never come. 'Thunder,' I says, 'what do you make out of this?--ain't it
suspicious?' 'Land!' Hal says, 'do you reckon he's playing us?--open the
paper!' I done it, and by gracious there warn't anything in it but a couple=
of little
pieces of loaf-sugar! THAT'S the reason he could set there and snooze all n=
ight
so comfortable. Smart? Well, I reckon! He had had them two papers all fixed=
and
ready, and he had put one of them in place of t'other right under our noses=
.
"We felt pretty cheap. But the thing to d=
o,
straight off, was to make a plan; and we done it. We would do up the paper
again, just as it was, and slip in, very elaborate and soft, and lay it on =
the
bunk again, and let on WE didn't know about any trick, and hadn't any idea =
he
was a-laughing at us behind them bogus snores of his'n; and we would stick =
by
him, and the first night we was ashore we would get him drunk and search hi=
m,
and get the di'monds; and DO for him, too, if it warn't too risky. If we got
the swag, we'd GOT to do for him, or he would hunt us down and do for us, s=
ure.
But I didn't have no real hope. I knowed we could get him drunk--he was alw=
ays
ready for that--but what's the good of it? You might search him a year and
never find--Well, right there I catched my breath and broke off my thought!=
For
an idea went ripping through my head that tore my brains to rags--and land,=
but
I felt gay and good! You see, I had had my boots off, to unswell my feet, a=
nd
just then I took up one of them to put it on, and I catched a glimpse of th=
e heel-bottom,
and it just took my breath away. You remember about that puzzlesome little
screwdriver?"
"You bet I do," says Tom, all excite=
d.
"Well, when I catched that glimpse of that
boot heel, the idea that went smashing through my head was, I know where he=
's
hid the di'monds! You look at this boot heel, now. See, it's bottomed with a
steel plate, and the plate is fastened on with little screws. Now there was=
n't
a screw about that feller anywhere but in his boot heels; so, if he needed =
a screwdriver,
I reckoned I knowed why."
"Huck, ain't it bully!" says Tom.
"Well, I got my boots on, and we went down
and slipped in and laid the paper of sugar on the berth, and sat down soft =
and
sheepish and went to listening to Bud Dixon snore. Hal Clayton dropped off =
pretty
soon, but I didn't; I wasn't ever so wide awake in my life. I was spying out
from under the shade of my hat brim, searching the floor for leather. It to=
ok me
a long time, and I begun to think maybe my guess was wrong, but at last I
struck it. It laid over by the bulkhead, and was nearly the color of the
carpet. It was a little round plug about as thick as the end of your little
finger, and I says to myself there's a di'mond in the nest you've come from.
Before long I spied out the plug's mate.
"Think of the smartness and coolness of t= hat blatherskite! He put up that scheme on us and reasoned out what we would do, and we went ahead and done it perfectly exact, like a couple of pudd'nheads= . He set there and took his own time to unscrew his heelplates and cut out his p= lugs and stick in the di'monds and screw on his plates again. He allowed we would steal the bogus swag and wait all night for him to come up and get drownded, and by George it's just what we done! I think it was powerful smart."<= o:p>
"You bet your life it was!" says Tom,
just full of admiration.
WELL, all day we went through the humbug of
watching one another, and it was pretty sickly business for two of us and h=
ard
to act out, I can tell you. About night we landed at one of them little
Missouri towns high up toward Iowa, and had supper at the tavern, and got a
room upstairs with a cot and a double bed in it, but I dumped my bag under a
deal table in the dark hall while we was moving along it to bed, single fil=
e,
me last, and the landlord in the lead with a tallow candle. We had up a lot=
of whisky,
and went to playing high-low-jack for dimes, and as soon as the whisky begu=
n to
take hold of Bud we stopped drinking, but we didn't let him stop. We loaded=
him
till he fell out of his chair and laid there snoring.
"We was ready for business now. I said we
better pull our boots off, and his'n too, and not make any noise, then we c=
ould
pull him and haul him around and ransack him without any trouble. So we done
it. I set my boots and Bud's side by side, where they'd be handy. Then we
stripped him and searched his seams and his pockets and his socks and the
inside of his boots, and everything, and searched his bundle. Never found a=
ny di'monds.
We found the screwdriver, and Hal says, 'What do you reckon he wanted with
that?' I said I didn't know; but when he wasn't looking I hooked it. At last
Hal he looked beat and discouraged, and said we'd got to give it up. That w=
as
what I was waiting for. I says:
"'There's one place we hain't searched.'<= o:p>
"'What place is that?' he says.
"'His stomach.'
"'By gracious, I never thought of that! N=
OW
we're on the homestretch, to a dead moral certainty. How'll we manage?'
"'Well,' I says, 'just stay by him till I
turn out and hunt up a drug store, and I reckon I'll fetch something that'll
make them di'monds tired of the company they're keeping.'
"He said that's the ticket, and with him
looking straight at me I slid myself into Bud's boots instead of my own, an=
d he
never noticed. They was just a shade large for me, but that was considerable
better than being too small. I got my bag as I went a-groping through the h=
all,
and in about a minute I was out the back way and stretching up the river ro=
ad
at a five-mile gait.
"And not feeling so very bad,
neither--walking on di'monds don't have no such effect. When I had gone fif=
teen
minutes I says to myself, there's more'n a mile behind me, and everything
quiet. Another five minutes and I says there's considerable more land behin=
d me
now, and there's a man back there that's begun to wonder what's the trouble.
Another five and I says to myself he's getting real uneasy--he's walking the
floor now. Another five, and I says to myself, there's two mile and a half
behind me, and he's AWFUL uneasy--beginning to cuss, I reckon. Pretty soon =
I says
to myself, forty minutes gone--he KNOWS there's something up! Fifty minutes=
--the
truth's a-busting on him now! he is reckoning I found the di'monds whilst we
was searching, and shoved them in my pocket and never let on--yes, and he's
starting out to hunt for me. He'll hunt for new tracks in the dust, and the=
y'll
as likely send him down the river as up.
"Just then I see a man coming down on a m=
ule,
and before I thought I jumped into the bush. It was stupid! When he got abr=
east
he stopped and waited a little for me to come out; then he rode on again. B=
ut I
didn't feel gay any more. I says to myself I've botched my chances by that;=
I surely
have, if he meets up with Hal Clayton.
"Well, about three in the morning I fetch=
ed Elexandria
and see this stern-wheeler laying there, and was very glad, because I felt
perfectly safe, now, you know. It was just daybreak. I went aboard and got =
this
stateroom and put on these clothes and went up in the pilot-house--to watch,
though I didn't reckon there was any need of it. I set there and played wit=
h my
di'monds and waited and waited for the boat to start, but she didn't. You s=
ee,
they was mending her machinery, but I didn't know anything about it, not be=
ing
very much used to steamboats.
"Well, to cut the tale short, we never le=
ft
there till plumb noon; and long before that I was hid in this stateroom; for
before breakfast I see a man coming, away off, that had a gait like Hal
Clayton's, and it made me just sick. I says to myself, if he finds out I'm
aboard this boat, he's got me like a rat in a trap. All he's got to do is to
have me watched, and wait--wait till I slip ashore, thinking he is a thousa=
nd miles
away, then slip after me and dog me to a good place and make me give up the
di'monds, and then he'll--oh, I know what he'll do! Ain't it awful--awful! =
And
now to think the OTHER one's aboard, too! Oh, ain't it hard luck, boys--ain=
't
it hard! But you'll help save me, WON'T you?--oh, boys, be good to a poor d=
evil
that's being hunted to death, and save me--I'll worship the very ground you
walk on!"
We turned in and soothed him down and told him=
we
would plan for him and help him, and he needn't be so afeard; and so by and=
by
he got to feeling kind of comfortable again, and unscrewed his heelplates a=
nd
held up his di'monds this way and that, admiring them and loving them; and =
when
the light struck into them they WAS beautiful, sure; why, they seemed to ki=
nd
of bust, and snap fire out all around. But all the same I judged he was a f=
ool.
If I had been him I would a handed the di'monds to them pals and got them t=
o go
ashore and leave me alone. But he was made different. He said it was a whole
fortune and he couldn't bear the idea.
Twice we stopped to fix the machinery and laid=
a
good while, once in the night; but it wasn't dark enough, and he was afeard=
to
skip. But the third time we had to fix it there was a better chance. We lai=
d up
at a country woodyard about forty mile above Uncle Silas's place a little a=
fter
one at night, and it was thickening up and going to storm. So Jake he laid =
for
a chance to slide. We begun to take in wood. Pretty soon the rain come
a-drenching down, and the wind blowed hard. Of course every boat-hand fixed=
a
gunny sack and put it on like a bonnet, the way they do when they are toting
wood, and we got one for Jake, and he slipped down aft with his hand-bag and
come tramping forrard just like the rest, and walked ashore with them, and =
when
we see him pass out of the light of the torch-basket and get swallowed up in
the dark, we got our breath again and just felt grateful and splendid. But =
it
wasn't for long. Somebody told, I reckon; for in about eight or ten minutes
them two pals come tearing forrard as tight as they could jump and darted
ashore and was gone. We waited plumb till dawn for them to come back, and k=
ept
hoping they would, but they never did. We was awful sorry and low-spirited.=
All
the hope we had was that Jake had got such a start that they couldn't get on
his track, and he would get to his brother's and hide there and be safe.
He was going to take the river road, and told =
us
to find out if Brace and Jubiter was to home and no strangers there, and th=
en
slip out about sundown and tell him. Said he would wait for us in a little
bunch of sycamores right back of Tom's uncle Silas's tobacker field on the
river road, a lonesome place.
We set and talked a long time about his chance=
s,
and Tom said he was all right if the pals struck up the river instead of do=
wn,
but it wasn't likely, because maybe they knowed where he was from; more lik=
ely
they would go right, and dog him all day, him not suspecting, and kill him =
when
it come dark, and take the boots. So we was pretty sorrowful.
WE didn't get done tinkering the machinery till
away late in the afternoon, and so it was so close to sundown when we got h=
ome
that we never stopped on our road, but made a break for the sycamores as ti=
ght as
we could go, to tell Jake what the delay was, and have him wait till we cou=
ld
go to Brace's and find out how things was there. It was getting pretty dim =
by
the time we turned the corner of the woods, sweating and panting with that =
long
run, and see the sycamores thirty yards ahead of us; and just then we see a
couple of men run into the bunch and heard two or three terrible screams for
help. "Poor Jake is killed, sure," we says. We was scared through=
and
through, and broke for the tobacker field and hid there, trembling so our
clothes would hardly stay on; and just as we skipped in there, a couple of =
men
went tearing by, and into the bunch they went, and in a second out jumps fo=
ur
men and took out up the road as tight as they could go, two chasing two.
