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Chapter XXIX
THE first thing Tom heard on Friday
morning was a glad piece of news --Judge
Thatcher's family had come back to town
the night before.
Both *** Joe and the treasure sunk into
secondary importance for a moment, and
Becky took the chief place in the boy's
interest.
He saw her and they had an exhausting good
time playing "hi-spy" and "gully-keeper"
with a crowd of their school-mates.
The day was completed and crowned in a
peculiarly satisfactory way: Becky teased
her mother to appoint the next day for the
long-promised and long-delayed picnic, and
she consented.
The child's delight was boundless; and
Tom's not more moderate.
The invitations were sent out before
sunset, and straightway the young folks of
the village were thrown into a fever of
preparation and pleasurable anticipation.
Tom's excitement enabled him to keep awake
until a pretty late hour, and he had good
hopes of hearing Huck's "maow," and of
having his treasure to astonish Becky and
the picnickers with, next day; but he was
disappointed.
No signal came that night.
Morning came, eventually, and by ten or
eleven o'clock a giddy and rollicking
company were gathered at Judge Thatcher's,
and everything was ready for a start.
It was not the custom for elderly people
to mar the picnics with their presence.
The children were considered safe enough
under the wings of a few young ladies of
eighteen and a few young gentlemen of
twenty-three or thereabouts.
The old steam ferryboat was chartered for
the occasion; presently the gay throng
filed up the main street laden with
provision-baskets.
Sid was sick and had to miss the fun; Mary
remained at home to entertain him.
The last thing Mrs. Thatcher said to
Becky, was:
"You'll not get back till late.
Perhaps you'd better stay all night with
some of the girls that live near the
ferry-landing, child."
"Then I'll stay with Susy Harper, mamma."
"Very well.
And mind and behave yourself and don't be
any trouble."
Presently, as they tripped along, Tom said
to Becky:
"Say--I'll tell you what we'll do.
'Stead of going to Joe Harper's we'll
climb right up the hill and stop at the
Widow Douglas'.
She'll have ice-cream!
She has it most every day--dead loads of
it.
And she'll be awful glad to have us."
"Oh, that will be fun!"
Then Becky reflected a moment and said:
"But what will mamma say?"
"How'll she ever know?"
The girl turned the idea over in her mind,
and said reluctantly:
"I reckon it's wrong--but--"
"But shucks!
Your mother won't know, and so what's the
harm?
All she wants is that you'll be safe; and
I bet you she'd 'a' said go there if she'd
'a' thought of it.
I know she would!"
The Widow Douglas' splendid hospitality
was a tempting bait.
It and Tom's persuasions presently carried
the day.
So it was decided to say nothing anybody
about the night's programme.
Presently it occurred to Tom that maybe
Huck might come this very night and give
the signal.
The thought took a deal of the spirit out
of his anticipations.
Still he could not bear to give up the fun
at Widow Douglas'.
And why should he give it up, he reasoned-
-the signal did not come the night before,
so why should it be any more likely to
come to-night?
The sure fun of the evening outweighed the
uncertain treasure; and, boy-like, he
determined to yield to the stronger
inclination and not allow himself to think
of the box of money another time that day.
Three miles below town the ferryboat
stopped at the mouth of a *** hollow and
tied up.
The crowd swarmed ashore and soon the
forest distances and craggy heights echoed
far and near with shoutings and laughter.
All the different ways of getting hot and
tired were gone through with, and by-and-
by the rovers straggled back to camp
fortified with responsible appetites, and
then the destruction of the good things
began.
After the feast there was a refreshing
season of rest and chat in the shade of
spreading oaks.
By-and-by somebody shouted:
"Who's ready for the cave?"
Everybody was.
Bundles of candles were procured, and
straightway there was a general scamper up
the hill.
The mouth of the cave was up the hillside-
-an opening shaped like a letter A.
Its massive oaken door stood unbarred.
Within was a small chamber, chilly as an
ice-house, and walled by Nature with solid
limestone that was dewy with a cold sweat.
It was romantic and mysterious to stand
here in the deep gloom and look out upon
the green valley shining in the sun.
But the impressiveness of the situation
quickly wore off, and the romping began
again.
The moment a candle was lighted there was
a general rush upon the owner of it; a
struggle and a gallant defence followed,
but the candle was soon knocked down or
blown out, and then there was a glad
clamor of laughter and a new chase.
