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Chapter XI
CLOSE upon the hour of noon the whole
village was suddenly electrified with the
ghastly news.
No need of the as yet undreamed-of
telegraph; the tale flew from man to man,
from group to group, from house to house,
with little less than telegraphic speed.
Of course the schoolmaster gave holiday
for that afternoon; the town would have
thought strangely of him if he had not.
A gory knife had been found close to the
murdered man, and it had been recognized
by somebody as belonging to *** Potter--
so the story ran.
And it was said that a belated citizen had
come upon Potter washing himself in the
"branch" about one or two o'clock in the
morning, and that Potter had at once
sneaked off--suspicious circumstances,
especially the washing which was not a
habit with Potter.
It was also said that the town had been
ransacked for this "murderer" (the public
are not slow in the matter of sifting
evidence and arriving at a verdict), but
that he could not be found.
Horsemen had departed down all the roads
in every direction, and the Sheriff "was
confident" that he would be captured
before night.
All the town was drifting toward the
graveyard.
Tom's heartbreak vanished and he joined
the procession, not because he would not a
thousand times rather go anywhere else,
but because an awful, unaccountable
fascination drew him on.
Arrived at the dreadful place, he wormed
his small body through the crowd and saw
the dismal spectacle.
It seemed to him an age since he was there
before.
Somebody pinched his arm.
He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's.
Then both looked elsewhere at once, and
wondered if anybody had noticed anything
in their mutual glance.
But everybody was talking, and intent upon
the grisly spectacle before them.
"Poor fellow!"
"Poor young fellow!"
"This ought to be a lesson to grave
robbers!"
"*** Potter'll hang for this if they
catch him!"
This was the drift of remark; and the
minister said, "It was a judgment; His
hand is here."
Now Tom shivered from head to heel; for
his eye fell upon the stolid face of ***
Joe.
At this moment the crowd began to sway and
struggle, and voices shouted, "It's him!
it's him!
he's coming himself!"
"Who?
Who?"
from twenty voices.
"*** Potter!"
"Hallo, he's stopped!--Look out, he's
turning!
Don't let him get away!"
People in the branches of the trees over
Tom's head said he wasn't trying to get
away--he only looked doubtful and
perplexed.
"Infernal impudence!"
said a bystander; "wanted to come and take
a quiet look at his work, I reckon--didn't
expect any company."
The crowd fell apart, now, and the Sheriff
came through, ostentatiously leading
Potter by the arm.
The poor fellow's face was haggard, and
his eyes showed the fear that was upon
him.
When he stood before the murdered man, he
shook as with a palsy, and he put his face
in his hands and burst into tears.
"I didn't do it, friends," he sobbed;
"'pon my word and honor I never done it."
"Who's accused you?"
shouted a voice.
This shot seemed to carry home.
Potter lifted his face and looked around
him with a pathetic hopelessness in his
eyes.
He saw *** Joe, and exclaimed:
"Oh, *** Joe, you promised me you'd
never--"
"Is that your knife?"
and it was thrust before him by the
Sheriff.
Potter would have fallen if they had not
caught him and eased him to the ground.
Then he said:
"Something told me 't if I didn't come
back and get--" He shuddered; then waved
his nerveless hand with a vanquished
gesture and said, "Tell 'em, Joe, tell
'em--it ain't any use any more."
Then Huckleberry and Tom stood dumb and
staring, and heard the stony-hearted liar
reel off his serene statement, they
expecting every moment that the clear sky
would deliver God's lightnings upon his
head, and wondering to see how long the
stroke was delayed.
And when he had finished and still stood
alive and whole, their wavering impulse to
break their oath and save the poor
betrayed prisoner's life faded and
vanished away, for plainly this miscreant
had sold himself to Satan and it would be
fatal to meddle with the property of such
a power as that.
"Why didn't you leave?
What did you want to come here for?"
somebody said.
"I couldn't help it--I couldn't help it,"
Potter moaned.
"I wanted to run away, but I couldn't seem
to come anywhere but here."
And he fell to sobbing again.
*** Joe repeated his statement, just as
calmly, a few minutes afterward on the
inquest, under oath; and the boys, seeing
that the lightnings were still withheld,
were confirmed in their belief that Joe
had sold himself to the devil.
He was now become, to them, the most
balefully interesting object they had ever
looked upon, and they could not take their
fascinated eyes from his face.
They inwardly resolved to watch him
nights, when opportunity should offer, in
the hope of getting a glimpse of his dread
master.
*** Joe helped to raise the body of the
murdered man and put it in a wagon for
removal; and it was whispered through the
shuddering crowd that the wound bled a
little!
The boys thought that this happy
circumstance would turn suspicion in the
right direction; but they were
disappointed, for more than one villager
remarked:
"It was within three feet of *** Potter
when it done it."
Tom's fearful secret and gnawing
conscience disturbed his sleep for as much
as a week after this; and at breakfast one
morning Sid said:
"Tom, you pitch around and talk in your
sleep so much that you keep me awake half
the time."
Tom blanched and dropped his eyes.
"It's a bad sign," said Aunt Polly,
gravely.
"What you got on your mind, Tom?"
"Nothing.
Nothing 't I know of."
But the boy's hand shook so that he
spilled his coffee.
"And you do talk such stuff," Sid said.
"Last night you said, 'It's blood, it's
blood, that's what it is!' You said that
over and over.
And you said, 'Don't torment me so--I'll
tell!' Tell WHAT?
What is it you'll tell?"
Everything was swimming before Tom.
There is no telling what might have
happened, now, but luckily the concern
passed out of Aunt Polly's face and she
came to Tom's relief without knowing it.
She said:
"Sho!
It's that dreadful ***.
I dream about it most every night myself.
Sometimes I dream it's me that done it."
Mary said she had been affected much the
same way.
Sid seemed satisfied.
Tom got out of the presence as quick as he
plausibly could, and after that he
complained of toothache for a week, and
tied up his jaws every night.
He never knew that Sid lay nightly
watching, and frequently slipped the
bandage free and then leaned on his elbow
listening a good while at a time, and
afterward slipped the bandage back to its
place again.
Tom's distress of mind wore off gradually
and the toothache grew irksome and was
discarded.
If Sid really managed to make anything out
of Tom's disjointed mutterings, he kept it
to himself.
It seemed to Tom that his schoolmates
never would get done holding inquests on
dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble
present to his mind.
Sid noticed that Tom never was coroner at
one of these inquiries, though it had been
his habit to take the lead in all new
enterprises; he noticed, too, that Tom
never acted as a witness--and that was
strange; and Sid did not overlook the fact
that Tom even showed a marked aversion to
these inquests, and always avoided them
when he could.
Sid marvelled, but said nothing.
However, even inquests went out of vogue
at last, and ceased to torture Tom's
conscience.
Every day or two, during this time of
sorrow, Tom watched his opportunity and
went to the little grated jail-window and
smuggled such small comforts through to
the "murderer" as he could get hold of.
The jail was a trifling little brick den
that stood in a marsh at the edge of the
village, and no guards were afforded for
it; indeed, it was seldom occupied.
These offerings greatly helped to ease
Tom's conscience.
The villagers had a strong desire to tar-
and-feather *** Joe and ride him on a
rail, for body-snatching, but so
formidable was his character that nobody
could be found who was willing to take the
lead in the matter, so it was dropped.
He had been careful to begin both of his
inquest-statements with the fight, without
confessing the grave-robbery that preceded
it; therefore it was deemed wisest not to
try the case in the courts at present.