We laid down, kind of weak and sick, and liste=
ned
for more sounds, but didn't hear none for a good while but just our hearts.=
We
was thinking of that awful thing laying yonder in the sycamores, and it see=
med
like being that close to a ghost, and it give me the cold shudders. The moo=
n come
a-swelling up out of the ground, now, powerful big and round and bright, be=
hind
a comb of trees, like a face looking through prison bars, and the black
shadders and white places begun to creep around, and it was miserable quiet=
and
still and night-breezy and graveyardy and scary. All of a sudden Tom whispe=
rs:
"Look!--what's that?"
"Don't!" I says. "Don't take a
person by surprise that way. I'm 'most ready to die, anyway, without you do=
ing
that."
"Look, I tell you. It's something coming =
out
of the sycamores."
"Don't, Tom!"
"It's terrible tall!"
"Oh, lordy-lordy! let's--"
"Keep still--it's a-coming this way."=
;
He was so excited he could hardly get breath
enough to whisper. I had to look. I couldn't help it. So now we was both on=
our
knees with our chins on a fence rail and gazing--yes, and gasping too. It w=
as
coming down the road--coming in the shadder of the trees, and you couldn't =
see
it good; not till it was pretty close to us; then it stepped into a bright =
splotch
of moonlight and we sunk right down in our tracks--it was Jake Dunlap's gho=
st!
That was what we said to ourselves.
We couldn't stir for a minute or two; then it =
was
gone. We talked about it in low voices. Tom says:
"They're mostly dim and smoky, or like
they're made out of fog, but this one wasn't."
"No," I says; "I seen the goggl=
es
and the whiskers perfectly plain."
"Yes, and the very colors in them loud
countrified Sunday clothes--plaid breeches, green and black--"
"Cotton velvet westcot, fire-red and yall=
er
squares--"
"Leather straps to the bottoms of the
breeches legs and one of them hanging unbottoned--"
"Yes, and that hat--"
"What a hat for a ghost to wear!"
You see it was the first season anybody wore t=
hat
kind--a black stiff-brim stove-pipe, very high, and not smooth, with a round
top--just like a sugar-loaf.
"Did you notice if its hair was the same,
Huck?"
"No--seems to me I did, then again it see=
ms
to me I didn't."
"I didn't either; but it had its bag alon=
g, I
noticed that."
"So did I. How can there be a ghost-bag,
Tom?"
"Sho! I wouldn't be as ignorant as that i=
f I
was you, Huck Finn. Whatever a ghost has, turns to ghost-stuff. They've got=
to
have their things, like anybody else. You see, yourself, that its clothes w=
as turned
to ghost-stuff. Well, then, what's to hender its bag from turning, too? Of
course it done it."
That was reasonable. I couldn't find no fault =
with
it. Bill Withers and his brother Jack come along by, talking, and Jack says=
:
"What do you reckon he was toting?"<= o:p>
"I dunno; but it was pretty heavy."<= o:p>
"Yes, all he could lug. Nigger stealing c=
orn
from old Parson Silas, I judged."
"So did I. And so I allowed I wouldn't le=
t on
to see him."
"That's me, too."
Then they both laughed, and went on out of
hearing. It showed how unpopular old Uncle Silas had got to be now. They
wouldn't 'a' let a nigger steal anybody else's corn and never done anything=
to
him.
We heard some more voices mumbling along towar=
ds
us and getting louder, and sometimes a cackle of a laugh. It was Lem Beebe =
and
Jim Lane. Jim Lane says:
"Who?--Jubiter Dunlap?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I don't know. I reckon so. I seen him
spading up some ground along about an hour ago, just before sundown--him and
the parson. Said he guessed he wouldn't go to-night, but we could have his =
dog
if we wanted him."
"Too tired, I reckon."
"Yes--works so hard!"
"Oh, you bet!"
They cackled at that, and went on by. Tom said=
we
better jump out and tag along after them, because they was going our way an=
d it
wouldn't be comfortable to run across the ghost all by ourselves. So we done
it, and got home all right.
That night was the second of September--a
Saturday. I sha'n't ever forget it. You'll see why, pretty soon.
WE tramped along behind Jim and Lem till we co=
me
to the back stile where old Jim's cabin was that he was captivated in, the =
time
we set him free, and here come the dogs piling around us to say howdy, and
there was the lights of the house, too; so we warn't afeard any more, and w=
as
going to climb over, but Tom says:
"Hold on; set down here a minute. By
George!"
"What's the matter?" says I.
"Matter enough!" he says. "Wasn=
't
you expecting we would be the first to tell the family who it is that's been
killed yonder in the sycamores, and all about them rapscallions that done i=
t,
and about the di'monds they've smouched off of the corpse, and paint it up
fine, and have the glory of being the ones that knows a lot more about it t=
han
anybody else?"
"Why, of course. It wouldn't be you, Tom
Sawyer, if you was to let such a chance go by. I reckon it ain't going to
suffer none for lack of paint," I says, "when you start in to sco=
llop
the facts."
"Well, now," he says, perfectly ca'm,
"what would you say if I was to tell you I ain't going to start in at
all?"
I was astonished to hear him talk so. I says:<= o:p>
"I'd say it's a lie. You ain't in earnest,
Tom Sawyer?"
"You'll soon see. Was the ghost
barefooted?"
"No, it wasn't. What of it?"
"You wait--I'll show you what. Did it have
its boots on?"
"Yes. I seen them plain."
"Swear it?"
"Yes, I swear it."
"So do I. Now do you know what that
means?"
"No. What does it mean?"
"Means that them thieves DIDN'T GET THE
DI'MONDS."
"Jimminy! What makes you think that?"=
;
"I don't only think it, I know it. Didn't=
the
breeches and goggles and whiskers and hand-bag and every blessed thing turn=
to
ghost-stuff? Everything it had on turned, didn't it? It shows that the reas=
on
its boots turned too was because it still had them on after it started to g=
o ha'nting
around, and if that ain't proof that them blatherskites didn't get the boot=
s,
I'd like to know what you'd CALL proof."
Think of that now. I never see such a head as =
that
boy had. Why, I had eyes and I could see things, but they never meant nothi=
ng
to me. But Tom Sawyer was different. When Tom Sawyer seen a thing it just g=
ot
up on its hind legs and TALKED to him--told him everything it knowed. I nev=
er
see such a head.
"Tom Sawyer," I says, "I'll say=
it
again as I've said it a many a time before: I ain't fitten to black your bo=
ots.
But that's all right--that's neither here nor there. God Almighty made us a=
ll,
and some He gives eyes that's blind, and some He gives eyes that can see, a=
nd I
reckon it ain't none of our lookout what He done it for; it's all right, or
He'd 'a' fixed it some other way. Go on--I see plenty plain enough, now, th=
at them
thieves didn't get way with the di'monds. Why didn't they, do you reckon?&q=
uot;
"Because they got chased away by them oth=
er
two men before they could pull the boots off of the corpse."
"That's so! I see it now. But looky here,
Tom, why ain't we to go and tell about it?"
"Oh, shucks, Huck Finn, can't you see? Lo=
ok
at it. What's a-going to happen? There's going to be an inquest in the morn=
ing.
Them two men will tell how they heard the yells and rushed there just in ti=
me
to not save the stranger. Then the jury'll twaddle and twaddle and twaddle,=
and
finally they'll fetch in a verdict that he got shot or stuck or busted over=
the
head with something, and come to his death by the inspiration of God. And a=
fter
they've buried him they'll auction off his things for to pay the expenses, =
and
then's OUR chance." "How, Tom?"
"Buy the boots for two dollars!"
Well, it 'most took my breath.
"My land! Why, Tom, WE'LL get the
di'monds!"
"You bet. Some day there'll be a big rewa=
rd
offered for them--a thousand dollars, sure. That's our money! Now we'll tro=
t in
and see the folks. And mind you we don't know anything about any murder, or=
any
di'monds, or any thieves--don't you forget that."
I had to sigh a little over the way he had got=
it
fixed. I'd 'a' SOLD them di'monds--yes, sir--for twelve thousand dollars; b=
ut I
didn't say anything. It wouldn't done any good. I says:
"But what are we going to tell your aunt
Sally has made us so long getting down here from the village, Tom?"
"Oh, I'll leave that to you," he say=
s.
"I reckon you can explain it somehow."
He was always just that strict and delicate. He
never would tell a lie himself.
We struck across the big yard, noticing this,
that, and t'other thing that was so familiar, and we so glad to see it agai=
n,
and when we got to the roofed big passageway betwixt the double log house a=
nd
the kitchen part, there was everything hanging on the wall just as it used =
to
was, even to Uncle Silas's old faded green baize working-gown with the hood=
to
it, and raggedy white patch between the shoulders that always looked like
somebody had hit him with a snowball; and then we lifted the latch and walk=
ed
in. Aunt Sally she was just a-ripping and a-tearing around, and the children
was huddled in one corner, and the old man he was huddled in the other and
praying for help in time of need. She jumped for us with joy and tears runn=
ing
down her face and give us a whacking box on the ear, and then hugged us and
kissed us and boxed us again, and just couldn't seem to get enough of it, s=
he
was so glad to see us; and she says:
"Where HAVE you been a-loafing to, you
good-for-nothing trash! I've been that worried about you I didn't know what=
to
do. Your traps has been here ever so long, and I've had supper cooked fresh
about four times so as to have it hot and good when you come, till at last =
my
patience is just plumb wore out, and I declare I--I--why I could skin you
alive! You must be starving, poor things!--set down, set down, everybody; d=
on't
lose no more time."
It was good to be there again behind all that
noble corn-pone and spareribs, and everything that you could ever want in t=
his
world. Old Uncle Silas he peeled off one of his bulliest old-time blessings,
with as many layers to it as an onion, and whilst the angels was hauling in=
the
slack of it I was trying to study up what to say about what kept us so long.
When our plates was all loadened and we'd got a-going, she asked me, and I
says:
"Well, you see,--er--Mizzes--"
"Huck Finn! Since when am I Mizzes to you?
Have I ever been stingy of cuffs or kisses for you since the day you stood =
in
this room and I took you for Tom Sawyer and blessed God for sending you to =
me,
though you told me four thousand lies and I believed every one of them like=
a simpleton?
Call me Aunt Sally--like you always done."
So I done it. And I says:
"Well, me and Tom allowed we would come a=
long
afoot and take a smell of the woods, and we run across Lem Beebe and Jim La=
ne,
and they asked us to go with them blackberrying to-night, and said they cou=
ld
borrow Jubiter Dunlap's dog, because he had told them just that minute--&qu=
ot;
"Where did they see him?" says the o=
ld
man; and when I looked up to see how HE come to take an intrust in a little
thing like that, his eyes was just burning into me, he was that eager. It
surprised me so it kind of throwed me off, but I pulled myself together aga=
in
and says:
"It was when he was spading up some ground
along with you, towards sundown or along there."
He only said, "Um," in a kind of a
disappointed way, and didn't take no more intrust. So I went on. I says:
"Well, then, as I was a-saying--"
"That'll do, you needn't go no furder.&qu=
ot;
It was Aunt Sally. She was boring right into me with her eyes, and very
indignant. "Huck Finn," she says, "how'd them men come to ta=
lk
about going a-black-berrying in September--in THIS region?"