But all things have an end.
By-and-by the procession went filing down
the steep descent of the main avenue, the
flickering rank of lights dimly revealing
the lofty walls of rock almost to their
point of junction sixty feet overhead.
This main avenue was not more than eight
or ten feet wide.
Every few steps other lofty and still
narrower crevices branched from it on
either hand--for McDougal's cave was but a
vast labyrinth of crooked aisles that ran
into each other and out again and led
nowhere.
It was said that one might wander days and
nights together through its intricate
tangle of rifts and chasms, and never find
the end of the cave; and that he might go
down, and down, and still down, into the
earth, and it was just the same--labyrinth
under labyrinth, and no end to any of
them.
No man "knew" the cave.
That was an impossible thing.
Most of the young men knew a portion of
it, and it was not customary to venture
much beyond this known portion.
Tom Sawyer knew as much of the cave as any
one.
The procession moved along the main avenue
some three-quarters of a mile, and then
groups and couples began to slip aside
into branch avenues, fly along the dismal
corridors, and take each other by surprise
at points where the corridors joined
again.
Parties were able to elude each other for
the space of half an hour without going
beyond the "known" ground.
By-and-by, one group after another came
straggling back to the mouth of the cave,
panting, hilarious, smeared from head to
foot with tallow drippings, daubed with
clay, and entirely delighted with the
success of the day.
Then they were astonished to find that
they had been taking no note of time and
that night was about at hand.
The clanging bell had been calling for
half an hour.
However, this sort of close to the day's
adventures was romantic and therefore
satisfactory.
When the ferryboat with her wild freight
pushed into the stream, nobody cared
sixpence for the wasted time but the
captain of the craft.
Huck was already upon his watch when the
ferryboat's lights went glinting past the
wharf.
He heard no noise on board, for the young
people were as subdued and still as people
usually are who are nearly tired to death.
He wondered what boat it was, and why she
did not stop at the wharf--and then he
dropped her out of his mind and put his
attention upon his business.
The night was growing cloudy and dark.
Ten o'clock came, and the noise of
vehicles ceased, scattered lights began to
wink out, all straggling foot-passengers
disappeared, the village betook itself to
its slumbers and left the small watcher
alone with the silence and the ghosts.
Eleven o'clock came, and the tavern lights
were put out; darkness everywhere, now.
Huck waited what seemed a weary long time,
but nothing happened.
His faith was weakening.
Was there any use?
Was there really any use?
Why not give it up and turn in?
A noise fell upon his ear.
He was all attention in an instant.
The alley door closed softly.
He sprang to the corner of the brick
store.
The next moment two men brushed by him,
and one seemed to have something under his
arm.
It must be that box!
So they were going to remove the treasure.
Why call Tom now?
It would be absurd--the men would get away
with the box and never be found again.
No, he would stick to their wake and
follow them; he would trust to the
darkness for security from discovery.
So communing with himself, Huck stepped
out and glided along behind the men, cat-
like, with bare feet, allowing them to
keep just far enough ahead not to be
invisible.
They moved up the river street three
blocks, then turned to the left up a
cross-street.
They went straight ahead, then, until they
came to the path that led up Cardiff Hill;
this they took.
They passed by the old Welshman's house,
half-way up the hill, without hesitating,
and still climbed upward.
Good, thought Huck, they will bury it in
the old quarry.
But they never stopped at the quarry.
They passed on, up the summit.
They plunged into the narrow path between
the tall sumach bushes, and were at once
hidden in the gloom.
Huck closed up and shortened his distance,
now, for they would never be able to see
him.
He trotted along awhile; then slackened
his pace, fearing he was gaining too fast;
moved on a piece, then stopped altogether;
listened; no sound; none, save that he
seemed to hear the beating of his own
heart.
The hooting of an owl came over the hill--
ominous sound!
But no footsteps.
Heavens, was everything lost!
He was about to spring with winged feet,
when a man cleared his throat not four
feet from him!
Huck's heart shot into his throat, but he
swallowed it again; and then he stood
there shaking as if a dozen agues had
taken charge of him at once, and so weak
that he thought he must surely fall to the
ground.
He knew where he was.
He knew he was within five steps of the
stile leading into Widow Douglas' grounds.
