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Chapter XXXIV.
WE stopped talking, and got to thinking.
By and by Tom says:
"Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not
think of it before!
I bet I know where Jim is."
Where?"
"In that hut down by the ash-hopper.
Why, looky here.
When we was at dinner, didn't you see a
*** man go in there with some vittles?"
"Yes."
"What did you think the vittles was for?"
"For a dog."
"So 'd I.
Well, it wasn't for a dog."
"Why?"
"Because part of it was watermelon."
"So it was--I noticed it.
Well, it does beat all that I never thought
about a dog not eating watermelon.
It shows how a body can see and don't see
at the same time."
"Well, the *** unlocked the padlock when
he went in, and he locked it again when he
came out.
He fetched uncle a key about the time we
got up from table--same key, I bet.
Watermelon shows man, lock shows prisoner;
and it ain't likely there's two prisoners
on such a little plantation, and where the
people's all so kind and good.
Jim's the prisoner.
All right--I'm glad we found it out
detective fashion; I wouldn't give shucks
for any other way.
Now you work your mind, and study out a
plan to steal Jim, and I will study out
one, too; and we'll take the one we like
the best."
What a head for just a boy to have!
If I had Tom Sawyer's head I wouldn't trade
it off to be a duke, nor mate of a
steamboat, nor clown in a circus, nor
nothing I can think of.
I went to thinking out a plan, but only
just to be doing something; I knowed very
well where the right plan was going to come
from.
Pretty soon Tom says:
"Ready?"
"Yes," I says.
"All right--bring it out."
"My plan is this," I says.
"We can easy find out if it's Jim in there.
Then get up my canoe to-morrow night, and
fetch my raft over from the island.
Then the first dark night that comes steal
the key out of the old man's britches after
he goes to bed, and shove off down the
river on the raft with Jim, hiding daytimes
and running nights, the way me and Jim used
to do before.
Wouldn't that plan work?"
"WORK?
Why, cert'nly it would work, like rats a-
fighting.
But it's too blame' simple; there ain't
nothing TO it.
What's the good of a plan that ain't no
more trouble than that?
It's as mild as goose-milk.
Why, Huck, it wouldn't make no more talk
than breaking into a soap factory."
I never said nothing, because I warn't
expecting nothing different; but I knowed
mighty well that whenever he got HIS plan
ready it wouldn't have none of them
objections to it.
And it didn't.
He told me what it was, and I see in a
minute it was worth fifteen of mine for
style, and would make Jim just as free a
man as mine would, and maybe get us all
killed besides.
So I was satisfied, and said we would waltz
in on it.
I needn't tell what it was here, because I
knowed it wouldn't stay the way, it was.
I knowed he would be changing it around
every which way as we went along, and
heaving in new bullinesses wherever he got
a chance.
And that is what he done.
Well, one thing was dead sure, and that was
that Tom Sawyer was in earnest, and was
actuly going to help steal that *** out
of slavery.
That was the thing that was too many for
me.
Here was a boy that was respectable and
well brung up; and had a character to lose;
and folks at home that had characters; and
he was bright and not leather-headed; and
knowing and not ignorant; and not mean, but
kind; and yet here he was, without any more
pride, or rightness, or feeling, than to
stoop to this business, and make himself a
shame, and his family a shame, before
everybody.
I COULDN'T understand it no way at all.
It was outrageous, and I knowed I ought to
just up and tell him so; and so be his true
friend, and let him quit the thing right
where he was and save himself.
And I DID start to tell him; but he shut me
up, and says:
"Don't you reckon I know what I'm about?
Don't I generly know what I'm about?"
"Yes."
"Didn't I SAY I was going to help steal the
***?"
"Yes."
"WELL, then."
That's all he said, and that's all I said.
It warn't no use to say any more; because
when he said he'd do a thing, he always
done it.
But I couldn't make out how he was willing
to go into this thing; so I just let it go,
and never bothered no more about it.
If he was bound to have it so, I couldn't
help it.
When we got home the house was all dark and
still; so we went on down to the hut by the
ash-hopper for to examine it.
We went through the yard so as to see what
the hounds would do.
They knowed us, and didn't make no more
noise than country dogs is always doing
when anything comes by in the night.
When we got to the cabin we took a look at
the front and the two sides; and on the
side I warn't acquainted with--which was
the north side--we found a square window-
hole, up tolerable high, with just one
stout board nailed across it.
I says:
"Here's the ticket.
This hole's big enough for Jim to get
through if we wrench off the board."
Tom says:
"It's as simple as ***-tat-toe, three-in-a-
row, and as easy as playing hooky.
I should HOPE we can find a way that's a
little more complicated than THAT, Huck
Finn."
"Well, then," I says, "how 'll it do to saw
him out, the way I done before I was
murdered that time?"
"That's more LIKE," he says.
"It's real mysterious, and troublesome, and
good," he says; "but I bet we can find a
way that's twice as long.
There ain't no hurry; le's keep on looking
around."
Betwixt the hut and the fence, on the back
side, was a lean-to that joined the hut at
the eaves, and was made out of plank.
It was as long as the hut, but narrow--only
about six foot wide.