I see I had slipped up, and I couldn't say a w=
ord.
She waited, still a-gazing at me, then she says:
"And how'd they come to strike that idiot
idea of going a-blackberrying in the night?"
"Well, m'm, they--er--they told us they h=
ad a
lantern, and--"
"Oh, SHET up--do! Looky here; what was th=
ey
going to do with a dog?--hunt blackberries with it?"
"I think, m'm, they--"
"Now, Tom Sawyer, what kind of a lie are =
you
fixing YOUR mouth to contribit to this mess of rubbage? Speak out--and I wa=
rn
you before you begin, that I don't believe a word of it. You and Huck's bee=
n up
to something you no business to--I know it perfectly well; I know you, BOTH=
of
you. Now you explain that dog, and them blackberries, and the lantern, and =
the
rest of that rot--and mind you talk as straight as a string--do you hear?&q=
uot;
Tom he looked considerable hurt, and says, very
dignified:
"It is a pity if Huck is to be talked to =
that
way, just for making a little bit of a mistake that anybody could make.&quo=
t;
"What mistake has he made?"
"Why, only the mistake of saying blackber=
ries
when of course he meant strawberries."
"Tom Sawyer, I lay if you aggravate me a
little more, I'll--"
"Aunt Sally, without knowing it--and of
course without intending it--you are in the wrong. If you'd 'a' studied nat=
ural
history the way you ought, you would know that all over the world except ju=
st
here in Arkansaw they ALWAYS hunt strawberries with a dog--and a
lantern--"
But she busted in on him there and just piled =
into
him and snowed him under. She was so mad she couldn't get the words out fast
enough, and she gushed them out in one everlasting freshet. That was what T=
om
Sawyer was after. He allowed to work her up and get her started and then le=
ave her
alone and let her burn herself out. Then she would be so aggravated with th=
at
subject that she wouldn't say another word about it, nor let anybody else.
Well, it happened just so. When she was tuckered out and had to hold up, he
says, quite ca'm:
"And yet, all the same, Aunt Sally--"=
;
"Shet up!" she says, "I don't w=
ant
to hear another word out of you."
So we was perfectly safe, then, and didn't hav=
e no
more trouble about that delay. Tom done it elegant.
BENNY she was looking pretty sober, and she si=
ghed
some, now and then; but pretty soon she got to asking about Mary, and Sid, =
and
Tom's aunt Polly, and then Aunt Sally's clouds cleared off and she got in a
good humor and joined in on the questions and was her lovingest best self, =
and
so the rest of the supper went along gay and pleasant. But the old man he
didn't take any hand hardly, and was absent-minded and restless, and done a
considerable amount of sighing; and it was kind of heart-breaking to see hi=
m so
sad and troubled and worried.
By and by, a spell after supper, come a nigger=
and
knocked on the door and put his head in with his old straw hat in his hand
bowing and scraping, and said his Marse Brace was out at the stile and want=
ed
his brother, and was getting tired waiting supper for him, and would Marse =
Silas
please tell him where he was? I never see Uncle Silas speak up so sharp and
fractious before. He says:
"Am I his brother's keeper?" And the=
n he
kind of wilted together, and looked like he wished he hadn't spoken so, and
then he says, very gentle: "But you needn't say that, Billy; I was took
sudden and irritable, and I ain't very well these days, and not hardly
responsible. Tell him he ain't here."
And when the nigger was gone he got up and wal=
ked
the floor, backwards and forwards, mumbling and muttering to himself and pl=
owing
his hands through his hair. It was real pitiful to see him. Aunt Sally she =
whispered
to us and told us not to take notice of him, it embarrassed him. She said he
was always thinking and thinking, since these troubles come on, and she all=
owed
he didn't more'n about half know what he was about when the thinking spells=
was
on him; and she said he walked in his sleep considerable more now than he u=
sed
to, and sometimes wandered around over the house and even outdoors in his
sleep, and if we catched him at it we must let him alone and not disturb hi=
m.
She said she reckoned it didn't do him no harm, and may be it done him good.
She said Benny was the only one that was much help to him these days. Said
Benny appeared to know just when to try to soothe him and when to leave him=
alone.
So he kept on tramping up and down the floor a=
nd
muttering, till by and by he begun to look pretty tired; then Benny she went
and snuggled up to his side and put one hand in his and one arm around his
waist and walked with him; and he smiled down on her, and reached down and
kissed her; and so, little by little the trouble went out of his face and s=
he persuaded
him off to his room. They had very petting ways together, and it was uncomm=
on
pretty to see.
Aunt Sally she was busy getting the children r=
eady
for bed; so by and by it got dull and tedious, and me and Tom took a turn in
the moonlight, and fetched up in the watermelon-patch and et one, and had a
good deal of talk. And Tom said he'd bet the quarreling was all Jubiter's f=
ault,
and he was going to be on hand the first time he got a chance, and see; and=
if
it was so, he was going to do his level best to get Uncle Silas to turn him
off.
And so we talked and smoked and stuffed
watermelons much as two hours, and then it was pretty late, and when we got
back the house was quiet and dark, and everybody gone to bed.
Tom he always seen everything, and now he see =
that
the old green baize work-gown was gone, and said it wasn't gone when he went
out; so he allowed it was curious, and then we went up to bed.
We could hear Benny stirring around in her roo=
m,
which was next to ourn, and judged she was worried a good deal about her fa=
ther
and couldn't sleep. We found we couldn't, neither. So we set up a long time,
and smoked and talked in a low voice, and felt pretty dull and down-hearted=
. We
talked the murder and the ghost over and over again, and got so creepy and
crawly we couldn't get sleepy nohow and noway.
By and by, when it was away late in the night =
and
all the sounds was late sounds and solemn, Tom nudged me and whispers to me=
to
look, and I done it, and there we see a man poking around in the yard like =
he
didn't know just what he wanted to do, but it was pretty dim and we couldn'=
t see
him good. Then he started for the stile, and as he went over it the moon ca=
me
out strong, and he had a long-handled shovel over his shoulder, and we see =
the
white patch on the old work-gown. So Tom says:
"He's a-walking in his sleep. I wish we w=
as
allowed to follow him and see where he's going to. There, he's turned down =
by
the tobacker-field. Out of sight now. It's a dreadful pity he can't rest no
better."
We waited a long time, but he didn't come back=
any
more, or if he did he come around the other way; so at last we was tuckered=
out
and went to sleep and had nightmares, a million of them. But before dawn we=
was
awake again, because meantime a storm had come up and been raging, and the
thunder and lightning was awful, and the wind was a-thrashing the trees aro=
und,
and the rain was driving down in slanting sheets, and the gullies was runni=
ng
rivers. Tom says:
"Looky here, Huck, I'll tell you one thing
that's mighty curious. Up to the time we went out last night the family had=
n't
heard about Jake Dunlap being murdered. Now the men that chased Hal Clayton=
and
Bud Dixon away would spread the thing around in a half an hour, and every
neighbor that heard it would shin out and fly around from one farm to t'oth=
er
and try to be the first to tell the news. Land, they don't have such a big =
thing
as that to tell twice in thirty year! Huck, it's mighty strange; I don't
understand it."
So then he was in a fidget for the rain to let=
up,
so we could turn out and run across some of the people and see if they would
say anything about it to us. And he said if they did we must be horribly
surprised and shocked.
We was out and gone the minute the rain stoppe=
d.
It was just broad day then. We loafed along up the road, and now and then m=
et a
person and stopped and said howdy, and told them when we come, and how we l=
eft
the folks at home, and how long we was going to stay, and all that, but non=
e of
them said a word about that thing; which was just astonishing, and no mista=
ke.
Tom said he believed if we went to the sycamores we would find that body la=
ying
there solitary and alone, and not a soul around. Said he believed the men
chased the thieves so far into the woods that the thieves prob'ly seen a go=
od
chance and turned on them at last, and maybe they all killed each other, an=
d so
there wasn't anybody left to tell.
First we knowed, gabbling along that away, we =
was
right at the sycamores. The cold chills trickled down my back and I wouldn't
budge another step, for all Tom's persuading. But he couldn't hold in; he'd=
GOT
to see if the boots was safe on that body yet. So he crope in--and the next
minute out he come again with his eyes bulging he was so excited, and says:=
"Huck, it's gone!"
I WAS astonished! I says:
"Tom, you don't mean it."
"It's gone, sure. There ain't a sign of i=
t.
The ground is trampled some, but if there was any blood it's all washed awa=
y by
the storm, for it's all puddles and slush in there."
At last I give in, and went and took a look
myself; and it was just as Tom said--there wasn't a sign of a corpse.
"Dern it," I says, "the di'mond=
s is
gone. Don't you reckon the thieves slunk back and lugged him off, Tom?"=
;
"Looks like it. It just does. Now where'd
they hide him, do you reckon?"
"I don't know," I says, disgusted,
"and what's more I don't care. They've got the boots, and that's all I
cared about. He'll lay around these woods a long time before I hunt him
up."
Tom didn't feel no more intrust in him neither,
only curiosity to know what come of him; but he said we'd lay low and keep =
dark
and it wouldn't be long till the dogs or somebody rousted him out.
We went back home to breakfast ever so bothered
and put out and disappointed and swindled. I warn't ever so down on a corpse
before.
IT warn't very cheerful at breakfast. Aunt Sal=
ly
she looked old and tired and let the children snarl and fuss at one another=
and
didn't seem to notice it was going on, which wasn't her usual style; me and=
Tom
had a plenty to think about without talking; Benny she looked like she hadn=
't
had much sleep, and whenever she'd lift her head a little and steal a look
towards her father you could see there was tears in her eyes; and as for the
old man, his things stayed on his plate and got cold without him knowing th=
ey
was there, I reckon, for he was thinking and thinking all the time, and nev=
er said
a word and never et a bite.
By and by when it was stillest, that nigger's =
head
was poked in at the door again, and he said his Marse Brace was getting
powerful uneasy about Marse Jubiter, which hadn't come home yet, and would
Marse Silas please--He was looking at Uncle Silas, and he stopped there, li=
ke
the rest of his words was froze; for Uncle Silas he rose up shaky and stead=
ied
himself leaning his fingers on the table, and he was panting, and his eyes =
was
set on the nigger, and he kept swallowing, and put his other hand up to his
throat a couple of times, and at last he got his words started, and says:
"Does he--does he--think--WHAT does he th=
ink!
Tell him--tell him--" Then he sunk down in his chair limp and weak, and
says, so as you could hardly hear him: "Go away--go away!"
The nigger looked scared and cleared out, and =
we
all felt--well, I don't know how we felt, but it was awful, with the old man
panting there, and his eyes set and looking like a person that was dying. N=
one
of us could budge; but Benny she slid around soft, with her tears running d=
own,
and stood by his side, and nestled his old gray head up against her and beg=
un
to stroke it and pet it with her hands, and nodded to us to go away, and we
done it, going out very quiet, like the dead was there.