Very well, he thought, let them bury it
there; it won't be hard to find.
Now there was a voice--a very low voice--
*** Joe's:
"Damn her, maybe she's got company--
there's lights, late as it is."
"I can't see any."
This was that stranger's voice--the
stranger of the haunted house.
A deadly chill went to Huck's heart--this,
then, was the "revenge" job!
His thought was, to fly.
Then he remembered that the Widow Douglas
had been kind to him more than once, and
maybe these men were going to *** her.
He wished he dared venture to warn her;
but he knew he didn't dare--they might
come and catch him.
He thought all this and more in the moment
that elapsed between the stranger's remark
and *** Joe's next--which was--
"Because the bush is in your way.
Now--this way--now you see, don't you?"
"Yes.
Well, there IS company there, I reckon.
Better give it up."
"Give it up, and I just leaving this
country forever!
Give it up and maybe never have another
chance.
I tell you again, as I've told you before,
I don't care for her swag--you may have
it.
But her husband was rough on me--many
times he was rough on me--and mainly he
was the justice of the peace that jugged
me for a vagrant.
And that ain't all.
It ain't a millionth part of it!
He had me HORSEWHIPPED!--horsewhipped in
front of the jail, like a ***!--with
all the town looking on!
HORSEWHIPPED!--do you understand?
He took advantage of me and died.
But I'll take it out of HER."
"Oh, don't kill her!
Don't do that!"
"Kill?
Who said anything about killing?
I would kill HIM if he was here; but not
her.
When you want to get revenge on a woman
you don't kill her--bosh!
you go for her looks.
You slit her nostrils--you notch her ears
like a sow!"
"By God, that's--"
"Keep your opinion to yourself!
It will be safest for you.
I'll tie her to the bed.
If she bleeds to death, is that my fault?
I'll not cry, if she does.
My friend, you'll help me in this thing--
for MY sake --that's why you're here--I
mightn't be able alone.
If you flinch, I'll kill you.
Do you understand that?
And if I have to kill you, I'll kill her--
and then I reckon nobody'll ever know much
about who done this business."
"Well, if it's got to be done, let's get
at it.
The quicker the better--I'm all in a
shiver."
"Do it NOW?
And company there?
Look here--I'll get suspicious of you,
first thing you know.
No--we'll wait till the lights are out--
there's no hurry."
Huck felt that a silence was going to
ensue--a thing still more awful than any
amount of murderous talk; so he held his
breath and stepped gingerly back; planted
his foot carefully and firmly, after
balancing, one-legged, in a precarious way
and almost toppling over, first on one
side and then on the other.
He took another step back, with the same
elaboration and the same risks; then
another and another, and--a twig snapped
under his foot!
His breath stopped and he listened.
There was no sound--the stillness was
perfect.
His gratitude was measureless.
Now he turned in his tracks, between the
walls of sumach bushes--turned himself as
carefully as if he were a ship--and then
stepped quickly but cautiously along.
When he emerged at the quarry he felt
secure, and so he picked up his nimble
heels and flew.
Down, down he sped, till he reached the
Welshman's.
He banged at the door, and presently the
heads of the old man and his two stalwart
sons were thrust from windows.
"What's the row there?
Who's banging?
What do you want?"
"Let me in--quick!
I'll tell everything."
"Why, who are you?"
"Huckleberry Finn--quick, let me in!"
"Huckleberry Finn, indeed!
It ain't a name to open many doors, I
judge!
But let him in, lads, and let's see what's
the trouble."
"Please don't ever tell I told you," were
Huck's first words when he got in.
"Please don't--I'd be killed, sure--but
the widow's been good friends to me
sometimes, and I want to tell--I WILL tell
if you'll promise you won't ever say it
was me."
"By George, he HAS got something to tell,
or he wouldn't act so!"
exclaimed the old man; "out with it and
nobody here'll ever tell, lad."
Three minutes later the old man and his
sons, well armed, were up the hill, and
just entering the sumach path on tiptoe,
their weapons in their hands.
Huck accompanied them no further.
He hid behind a great bowlder and fell to
listening.
There was a lagging, anxious silence, and
then all of a sudden there was an
explosion of firearms and a cry.
Huck waited for no particulars.
He sprang away and sped down the hill as
fast as his legs could carry him.