The door to it was at the south end, and
was padlocked.
Tom he went to the soap-kettle and searched
around, and fetched back the iron thing
they lift the lid with; so he took it and
prized out one of the staples.
The chain fell down, and we opened the door
and went in, and shut it, and struck a
match, and see the shed was only built
against a cabin and hadn't no connection
with it; and there warn't no floor to the
shed, nor nothing in it but some old rusty
played-out hoes and spades and picks and a
crippled plow.
The match went out, and so did we, and
shoved in the staple again, and the door
was locked as good as ever.
Tom was joyful.
He says;
"Now we're all right.
We'll DIG him out.
It 'll take about a week!"
Then we started for the house, and I went
in the back door--you only have to pull a
buckskin latch-string, they don't fasten
the doors--but that warn't romantical
enough for Tom Sawyer; no way would do him
but he must climb up the lightning-rod.
But after he got up half way about three
times, and missed fire and fell every time,
and the last time most busted his brains
out, he thought he'd got to give it up; but
after he was rested he allowed he would
give her one more turn for luck, and this
time he made the trip.
In the morning we was up at break of day,
and down to the *** cabins to pet the
dogs and make friends with the *** that
fed Jim--if it WAS Jim that was being fed.
The *** was just getting through
breakfast and starting for the fields; and
Jim's *** was piling up a tin pan with
bread and meat and things; and whilst the
others was leaving, the key come from the
house.
This *** had a good-natured, chuckle-
headed face, and his wool was all tied up
in little bunches with thread.
That was to keep witches off.
He said the witches was pestering him awful
these nights, and making him see all kinds
of strange things, and hear all kinds of
strange words and noises, and he didn't
believe he was ever witched so long before
in his life.
He got so worked up, and got to running on
so about his troubles, he forgot all about
what he'd been a-going to do.
So Tom says:
"What's the vittles for?
Going to feed the dogs?"
The *** kind of smiled around gradually
over his face, like when you heave a
brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says:
"Yes, Mars Sid, A dog.
Cur'us dog, too.
Does you want to go en look at 'im?"
"Yes."
I hunched Tom, and whispers:
"You going, right here in the daybreak?
THAT warn't the plan."
"No, it warn't; but it's the plan NOW."
So, drat him, we went along, but I didn't
like it much.
When we got in we couldn't hardly see
anything, it was so dark; but Jim was
there, sure enough, and could see us; and
he sings out:
"Why, HUCK!
En good LAN'! ain' dat Misto Tom?"
I just knowed how it would be; I just
expected it.
I didn't know nothing to do; and if I had I
couldn't a done it, because that ***
busted in and says:
"Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you
genlmen?"
We could see pretty well now.
Tom he looked at the ***, steady and
kind of wondering, and says:
"Does WHO know us?"
"Why, dis-yer runaway ***."
"I don't reckon he does; but what put that
into your head?"
"What PUT it dar?
Didn' he jis' dis minute sing out like he
knowed you?"
Tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way:
"Well, that's mighty curious.
WHO sung out?
WHEN did he sing out?
WHAT did he sing out?"
And turns to me, perfectly ca'm, and says,
"Did YOU hear anybody sing out?"
Of course there warn't nothing to be said
but the one thing; so I says:
"No; I ain't heard nobody say nothing."
Then he turns to Jim, and looks him over
like he never see him before, and says:
"Did you sing out?"
"No, sah," says Jim; "I hain't said
nothing, sah."
"Not a word?"
"No, sah, I hain't said a word."
"Did you ever see us before?"
"No, sah; not as I knows on."
So Tom turns to the ***, which was
looking wild and distressed, and says, kind
of severe:
"What do you reckon's the matter with you,
anyway?
What made you think somebody sung out?"
"Oh, it's de dad-blame' witches, sah, en I
wisht I was dead, I do.
Dey's awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos' kill
me, dey sk'yers me so.
Please to don't tell nobody 'bout it sah,
er ole Mars Silas he'll scole me; 'kase he
say dey AIN'T no witches.
I jis' wish to goodness he was heah now --
DEN what would he say!
I jis' bet he couldn' fine no way to git
aroun' it DIS time.
But it's awluz jis' so; people dat's SOT,
stays sot; dey won't look into noth'n'en
fine it out f'r deyselves, en when YOU fine
it out en tell um 'bout it, dey doan'
b'lieve you."
Tom give him a dime, and said we wouldn't
tell nobody; and told him to buy some more
thread to tie up his wool with; and then
looks at Jim, and says:
"I wonder if Uncle Silas is going to hang
this ***.
If I was to catch a *** that was
ungrateful enough to run away, I wouldn't
give him up, I'd hang him."
And whilst the *** stepped to the door
to look at the dime and bite it to see if
it was good, he whispers to Jim and says:
"Don't ever let on to know us.
And if you hear any digging going on
nights, it's us; we're going to set you
free."
Jim only had time to grab us by the hand
and squeeze it; then the *** come back,
and we said we'd come again some time if
the *** wanted us to; and he said he
would, more particular if it was dark,
because the witches went for him mostly in
the dark, and it was good to have folks
around then.