Me and Tom struck out for the woods mighty sol=
emn,
and saying how different it was now to what it was last summer when we was =
here
and everything was so peaceful and happy and everybody thought so much of U=
ncle
Silas, and he was so cheerful and simple-hearted and pudd'n-headed and
good--and now look at him. If he hadn't lost his mind he wasn't much short =
of
it. That was what we allowed.
It was a most lovely day now, and bright and
sunshiny; and the further and further we went over the hills towards the
prairie the lovelier and lovelier the trees and flowers got to be and the m=
ore
it seemed strange and somehow wrong that there had to be trouble in such a
world as this. And then all of a sudden I catched my breath and grabbed Tom=
's
arm, and all my livers and lungs and things fell down into my legs.
"There it is!" I says. We jumped back
behind a bush shivering, and Tom says:
"'Sh!--don't make a noise."
It was setting on a log right in the edge of a
little prairie, thinking. I tried to get Tom to come away, but he wouldn't,=
and
I dasn't budge by myself. He said we mightn't ever get another chance to see
one, and he was going to look his fill at this one if he died for it. So I
looked too, though it give me the fan-tods to do it. Tom he HAD to talk, bu=
t he
talked low. He says:
"Poor Jakey, it's got all its things on, =
just
as he said he would. NOW you see what we wasn't certain about--its hair. It=
's
not long now the way it was: it's got it cropped close to its head, the way=
he
said he would. Huck, I never see anything look any more naturaler than what=
It
does."
"Nor I neither," I says; "I'd
recognize it anywheres."
"So would I. It looks perfectly solid and
genuwyne, just the way it done before it died."
So we kept a-gazing. Pretty soon Tom says:
"Huck, there's something mighty curious a=
bout
this one, don't you know? IT oughtn't to be going around in the daytime.&qu=
ot;
"That's so, Tom--I never heard the like o=
f it
before."
"No, sir, they don't ever come out only at
night--and then not till after twelve. There's something wrong about this o=
ne,
now you mark my words. I don't believe it's got any right to be around in t=
he
daytime. But don't it look natural! Jake was going to play deef and dumb he=
re,
so the neighbors wouldn't know his voice. Do you reckon it would do that if=
we was
to holler at it?"
"Lordy, Tom, don't talk so! If you was to
holler at it I'd die in my tracks."
"Don't you worry, I ain't going to holler=
at
it. Look, Huck, it's a-scratching its head--don't you see?"
"Well, what of it?"
"Why, this. What's the sense of it scratc=
hing
its head? There ain't anything there to itch; its head is made out of fog or
something like that, and can't itch. A fog can't itch; any fool knows
that."
"Well, then, if it don't itch and can't i=
tch,
what in the nation is it scratching it for? Ain't it just habit, don't you
reckon?"
"No, sir, I don't. I ain't a bit satisfied
about the way this one acts. I've a blame good notion it's a bogus one--I h=
ave,
as sure as I'm a-sitting here. Because, if it--Huck!"
"Well, what's the matter now?"
"YOU CAN'T SEE THE BUSHES THROUGH IT!&quo=
t;
"Why, Tom, it's so, sure! It's as solid a=
s a
cow. I sort of begin to think--"
"Huck, it's biting off a chaw of tobacker=
! By
George, THEY don't chaw--they hain't got anything to chaw WITH. Huck!"=
"I'm a-listening."
"It ain't a ghost at all. It's Jake Dunlap
his own self!"
"Oh your granny!" I says.
"Huck Finn, did we find any corpse in the
sycamores?"
"No."
"Or any sign of one?"
"No."
"Mighty good reason. Hadn't ever been any
corpse there."
"Why, Tom, you know we heard--"
"Yes, we did--heard a howl or two. Does t=
hat
prove anybody was killed? Course it don't. And we seen four men run, then t=
his
one come walking out and we took it for a ghost. No more ghost than you are=
. It
was Jake Dunlap his own self, and it's Jake Dunlap now. He's been and got h=
is hair
cropped, the way he said he would, and he's playing himself for a stranger,
just the same as he said he would. Ghost? Hum!--he's as sound as a nut.&quo=
t;
Then I see it all, and how we had took too much
for granted. I was powerful glad he didn't get killed, and so was Tom, and =
we
wondered which he would like the best--for us to never let on to know him, =
or
how? Tom reckoned the best way would be to go and ask him. So he started; b=
ut I
kept a little behind, because I didn't know but it might be a ghost, after =
all.
When Tom got to where he was, he says:
"Me and Huck's mighty glad to see you aga=
in,
and you needn't be afeared we'll tell. And if you think it'll be safer for =
you
if we don't let on to know you when we run across you, say the word and you=
'll
see you can depend on us, and would ruther cut our hands off than get you i=
nto
the least little bit of danger."
First off he looked surprised to see us, and n=
ot
very glad, either; but as Tom went on he looked pleasanter, and when he was
done he smiled, and nodded his head several times, and made signs with his
hands, and says:
"Goo-goo--goo-goo," the way deef and
dummies does.
Just then we see some of Steve Nickerson's peo=
ple
coming that lived t'other side of the prairie, so Tom says:
"You do it elegant; I never see anybody d=
o it
better. You're right; play it on us, too; play it on us same as the others;
it'll keep you in practice and prevent you making blunders. We'll keep away
from you and let on we don't know you, but any time we can be any help, you
just let us know."
Then we loafed along past the Nickersons, and =
of
course they asked if that was the new stranger yonder, and where'd he come
from, and what was his name, and which communion was he, Babtis' or Methodi=
s',
and which politics, Whig or Democrat, and how long is he staying, and all t=
hem other
questions that humans always asks when a stranger comes, and animals does, =
too.
But Tom said he warn't able to make anything out of deef and dumb signs, and
the same with goo-gooing. Then we watched them go and bullyrag Jake; becaus=
e we
was pretty uneasy for him. Tom said it would take him days to get so he
wouldn't forget he was a deef and dummy sometimes, and speak out before he
thought. When we had watched long enough to see that Jake was getting along=
all
right and working his signs very good, we loafed along again, allowing to
strike the schoolhouse about recess time, which was a three-mile tramp.
I was so disappointed not to hear Jake tell ab=
out
the row in the sycamores, and how near he come to getting killed, that I
couldn't seem to get over it, and Tom he felt the same, but said if we was =
in
Jake's fix we would want to go careful and keep still and not take any chan=
ces.
The boys and girls was all glad to see us agai=
n,
and we had a real good time all through recess. Coming to school the Hender=
son
boys had come across the new deef and dummy and told the rest; so all the
scholars was chuck full of him and couldn't talk about anything else, and w=
as
in a sweat to get a sight of him because they hadn't ever seen a deef and d=
ummy
in their lives, and it made a powerful excitement.
Tom said it was tough to have to keep mum now;
said we would be heroes if we could come out and tell all we knowed; but af=
ter
all, it was still more heroic to keep mum, there warn't two boys in a milli=
on
could do it. That was Tom Sawyer's idea about it, and I reckoned there warn=
't
anybody could better it.
IN the next two or three days Dummy he got to =
be
powerful popular. He went associating around with the neighbors, and they m=
ade
much of him, and was proud to have such a rattling curiosity among them. Th=
ey
had him to breakfast, they had him to dinner, they had him to supper; they =
kept
him loaded up with hog and hominy, and warn't ever tired staring at him and
wondering over him, and wishing they knowed more about him, he was so uncom=
mon
and romantic. His signs warn't no good; people couldn't understand them and=
he
prob'ly couldn't himself, but he done a sight of goo-gooing, and so everybo=
dy
was satisfied, and admired to hear him go it. He toted a piece of slate aro=
und,
and a pencil; and people wrote questions on it and he wrote answers; but th=
ere
warn't anybody could read his writing but Brace Dunlap. Brace said he could=
n't
read it very good, but he could manage to dig out the meaning most of the t=
ime.
He said Dummy said he belonged away off somers and used to be well off, but=
got
busted by swindlers which he had trusted, and was poor now, and hadn't any =
way
to make a living.
Everybody praised Brace Dunlap for being so go=
od
to that stranger. He let him have a little log-cabin all to himself, and had
his niggers take care of it, and fetch him all the vittles he wanted.
Dummy was at our house some, because old Uncle
Silas was so afflicted himself, these days, that anybody else that was
afflicted was a comfort to him. Me and Tom didn't let on that we had knowed=
him
before, and he didn't let on that he had knowed us before. The family talked
their troubles out before him the same as if he wasn't there, but we reckon=
ed it
wasn't any harm for him to hear what they said. Generly he didn't seem to
notice, but sometimes he did.
Well, two or three days went along, and everyb=
ody
got to getting uneasy about Jubiter Dunlap. Everybody was asking everybody =
if
they had any idea what had become of him. No, they hadn't, they said: and t=
hey
shook their heads and said there was something powerful strange about it. A=
nother
and another day went by; then there was a report got around that praps he w=
as
murdered. You bet it made a big stir! Everybody's tongue was clacking away
after that. Saturday two or three gangs turned out and hunted the woods to =
see
if they could run across his remainders. Me and Tom helped, and it was noble
good times and exciting. Tom he was so brimful of it he couldn't eat nor re=
st.
He said if we could find that corpse we would be celebrated, and more talked
about than if we got drownded.
The others got tired and give it up; but not T=
om Sawyer--that
warn't his style. Saturday night he didn't sleep any, hardly, trying to thi=
nk
up a plan; and towards daylight in the morning he struck it. He snaked me o=
ut of
bed and was all excited, and says:
"Quick, Huck, snatch on your clothes--I've
got it! Bloodhound!"
In two minutes we was tearing up the river roa=
d in
the dark towards the village. Old Jeff Hooker had a bloodhound, and Tom was
going to borrow him. I says:
"The trail's too old, Tom--and besides, i=
t's
rained, you know."
"It don't make any difference, Huck. If t=
he
body's hid in the woods anywhere around the hound will find it. If he's been
murdered and buried, they wouldn't bury him deep, it ain't likely, and if t=
he
dog goes over the spot he'll scent him, sure. Huck, we're going to be celeb=
rated,
sure as you're born!"
He was just a-blazing; and whenever he got afi=
re
he was most likely to get afire all over. That was the way this time. In two
minutes he had got it all ciphered out, and wasn't only just going to find =
the corpse--no,
he was going to get on the track of that murderer and hunt HIM down, too; a=
nd
not only that, but he was going to stick to him till--"Well," I s=
ays,
"you better find the corpse first; I reckon that's a-plenty for to-day.
For all we know, there AIN'T any corpse and nobody hain't been murdered. Th=
at
cuss could 'a' gone off somers and not been killed at all."
That graveled him, and he says:
"Huck Finn, I never see such a person as =
you
to want to spoil everything. As long as YOU can't see anything hopeful in a
thing, you won't let anybody else. What good can it do you to throw cold wa=
ter
on that corpse and get up that selfish theory that there ain't been any mur=
der?
None in the world. I don't see how you can act so. I wouldn't treat you like
that, and you know it. Here we've got a noble good opportunity to make a
ruputation, and--"
"Oh, go ahead," I says. "I'm so=
rry,
and I take it all back. I didn't mean nothing. Fix it any way you want it. =
HE
ain't any consequence to me. If he's killed, I'm as glad of it as you are; =
and
if he--"
"I never said anything about being glad; I
only--"
"Well, then, I'm as SORRY as you are. Any=
way
you druther have it, that is the way I druther have it. He--"
"There ain't any druthers ABOUT it, Huck
Finn; nobody said anything about druthers. And as for--"
He forgot he was talking, and went tramping al=
ong,
studying. He begun to get excited again, and pretty soon he says:
"Huck, it'll be the bulliest thing that e=
ver
happened if we find the body after everybody else has quit looking, and the=
n go
ahead and hunt up the murderer. It won't only be an honor to us, but it'll =
be
an honor to Uncle Silas because it was us that done it. It'll set him up ag=
ain,
you see if it don't."
But Old Jeff Hooker he throwed cold water on t=
he
whole business when we got to his blacksmith shop and told him what we come
for.
"You can take the dog," he says,
"but you ain't a-going to find any corpse, because there ain't any cor=
pse
to find. Everybody's quit looking, and they're right. Soon as they come to
think, they knowed there warn't no corpse. And I'll tell you for why. What =
does
a person kill another person for, Tom Sawyer?--answer me that."
"Why, he--er--"
"Answer up! You ain't no fool. What does =
he
kill him FOR?"
"Well, sometimes it's for revenge,
and--"
"Wait. One thing at a time. Revenge, says
you; and right you are. Now who ever had anything agin that poor trifling
no-account? Who do you reckon would want to kill HIM?--that rabbit!"
Tom was stuck. I reckon he hadn't thought of a
person having to have a REASON for killing a person before, and now he sees=
it
warn't likely anybody would have that much of a grudge against a lamb like
Jubiter Dunlap. The blacksmith says, by and by:
"The revenge idea won't work, you see. We=
ll,
then, what's next? Robbery? B'gosh, that must 'a' been it, Tom! Yes, sirree=
, I
reckon we've struck it this time. Some feller wanted his gallus-buckles, an=
d so
he--"
But it was so funny he busted out laughing, and
just went on laughing and laughing and laughing till he was 'most dead, and=
Tom
looked so put out and cheap that I knowed he was ashamed he had come, and he
wished he hadn't. But old Hooker never let up on him. He raked up everythin=
g a person
ever could want to kill another person about, and any fool could see they
didn't any of them fit this case, and he just made no end of fun of the who=
le
business and of the people that had been hunting the body; and he said:
"If they'd had any sense they'd 'a' knowed
the lazy cuss slid out because he wanted a loafing spell after all this wor=
k.
He'll come pottering back in a couple of weeks, and then how'll you fellers
feel? But, laws bless you, take the dog, and go and hunt his remainders. Do=
, Tom."
Then he busted out, and had another of them
forty-rod laughs of hisn. Tom couldn't back down after all this, so he said,
"All right, unchain him;" and the blacksmith done it, and we star=
ted
home and left that old man laughing yet.
It was a lovely dog. There ain't any dog that's
got a lovelier disposition than a bloodhound, and this one knowed us and li=
ked
us. He capered and raced around ever so friendly, and powerful glad to be f=
ree and
have a holiday; but Tom was so cut up he couldn't take any intrust in him, =
and
said he wished he'd stopped and thought a minute before he ever started on =
such
a fool errand. He said old Jeff Hooker would tell everybody, and we'd never
hear the last of it.
So we loafed along home down the back lanes,
feeling pretty glum and not talking. When we was passing the far corner of =
our
tobacker field we heard the dog set up a long howl in there, and we went to=
the
place and he was scratching the ground with all his might, and every now and
then canting up his head sideways and fetching another howl.
It was a long square, the shape of a grave; the
rain had made it sink down and show the shape. The minute we come and stood
there we looked at one another and never said a word. When the dog had dug =
down
only a few inches he grabbed something and pulled it up, and it was an arm =
and
a sleeve. Tom kind of gasped out, and says:
"Come away, Huck--it's found."
I just felt awful. We struck for the road and
fetched the first men that come along. They got a spade at the crib and dug=
out
the body, and you never see such an excitement. You couldn't make anything =
out
of the face, but you didn't need to. Everybody said:
"Poor Jubiter; it's his clothes, to the l=
ast
rag!"
Some rushed off to spread the news and tell the
justice of the peace and have an inquest, and me and Tom lit out for the ho=
use.
Tom was all afire and 'most out of breath when we come tearing in where Unc=
le
Silas and Aunt Sally and Benny was. Tom sung out:
"Me and Huck's found Jubiter Dunlap's cor=
pse
all by ourselves with a bloodhound, after everybody else had quit hunting a=
nd
given it up; and if it hadn't a been for us it never WOULD 'a' been found; =
and
he WAS murdered too--they done it with a club or something like that; and I=
'm going
to start in and find the murderer, next, and I bet I'll do it!"
Aunt Sally and Benny sprung up pale and
astonished, but Uncle Silas fell right forward out of his chair on to the f=
loor
and groans out:
"Oh, my God, you've found him NOW!"<= o:p>
THEM awful words froze us solid. We couldn't m=
ove
hand or foot for as much as half a minute. Then we kind of come to, and lif=
ted
the old man up and got him into his chair, and Benny petted him and kissed =
him
and tried to comfort him, and poor old Aunt Sally she done the same; but, p=
oor
things, they was so broke up and scared and knocked out of their right minds
that they didn't hardly know what they was about. With Tom it was awful; it
'most petrified him to think maybe he had got his uncle into a thousand tim=
es
more trouble than ever, and maybe it wouldn't ever happened if he hadn't be=
en
so ambitious to get celebrated, and let the corpse alone the way the others
done. But pretty soon he sort of come to himself again and says:
"Uncle Silas, don't you say another word =
like
that. It's dangerous, and there ain't a shadder of truth in it."
Aunt Sally and Benny was thankful to hear him =
say
that, and they said the same; but the old man he wagged his head sorrowful =
and
hopeless, and the tears run down his face, and he says;
"No--I done it; poor Jubiter, I done
it!"
It was dreadful to hear him say it. Then he we=
nt
on and told about it, and said it happened the day me and Tom come--along a=
bout
sundown. He said Jubiter pestered him and aggravated him till he was so mad=
he
just sort of lost his mind and grabbed up a stick and hit him over the head=
with
all his might, and Jubiter dropped in his tracks. Then he was scared and so=
rry,
and got down on his knees and lifted his head up, and begged him to speak a=
nd
say he wasn't dead; and before long he come to, and when he see who it was
holding his head, he jumped like he was 'most scared to death, and cleared =
the
fence and tore into the woods, and was gone. So he hoped he wasn't hurt bad=
.
"But laws," he says, "it was on=
ly
just fear that gave him that last little spurt of strength, and of course it
soon played out and he laid down in the bush, and there wasn't anybody to h=
elp
him, and he died."
Then the old man cried and grieved, and said he
was a murderer and the mark of Cain was on him, and he had disgraced his fa=
mily
and was going to be found out and hung. But Tom said:
"No, you ain't going to be found out. You
DIDN'T kill him. ONE lick wouldn't kill him. Somebody else done it."
"Oh, yes," he says, "I done
it--nobody else. Who else had anything against him? Who else COULD have
anything against him?"
He looked up kind of like he hoped some of us
could mention somebody that could have a grudge against that harmless
no-account, but of course it warn't no use--he HAD us; we couldn't say a wo=
rd.
He noticed that, and he saddened down again, and I never see a face so
miserable and so pitiful to see. Tom had a sudden idea, and says:
"But hold on!--somebody BURIED him. Now
who--"
He shut off sudden. I knowed the reason. It gi=
ve
me the cold shudders when he said them words, because right away I remember=
ed
about us seeing Uncle Silas prowling around with a long-handled shovel away=
in
the night that night. And I knowed Benny seen him, too, because she was tal=
king
about it one day. The minute Tom shut off he changed the subject and went to
begging Uncle Silas to keep mum, and the rest of us done the same, and said=
he
MUST, and said it wasn't his business to tell on himself, and if he kept mum
nobody would ever know; but if it was found out and any harm come to him it
would break the family's hearts and kill them, and yet never do anybody any
good. So at last he promised. We was all of us more comfortable, then, and =
went
to work to cheer up the old man. We told him all he'd got to do was to keep
still, and it wouldn't be long till the whole thing would blow over and be
forgot. We all said there wouldn't anybody ever suspect Uncle Silas, nor ev=
er
dream of such a thing, he being so good and kind, and having such a good
character; and Tom says, cordial and hearty, he says:
"Why, just look at it a minute; just
consider. Here is Uncle Silas, all these years a preacher--at his own expen=
se;
all these years doing good with all his might and every way he can think of=
--at
his own expense, all the time; always been loved by everybody, and respecte=
d;
always been peaceable and minding his own business, the very last man in th=
is
whole deestrict to touch a person, and everybody knows it. Suspect HIM? Why=
, it
ain't any more possible than--"
"By authority of the State of Arkansaw, I
arrest you for the murder of Jubiter Dunlap!" shouts the sheriff at the
door.
It was awful. Aunt Sally and Benny flung
themselves at Uncle Silas, screaming and crying, and hugged him and hung to
him, and Aunt Sally said go away, she wouldn't ever give him up, they shoul=
dn't
have him, and the niggers they come crowding and crying to the door and--we=
ll,
I couldn't stand it; it was enough to break a person's heart; so I got out.=
They took him up to the little one-horse jail =
in
the village, and we all went along to tell him good-bye; and Tom was feeling
elegant, and says to me, "We'll have a most noble good time and heaps =
of
danger some dark night getting him out of there, Huck, and it'll be talked
about everywheres and we will be celebrated;" but the old man busted t=
hat scheme
up the minute he whispered to him about it. He said no, it was his duty to
stand whatever the law done to him, and he would stick to the jail plumb
through to the end, even if there warn't no door to it. It disappointed Tom=
and
graveled him a good deal, but he had to put up with it.
But he felt responsible and bound to get his u=
ncle
Silas free; and he told Aunt Sally, the last thing, not to worry, because he
was going to turn in and work night and day and beat this game and fetch Un=
cle
Silas out innocent; and she was very loving to him and thanked him and said=
she
knowed he would do his very best. And she told us to help Benny take care of
the house and the children, and then we had a good-bye cry all around and w=
ent
back to the farm, and left her there to live with the jailer's wife a month
till the trial in October.
WELL, that was a hard month on us all. Poor Be=
nny,
she kept up the best she could, and me and Tom tried to keep things cheerful
there at the house, but it kind of went for nothing, as you may say. It was=
the
same up at the jail. We went up every day to see the old people, but it was=
awful
dreary, because the old man warn't sleeping much, and was walking in his sl=
eep
considerable and so he got to looking fagged and miserable, and his mind got
shaky, and we all got afraid his troubles would break him down and kill him.
And whenever we tried to persuade him to feel cheerfuler, he only shook his
head and said if we only knowed what it was to carry around a murderer's lo=
ad
in your heart we wouldn't talk that way. Tom and all of us kept telling him=
it
WASN'T murder, but just accidental killing! but it never made any
difference--it was murder, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He actu'ly
begun to come out plain and square towards trial time and acknowledge that =
he
TRIED to kill the man. Why, that was awful, you know. It made things seem f=
ifty
times as dreadful, and there warn't no more comfort for Aunt Sally and Benn=
y. But
he promised he wouldn't say a word about his murder when others was around,=
and
we was glad of that.
Tom Sawyer racked the head off of himself all =
that
month trying to plan some way out for Uncle Silas, and many's the night he =
kept
me up 'most all night with this kind of tiresome work, but he couldn't seem=
to
get on the right track no way. As for me, I reckoned a body might as well g=
ive
it up, it all looked so blue and I was so downhearted; but he wouldn't. He
stuck to the business right along, and went on planning and thinking and
ransacking his head.
So at last the trial come on, towards the midd=
le
of October, and we was all in the court. The place was jammed, of course. P=
oor
old Uncle Silas, he looked more like a dead person than a live one, his eyes
was so hollow and he looked so thin and so mournful. Benny she set on one s=
ide of
him and Aunt Sally on the other, and they had veils on, and was full of
trouble. But Tom he set by our lawyer, and had his finger in everywheres, of
course. The lawyer let him, and the judge let him. He 'most took the busine=
ss
out of the lawyer's hands sometimes; which was well enough, because that was
only a mud-turtle of a back-settlement lawyer and didn't know enough to com=
e in
when it rains, as the saying is.
They swore in the jury, and then the lawyer for
the prostitution got up and begun. He made a terrible speech against the old
man, that made him moan and groan, and made Benny and Aunt Sally cry. The w=
ay
HE told about the murder kind of knocked us all stupid it was so different =
from
the old man's tale. He said he was going to prove that Uncle Silas was SEEN=
to
kill Jubiter Dunlap by two good witnesses, and done it deliberate, and SAID=
he
was going to kill him the very minute he hit him with the club; and they se=
en
him hide Jubiter in the bushes, and they seen that Jubiter was stone-dead. =
And
said Uncle Silas come later and lugged Jubiter down into the tobacker field,
and two men seen him do it. And said Uncle Silas turned out, away in the ni=
ght,
and buried Jubiter, and a man seen him at it.
I says to myself, poor old Uncle Silas has been
lying about it because he reckoned nobody seen him and he couldn't bear to
break Aunt Sally's heart and Benny's; and right he was: as for me, I would =
'a'
lied the same way, and so would anybody that had any feeling, to save them =
such
misery and sorrow which THEY warn't no ways responsible for. Well, it made =
our
lawyer look pretty sick; and it knocked Tom silly, too, for a little spell,=
but
then he braced up and let on that he warn't worried--but I knowed he WAS, a=
ll
the same. And the people--my, but it made a stir amongst them!
And when that lawyer was done telling the jury
what he was going to prove, he set down and begun to work his witnesses.
First, he called a lot of them to show that th=
ere
was bad blood betwixt Uncle Silas and the diseased; and they told how they =
had
heard Uncle Silas threaten the diseased, at one time and another, and how it
got worse and worse and everybody was talking about it, and how diseased go=
t afraid
of his life, and told two or three of them he was certain Uncle Silas would=
up
and kill him some time or another.
Tom and our lawyer asked them some questions; =
but
it warn't no use, they stuck to what they said.
Next, they called up Lem Beebe, and he took the
stand. It come into my mind, then, how Lem and Jim Lane had come along talk=
ing,
that time, about borrowing a dog or something from Jubiter Dunlap; and that
brought up the blackberries and the lantern; and that brought up Bill and J=
ack Withers,
and how they passed by, talking about a nigger stealing Uncle Silas's corn;=
and
that fetched up our old ghost that come along about the same time and scare=
d us
so--and here HE was too, and a privileged character, on accounts of his bei=
ng
deef and dumb and a stranger, and they had fixed him a chair inside the
railing, where he could cross his legs and be comfortable, whilst the other
people was all in a jam so they couldn't hardly breathe. So it all come bac=
k to
me just the way it was that day; and it made me mournful to think how pleas=
ant
it was up to then, and how miserable ever since.
LEM BEEBE, sworn, said--"I was
a-coming along, that day, seco=
nd of
September, and Jim Lane was with me, and it was towards sundown, and we heard loud t=
alk,
like quarrelling, and we was v=
ery
close, only the hazel bushes between (that's along the fence); and we heard a voi=
ce
say, 'I've told you more'n onc=
e I'd
kill you,' and knowed it was this prisoner's voice; and then we see a club come up
above the bushes and down out =
of
sight again, and heard a smashing thump and then a groan or two: and then we crope so=
ft to
where we could see, and there =
laid
Jupiter Dunlap dead, and this prisoner standing over him with the club; and=
the
next he hauled the dead man in=
to a
clump of bushes and hid him, and then we stooped low, to be out of sight, and=
got
away."
Well, it was awful. It kind of froze everybody=
's
blood to hear it, and the house was 'most as still whilst he was telling it=
as
if there warn't nobody in it. And when he was done, you could hear them gasp
and sigh, all over the house, and look at one another the same as to say,
"Ain't it perfectly terrible--ain't it awful!"
Now happened a thing that astonished me. All t=
he
time the first witnesses was proving the bad blood and the threats and all
that, Tom Sawyer was alive and laying for them; and the minute they was
through, he went for them, and done his level best to catch them in lies an=
d spile
their testimony. But now, how different. When Lem first begun to talk, and
never said anything about speaking to Jubiter or trying to borrow a dog off=
of
him, he was all alive and laying for Lem, and you could see he was getting
ready to cross-question him to death pretty soon, and then I judged him and=
me
would go on the stand by and by and tell what we heard him and Jim Lane say.
But the next time I looked at Tom I got the cold shivers. Why, he was in the
brownest study you ever see--miles and miles away. He warn't hearing a word=
Lem
Beebe was saying; and when he got through he was still in that brown-study,
just the same. Our lawyer joggled him, and then he looked up startled, and
says, "Take the witness if you want him. Lemme alone--I want to
think."
Well, that beat me. I couldn't understand it. =
And
Benny and her mother--oh, they looked sick, they was so troubled. They shov=
ed
their veils to one side and tried to get his eye, but it warn't any use, an=
d I
couldn't get his eye either. So the mud-turtle he tackled the witness, but =
it
didn't amount to nothing; and he made a mess of it.
Then they called up Jim Lane, and he told the =
very
same story over again, exact. Tom never listened to this one at all, but set
there thinking and thinking, miles and miles away. So the mud-turtle went i=
n alone
again and come out just as flat as he done before. The lawyer for the
prostitution looked very comfortable, but the judge looked disgusted. You s=
ee,
Tom was just the same as a regular lawyer, nearly, because it was Arkansaw =
law
for a prisoner to choose anybody he wanted to help his lawyer, and Tom had =
had
Uncle Silas shove him into the case, and now he was botching it and you cou=
ld
see the judge didn't like it much. All that the mud-turtle got out of Lem a=
nd
Jim was this: he asked them:
"Why didn't you go and tell what you
saw?"
"We was afraid we would get mixed up in it
ourselves. And we was just starting down the river a-hunting for all the we=
ek
besides; but as soon as we come back we found out they'd been searching for=
the
body, so then we went and told Brace Dunlap all about it."
"When was that?"
"Saturday night, September 9th."
The judge he spoke up and says:
"Mr. Sheriff, arrest these two witnesses =
on
suspicions of being accessionary after the fact to the murder."
The lawyer for the prostitution jumps up all
excited, and says:
"Your honor! I protest against this
extraordi--"
"Set down!" says the judge, pulling =
his
bowie and laying it on his pulpit. "I beg you to respect the Court.&qu=
ot;
So he done it. Then he called Bill Withers.
BILL WITHERS, sworn, said: "I w=
as
coming along about sundown, Saturday, September 2d, by the priso=
ner's
field, and my brother Jack was=
with
me and we seen a man toting off something heavy on his back and allo=
wed it
was a nigger stealing corn; we
couldn't see distinct; next we made out that it was one man carrying another; and=
the
way it hung, so kind of limp, =
we
judged it was somebody that was drunk; and by the man's walk we said it was Parson Sil=
as,
and we judged he had found Sam
Cooper drunk in the road, which he was always trying to reform him, and was toting him ou=
t of
danger."
It made the people shiver to think of poor old
Uncle Silas toting off the diseased down to the place in his tobacker field
where the dog dug up the body, but there warn't much sympathy around amongst
the faces, and I heard one cuss say "'Tis the coldest blooded work I e=
ver
struck, lugging a murdered man around like that, and going to bury him like=
a animal,
and him a preacher at that."
Tom he went on thinking, and never took no not=
ice;
so our lawyer took the witness and done the best he could, and it was plenty
poor enough.
Then Jack Withers he come on the stand and told
the same tale, just like Bill done.
And after him comes Brace Dunlap, and he was
looking very mournful, and most crying; and there was a rustle and a stir a=
ll
around, and everybody got ready to listen, and lots of the women folks said,
"Poor cretur, poor cretur," and you could see a many of them wipi=
ng
their eyes.
BRACE DUNLAP, sworn, said: "I w=
as in
considerable trouble a long ti=
me
about my poor brother, but I reckoned things warn't near so bad as he made out, and I co=
uldn't
make myself believe anybody wo=
uld
have the heart to hurt a poor harmless cretur like that"--[by jings, I was su=
re I
seen Tom give a kind of a faint
little start, and then look disappointed again]--"and you know I COULDN'T think a preacher=
would
hurt him--it warn't natural to=
think
such an onlikely thing--so I never paid much attention, and now I sha'n't ever, e=
ver
forgive myself; for if I had a=
done
different, my poor brother would be with me this day, and not laying yonder murdered,=
and
him so harmless." He kind=
of
broke down there and choked up, and waited to get his voice; and people all around said th=
e most
pitiful things, and women crie=
d; and
it was very still in there, and solemn, and old Uncle Silas, poor thing, he give=
a
groan right out so everybody h=
eard
him. Then Brace he went on,
"Saturday, September 2d, =
he
didn't come home to supper. By-and-by I got a little uneasy, and one of my niggers=
went
over to this prisoner's place,=
but
come back and said he warn't there. So I got uneasier and uneasier, and cou=
ldn't
rest. I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep; and turne=
d out,
away late in the night, and we=
nt
wandering over to this prisoner's place and all around about there a good while,
hoping I would run across my p=
oor
brother, and never knowing he was out of his troubles and gone to a better shore--" S=
o he
broke down and choked up again=
, and
most all the women was crying now.
Pretty soon he got anot=
her
start and says: "But it warn't no use; so at last I went home and tried to get some sl=
eep,
but couldn't. Well, in a day o=
r two
everybody was uneasy, and they got to talking about this prisoner's threats, and t=
ook to
the idea, which I didn't take =
no
stock in, that my brother was murdered so they hunted around and tried to find his =
body,
but couldn't and give it up. And so I reckoned he was gone off somer=
s to
have a little peace, and would=
come
back to us when his troubles w=
as
kind of healed. But late Saturday =
night,
the 9th, Lem Beebe and Jim Lan=
e come
to my house and told me all--told me the whole awful 'sassination, and my=
heart
was broke. And THEN I remember=
ed
something that hadn't took no hold of me at the time, because reports said this pris=
oner
had took to walking in his sle=
ep and
doing all kind of things of no consequence, not knowing what he was about. I will tell you what that thing was that come back into my mem=
ory.
Away late that awful Saturday =
night
when I was wandering around about this prisoner's place, grieving and troub=
led, I
was down by the corner of the
tobacker-field and I heard a sound like digging in a gritty soil; and I crope nearer=
and
peeped through the vines that =
hung
on the rail fence and seen this prisoner SHOVELING--shoveling with a long-han=
dled
shovel--heaving earth into a b=
ig
hole that was most filled up; his back was to me, but it was bright moonlight and I kn=
owed
him by his old green baize wor=
k-gown
with a splattery white patch in the middle of the back like somebody had hit him w=
ith a
snowball. HE WAS BURYING THE M=
AN
HE'D MURDERED!"
And he slumped down in his chair crying and
sobbing, and 'most everybody in the house busted out wailing, and crying, a=
nd
saying, "Oh, it's awful--awful--horrible!" and there was a most
tremendous excitement, and you couldn't hear yourself think; and right in t=
he
midst of it up jumps old Uncle Silas, white as a sheet, and sings out:
"IT'S TRUE, EVERY WORD--I MURDERED HIM IN
COLD BLOOD!"
By Jackson, it petrified them! People rose up =
wild
all over the house, straining and staring for a better look at him, and the
judge was hammering with his mallet and the sheriff yelling "Order--or=
der
in the court--order!"
And all the while the old man stood there
a-quaking and his eyes a-burning, and not looking at his wife and daughter,
which was clinging to him and begging him to keep still, but pawing them off
with his hands and saying he WOULD clear his black soul from crime, he WOULD
heave off this load that was more than he could bear, and he WOULDN'T bear =
it
another hour! And then he raged right along with his awful tale, everybody
a-staring and gasping, judge, jury, lawyers, and everybody, and Benny and A=
unt
Sally crying their hearts out. And by George, Tom Sawyer never looked at him
once! Never once--just set there gazing with all his eyes at something else=
, I
couldn't tell what. And so the old man raged right along, pouring his words=
out
like a stream of fire:
"I killed him! I am guilty! But I never h=
ad
the notion in my life to hurt him or harm him, spite of all them lies about=
my
threatening him, till the very minute I raised the club--then my heart went
cold!--then the pity all went out of it, and I struck to kill! In that one
moment all my wrongs come into my mind; all the insults that that man and t=
he scoundrel
his brother, there, had put upon me, and how they laid in together to ruin =
me
with the people, and take away my good name, and DRIVE me to some deed that
would destroy me and my family that hadn't ever done THEM no harm, so help =
me
God! And they done it in a mean revenge--for why? Because my innocent pure =
girl
here at my side wouldn't marry that rich, insolent, ignorant coward, Brace
Dunlap, who's been sniveling here over a brother he never cared a brass
farthing for--" [I see Tom give a jump and look glad THIS time, to a d=
ead
certainty] "--and in that moment I've told you about, I forgot my God =
and
remembered only my heart's bitterness, God forgive me, and I struck to kill=
. In
one second I was miserably sorry--oh, filled with remorse; but I thought of=
my
poor family, and I MUST hide what I'd done for their sakes; and I did hide =
that
corpse in the bushes; and presently I carried it to the tobacker field; and=
in
the deep night I went with my shovel and buried it where--"
Up jumps Tom and shouts:
"NOW, I've got it!" and waves his ha=
nd,
oh, ever so fine and starchy, towards the old man, and says:
"Set down! A murder WAS done, but you nev=
er
had no hand in it!"
Well, sir, you could a heard a pin drop. And t=
he
old man he sunk down kind of bewildered in his seat and Aunt Sally and Benny
didn't know it, because they was so astonished and staring at Tom with their
mouths open and not knowing what they was about. And the whole house the sa=
me.
I never seen people look so helpless and tangled up, and I hain't ever seen
eyes bug out and gaze without a blink the way theirn did. Tom says, perfect=
ly
ca'm:
"Your honor, may I speak?"
"For God's sake, yes--go on!" says t= he judge, so astonished and mixed up he didn't know what he was about hardly.<= o:p>
Then Tom he stood there and waited a second or
two--that was for to work up an "effect," as he calls it--then he
started in just as ca'm as ever, and says:
"For about two weeks now there's been a
little bill sticking on the front of this courthouse offering two thousand
dollars reward for a couple of big di'monds--stole at St. Louis. Them di'mo=
nds
is worth twelve thousand dollars. But never mind about that till I get to i=
t.
Now about this murder. I will tell you all about it--how it happened--who d=
one it--every
DEtail."
You could see everybody nestle now, and begin =
to
listen for all they was worth.
"This man here, Brace Dunlap, that's been
sniveling so about his dead brother that YOU know he never cared a straw fo=
r,
wanted to marry that young girl there, and she wouldn't have him. So he told
Uncle Silas he would make him sorry. Uncle Silas knowed how powerful he was,
and how little chance he had against such a man, and he was scared and worr=
ied,
and done everything he could think of to smooth him over and get him to be =
good
to him: he even took his no-account brother Jubiter on the farm and give him
wages and stinted his own family to pay them; and Jubiter done everything h=
is
brother could contrive to insult Uncle Silas, and fret and worry him, and t=
ry
to drive Uncle Silas into doing him a hurt, so as to injure Uncle Silas with
the people. And it done it. Everybody turned against him and said the meane=
st
kind of things about him, and it graduly broke his heart--yes, and he was so
worried and distressed that often he warn't hardly in his right mind.
"Well, on that Saturday that we've had so
much trouble about, two of these witnesses here, Lem Beebe and Jim Lane, co=
me
along by where Uncle Silas and Jubiter Dunlap was at work--and that much of
what they've said is true, the rest is lies. They didn't hear Uncle Silas s=
ay
he would kill Jubiter; they didn't hear no blow struck; they didn't see no =
dead
man, and they didn't see Uncle Silas hide anything in the bushes. Look at t=
hem
now--how they set there, wishing they hadn't been so handy with their tongu=
es;
anyway, they'll wish it before I get done.
"That same Saturday evening Bill and Jack
Withers DID see one man lugging off another one. That much of what they sai=
d is
true, and the rest is lies. First off they thought it was a nigger stealing
Uncle Silas's corn--you notice it makes them look silly, now, to find out s=
omebody
overheard them say that. That's because they found out by and by who it was
that was doing the lugging, and THEY know best why they swore here that they
took it for Uncle Silas by the gait--which it WASN'T, and they knowed it wh=
en
they swore to that lie.
"A man out in the moonlight DID see a
murdered person put under ground in the tobacker field--but it wasn't Uncle
Silas that done the burying. He was in his bed at that very time.
"Now, then, before I go on, I want to ask=
you
if you've ever noticed this: that people, when they're thinking deep, or wh=
en
they're worried, are most always doing something with their hands, and they
don't know it, and don't notice what it is their hands are doing, some stro=
ke
their chins; some stroke their noses; some stroke up UNDER their chin with =
their
hand; some twirl a chain, some fumble a button, then there's some that draw=
s a
figure or a letter with their finger on their cheek, or under their chin or=
on
their under lip. That's MY way. When I'm restless, or worried, or thinking
hard, I draw capital V's on my cheek or on my under lip or under my chin, a=
nd
never anything BUT capital V's--and half the time I don't notice it and don=
't
know I'm doing it."
That was odd. That is just what I do; only I m=
ake
an O. And I could see people nodding to one another, same as they do when t=
hey
mean "THAT's so."
"Now, then, I'll go on. That same
Saturday--no, it was the night before--there was a steamboat laying at
Flagler's Landing, forty miles above here, and it was raining and storming =
like
the nation. And there was a thief aboard, and he had them two big di'monds
that's advertised out here on this courthouse door; and he slipped ashore w=
ith
his hand-bag and struck out into the dark and the storm, and he was a-hopin=
g he
could get to this town all right and be safe. But he had two pals aboard the
boat, hiding, and he knowed they was going to kill him the first chance they
got and take the di'monds; because all three stole them, and then this fell=
ow
he got hold of them and skipped.
"Well, he hadn't been gone more'n ten min=
utes
before his pals found it out, and they jumped ashore and lit out after him.
Prob'ly they burnt matches and found his tracks. Anyway, they dogged along
after him all day Saturday and kept out of his sight; and towards sundown he
come to the bunch of sycamores down by Uncle Silas's field, and he went in
there to get a disguise out of his hand-bag and put it on before he showed =
himself
here in the town--and mind you he done that just a little after the time th=
at
Uncle Silas was hitting Jubiter Dunlap over the head with a club--for he DID
hit him.
"But the minute the pals see that thief s=
lide
into the bunch of sycamores, they jumped out of the bushes and slid in after
him.
"They fell on him and clubbed him to deat=
h.
"Yes, for all he screamed and howled so, =
they
never had no mercy on him, but clubbed him to death. And two men that was
running along the road heard him yelling that way, and they made a rush into
the sycamore bunch--which was where they was bound for, anyway--and when the
pals saw them they lit out and the two new men after them a-chasing them as=
tight
as they could go. But only a minute or two--then these two new men slipped =
back
very quiet into the sycamores.
"THEN what did they do? I will tell you w=
hat
they done. They found where the thief had got his disguise out of his
carpet-sack to put on; so one of them strips and puts on that disguise.&quo=
t;
Tom waited a little here, for some more
"effect"--then he says, very deliberate:
"The man that put on that dead man's disg=
uise
was--JUBITER DUNLAP!"
"Great Scott!" everybody shouted, all
over the house, and old Uncle Silas he looked perfectly astonished.
"Yes, it was Jubiter Dunlap. Not dead, you
see. Then they pulled off the dead man's boots and put Jubiter Dunlap's old
ragged shoes on the corpse and put the corpse's boots on Jubiter Dunlap. Th=
en
Jubiter Dunlap stayed where he was, and the other man lugged the dead body =
off
in the twilight; and after midnight he went to Uncle Silas's house, and too=
k his
old green work-robe off of the peg where it always hangs in the passage bet=
wixt
the house and the kitchen and put it on, and stole the long-handled shovel =
and
went off down into the tobacker field and buried the murdered man."
He stopped, and stood half a minute.
Then--"And who do you reckon the murdered man WAS? It was--JAKE Dunlap,
the long-lost burglar!"
"Great Scott!"
"And the man that buried him was--BRACE
Dunlap, his brother!"
"Great Scott!"
"And who do you reckon is this mowing idi=
ot
here that's letting on all these weeks to be a deef and dumb stranger?
It's--JUBITER Dunlap!"
My land, they all busted out in a howl, and you
never see the like of that excitement since the day you was born. And Tom he
made a jump for Jubiter and snaked off his goggles and his false whiskers, =
and
there was the murdered man, sure enough, just as alive as anybody! And Aunt
Sally and Benny they went to hugging and crying and kissing and smothering =
old Uncle
Silas to that degree he was more muddled and confused and mushed up in his =
mind
than he ever was before, and that is saying considerable. And next, people
begun to yell:
"Tom Sawyer! Tom Sawyer! Shut up everybod=
y,
and let him go on! Go on, Tom Sawyer!"
Which made him feel uncommon bully, for it was
nuts for Tom Sawyer to be a public character that-away, and a hero, as he c=
alls
it. So when it was all quiet, he says:
"There ain't much left, only this. When t=
hat
man there, Bruce Dunlap, had most worried the life and sense out of Uncle S=
ilas
till at last he plumb lost his mind and hit this other blatherskite, his
brother, with a club, I reckon he seen his chance. Jubiter broke for the wo=
ods
to hide, and I reckon the game was for him to slide out, in the night, and
leave the country. Then Brace would make everybody believe Uncle Silas kill=
ed him
and hid his body somers; and that would ruin Uncle Silas and drive HIM out =
of
the country--hang him, maybe; I dunno. But when they found their dead broth=
er
in the sycamores without knowing him, because he was so battered up, they s=
ee
they had a better thing; disguise BOTH and bury Jake and dig him up present=
ly
all dressed up in Jubiter's clothes, and hire Jim Lane and Bill Withers and=
the
others to swear to some handy lies--which they done. And there they set, no=
w,
and I told them they would be looking sick before I got done, and that is t=
he
way they're looking now.
"Well, me and Huck Finn here, we come dow=
n on
the boat with the thieves, and the dead one told us all about the di'monds,=
and
said the others would murder him if they got the chance; and we was going to
help him all we could. We was bound for the sycamores when we heard them
killing him in there; but we was in there in the early morning after the st=
orm and
allowed nobody hadn't been killed, after all. And when we see Jubiter Dunlap
here spreading around in the very same disguise Jake told us HE was going to
wear, we thought it was Jake his own self--and he was goo-gooing deef and d=
umb,
and THAT was according to agreement.
"Well, me and Huck went on hunting for the
corpse after the others quit, and we found it. And was proud, too; but Uncle
Silas he knocked us crazy by telling us HE killed the man. So we was mighty
sorry we found the body, and was bound to save Uncle Silas's neck if we cou=
ld;
and it was going to be tough work, too, because he wouldn't let us break him
out of prison the way we done with our old nigger Jim.
"I done everything I could the whole mont=
h to
think up some way to save Uncle Silas, but I couldn't strike a thing. So wh=
en we
come into court to-day I come empty, and couldn't see no chance anywheres. =
But
by and by I had a glimpse of something that set me thinking--just a little =
wee glimpse--only
that, and not enough to make sure; but it set me thinking hard--and WATCHIN=
G,
when I was only letting on to think; and by and by, sure enough, when Uncle
Silas was piling out that stuff about HIM killing Jubiter Dunlap, I catched
that glimpse again, and this time I jumped up and shut down the proceedings,
because I KNOWED Jubiter Dunlap was a-setting here before me. I knowed him =
by a
thing which I seen him do--and I remembered it. I'd seen him do it when I w=
as
here a year ago."
He stopped then, and studied a minute--laying =
for
an "effect"--I knowed it perfectly well. Then he turned off like =
he
was going to leave the platform, and says, kind of lazy and indifferent:
"Well, I believe that is all."
Why, you never heard such a howl!--and it come
from the whole house:
"What WAS it you seen him do? Stay where =
you
are, you little devil! You think you are going to work a body up till his
mouth's a-watering and stop there? What WAS it he done?"
That was it, you see--he just done it to get an
"effect"; you couldn't 'a' pulled him off of that platform with a
yoke of oxen.
"Oh, it wasn't anything much," he sa=
ys.
"I seen him looking a little excited when he found Uncle Silas was
actually fixing to hang himself for a murder that warn't ever done; and he =
got
more and more nervous and worried, I a-watching him sharp but not seeming to
look at him--and all of a sudden his hands begun to work and fidget, and pr=
etty
soon his left crept up and HIS FINGER DRAWED A CROSS ON HIS CHEEK, and then=
I
HAD him!"
Well, then they ripped and howled and stomped =
and
clapped their hands till Tom Sawyer was that proud and happy he didn't know
what to do with himself.
And then the judge he looked down over his pul=
pit
and says:
"My boy, did you SEE all the various deta=
ils
of this strange conspiracy and tragedy that you've been describing?"
"No, your honor, I didn't see any of
them."
"Didn't see any of them! Why, you've told=
the
whole history straight through, just the same as if you'd seen it with your
eyes. How did you manage that?"
Tom says, kind of easy and comfortable:
"Oh, just noticing the evidence and pieci=
ng this
and that together, your honor; just an ordinary little bit of detective wor=
k;
anybody could 'a' done it."
"Nothing of the kind! Not two in a million
could 'a' done it. You are a very remarkable boy."
Then they let go and give Tom another smashing=
round,
and he--well, he wouldn't 'a' sold out for a silver mine. Then the judge sa=
ys:
"But are you certain you've got this curi=
ous
history straight?"
"Perfectly, your honor. Here is Brace
Dunlap--let him deny his share of it if he wants to take the chance; I'll
engage to make him wish he hadn't said anything...... Well, you see HE'S pr=
etty
quiet. And his brother's pretty quiet, and them four witnesses that lied so=
and
got paid for it, they're pretty quiet. And as for Uncle Silas, it ain't any=
use
for him to put in his oar, I wouldn't believe him under oath!"
Well, sir, that fairly made them shout; and ev=
en
the judge he let go and laughed. Tom he was just feeling like a rainbow. Wh=
en
they was done laughing he looks up at the judge and says:
"Your honor, there's a thief in this
house."
"A thief?"
"Yes, sir. And he's got them
twelve-thousand-dollar di'monds on him."
By gracious, but it made a stir! Everybody went
shouting:
"Which is him? which is him? p'int him
out!"
And the judge says:
"Point him out, my lad. Sheriff, you will
arrest him. Which one is it?"
Tom says:
"This late dead man here--Jubiter
Dunlap."
Then there was another thundering let-go of
astonishment and excitement; but Jubiter, which was astonished enough befor=
e,
was just fairly putrified with astonishment this time. And he spoke up, abo=
ut
half crying, and says:
"Now THAT'S a lie. Your honor, it ain't f=
air;
I'm plenty bad enough without that. I done the other things--Brace he put m=
e up
to it, and persuaded me, and promised he'd make me rich, some day, and I do=
ne
it, and I'm sorry I done it, and I wisht I hadn't; but I hain't stole no di=
'monds,
and I hain't GOT no di'monds; I wisht I may never stir if it ain't so. The
sheriff can search me and see."
Tom says:
"Your honor, it wasn't right to call him a
thief, and I'll let up on that a little. He did steal the di'monds, but he
didn't know it. He stole them from his brother Jake when he was laying dead,
after Jake had stole them from the other thieves; but Jubiter didn't know he
was stealing them; and he's been swelling around here with them a month; ye=
s,
sir, twelve thousand dollars' worth of di'monds on him--all that riches, and
going around here every day just like a poor man. Yes, your honor, he's got
them on him now."
The judge spoke up and says:
"Search him, sheriff."
Well, sir, the sheriff he ransacked him high a=
nd
low, and everywhere: searched his hat, socks, seams, boots, everything--and=
Tom
he stood there quiet, laying for another of them effects of hisn. Finally t=
he
sheriff he give it up, and everybody looked disappointed, and Jubiter says:=
"There, now! what'd I tell you?"
And the judge says:
"It appears you were mistaken this time, =
my
boy."
Then Tom took an attitude and let on to be
studying with all his might, and scratching his head. Then all of a sudden =
he
glanced up chipper, and says:
"Oh, now I've got it! I'd forgot."
Which was a lie, and I knowed it. Then he says=
:
"Will somebody be good enough to lend me a
little small screwdriver? There was one in your brother's hand-bag that you
smouched, Jubiter, but I reckon you didn't fetch it with you."
"No, I didn't. I didn't want it, and I gi=
ve
it away."
"That's because you didn't know what it w=
as
for."
Jubiter had his boots on again, by now, and wh=
en
the thing Tom wanted was passed over the people's heads till it got to him,=
he
says to Jubiter:
"Put up your foot on this chair." An=
d he
kneeled down and begun to unscrew the heel-plate, everybody watching; and w=
hen
he got that big di'mond out of that boot-heel and held it up and let it fla=
sh
and blaze and squirt sunlight everwhichaway, it just took everybody's breat=
h;
and Jubiter he looked so sick and sorry you never see the like of it. And w=
hen
Tom held up the other di'mond he looked sorrier than ever. Land! he was
thinking how he would 'a' skipped out and been rich and independent in a
foreign land if he'd only had the luck to guess what the screwdriver was in=
the
carpet-bag for.
Well, it was a most exciting time, take it all
around, and Tom got cords of glory. The judge took the di'monds, and stood =
up
in his pulpit, and cleared his throat, and shoved his spectacles back on his
head, and says:
"I'll keep them and notify the owners; and
when they send for them it will be a real pleasure to me to hand you the two
thousand dollars, for you've earned the money--yes, and you've earned the
deepest and most sincerest thanks of this community besides, for lifting a
wronged and innocent family out of ruin and shame, and saving a good and
honorable man from a felon's death, and for exposing to infamy and the
punishment of the law a cruel and odious scoundrel and his miserable
creatures!"
Well, sir, if there'd been a brass band to bust
out some music, then, it would 'a' been just the perfectest thing I ever se=
e,
and Tom Sawyer he said the same.
Then the sheriff he nabbed Brace Dunlap and his
crowd, and by and by next month the judge had them up for trial and jailed =
the
whole lot. And everybody crowded back to Uncle Silas's little old church, a=
nd
was ever so loving and kind to him and the family and couldn't do enough fo=
r them;
and Uncle Silas he preached them the blamedest jumbledest idiotic sermons y=
ou
ever struck, and would tangle you up so you couldn't find your way home in
daylight; but the people never let on but what they thought it was the clea=
rest
and brightest and elegantest sermons that ever was; and they would set there
and cry, for love and pity; but, by George, they give me the jim-jams and t=
he
fan-tods and caked up what brains I had, and turned them solid; but by and =
by
they loved the old man's intellects back into him again, and he was as soun=
d in
his skull as ever he was, which ain't no flattery, I reckon. And so the who=
le family
was as happy as birds, and nobody could be gratefuler and lovinger than what
they was to Tom Sawyer; and the same to me, though I hadn't done nothing. A=
nd
when the two thousand dollars come, Tom give half of it to me, and never to=
ld
anybody so, which didn't surprise me, because I knowed him.