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X
Chapter X
THE two boys flew on and on, toward the
village, speechless with horror.
They glanced backward over their shoulders
from time to time, apprehensively, as if
they feared they might be followed.
Every stump that started up in their path
seemed a man and an enemy, and made them
catch their breath; and as they sped by
some outlying cottages that lay near the
village, the barking of the aroused watch-
dogs seemed to give wings to their feet.
"If we can only get to the old tannery
before we break down!"
whispered Tom, in short catches between
breaths.
"I can't stand it much longer."
Huckleberry's hard pantings were his only
reply, and the boys fixed their eyes on
the goal of their hopes and bent to their
work to win it.
They gained steadily on it, and at last,
breast to breast, they burst through the
open door and fell grateful and exhausted
in the sheltering shadows beyond.
By and by their pulses slowed down, and
Tom whispered:
"Huckleberry, what do you reckon'll come
of this?"
"If Doctor Robinson dies, I reckon
hanging'll come of it."
"Do you though?"
"Why, I KNOW it, Tom."
Tom thought a while, then he said:
"Who'll tell?
We?"
"What are you talking about?
S'pose something happened and *** Joe
DIDN'T hang?
Why, he'd kill us some time or other, just
as dead sure as we're a laying here."
"That's just what I was thinking to
myself, Huck."
"If anybody tells, let *** Potter do it,
if he's fool enough.
He's generally drunk enough."
Tom said nothing--went on thinking.
Presently he whispered:
"Huck, *** Potter don't know it.
How can he tell?"
"What's the reason he don't know it?"
"Because he'd just got that whack when
*** Joe done it.
D'you reckon he could see anything?
D'you reckon he knowed anything?"
"By hokey, that's so, Tom!"
"And besides, look-a-here--maybe that
whack done for HIM!"
"No, 'taint likely, Tom.
He had liquor in him; I could see that;
and besides, he always has.
Well, when pap's full, you might take and
belt him over the head with a church and
you couldn't phase him.
He says so, his own self.
So it's the same with *** Potter, of
course.
But if a man was dead sober, I reckon
maybe that whack might fetch him; I dono."
After another reflective silence, Tom
said:
"Hucky, you sure you can keep mum?"
"Tom, we GOT to keep mum.
You know that.
That *** devil wouldn't make any more of
drownding us than a couple of cats, if we
was to squeak 'bout this and they didn't
hang him.
Now, look-a-here, Tom, less take and swear
to one another--that's what we got to do--
swear to keep mum."
"I'm agreed.
It's the best thing.
Would you just hold hands and swear that
we--"
"Oh no, that wouldn't do for this.
That's good enough for little rubbishy
common things--specially with gals, cuz
THEY go back on you anyway, and blab if
they get in a huff--but there orter be
writing 'bout a big thing like this.
And blood."
Tom's whole being applauded this idea.
It was deep, and dark, and awful; the
hour, the circumstances, the surroundings,
were in keeping with it.
He picked up a clean pine shingle that lay
in the moonlight, took a little fragment
of "red keel" out of his pocket, got the
moon on his work, and painfully scrawled
these lines, emphasizing each slow down-
stroke by clamping his tongue between his
teeth, and letting up the pressure on the
up-strokes.
[See next page.]
"Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer swears they will
keep mum about This and They wish They may
Drop down dead in Their Tracks if They
ever Tell and Rot."
Huckleberry was filled with admiration of
Tom's facility in writing, and the
sublimity of his language.
He at once took a pin from his lapel and
was going to prick his flesh, but Tom
said:
"Hold on!
Don't do that.
A pin's brass.
It might have verdigrease on it."
"What's verdigrease?"
"It's p'ison.
That's what it is.
You just swaller some of it once --you'll
see."
So Tom unwound the thread from one of his
needles, and each boy pricked the ball of
his thumb and squeezed out a drop of
blood.
In time, after many squeezes, Tom managed
to sign his initials, using the ball of
his little finger for a pen.
Then he showed Huckleberry how to make an
H and an F, and the oath was complete.
They buried the shingle close to the wall,
with some dismal ceremonies and
incantations, and the fetters that bound
their tongues were considered to be locked
and the key thrown away.
A figure crept stealthily through a break
in the other end of the ruined building,
now, but they did not notice it.
"Tom," whispered Huckleberry, "does this
keep us from EVER telling --ALWAYS?"
"Of course it does.
It don't make any difference WHAT happens,
we got to keep mum.
We'd drop down dead--don't YOU know that?"
"Yes, I reckon that's so."
They continued to whisper for some little
time.
Presently a dog set up a long, lugubrious
howl just outside--within ten feet of
them.
The boys clasped each other suddenly, in
an agony of fright.
"Which of us does he mean?"
gasped Huckleberry.
"I dono--peep through the crack.
Quick!"
"No, YOU, Tom!"
"I can't--I can't DO it, Huck!"
"Please, Tom.
There 'tis again!"
"Oh, lordy, I'm thankful!"
whispered Tom.
"I know his voice.
It's Bull Harbison."
[* If Mr. Harbison owned a slave named
Bull, Tom would have spoken of him as
"Harbison's Bull," but a son or a dog of
that name was "Bull Harbison."]
"Oh, that's good--I tell you, Tom, I was
most scared to death; I'd a bet anything
it was a STRAY dog."
The dog howled again.
The boys' hearts sank once more.
"Oh, my!
that ain't no Bull Harbison!"
whispered Huckleberry.
"DO, Tom!"
Tom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put
his eye to the crack.
His whisper was hardly audible when he
said:
"Oh, Huck, IT S A STRAY DOG!"
"Quick, Tom, quick!
Who does he mean?"
"Huck, he must mean us both--we're right
together."
"Oh, Tom, I reckon we're goners.
I reckon there ain't no mistake 'bout
where I'LL go to.
I been so wicked."
"Dad fetch it!
This comes of playing hookey and doing
everything a feller's told NOT to do.
I might a been good, like Sid, if I'd a
tried --but no, I wouldn't, of course.
But if ever I get off this time, I lay
I'll just WALLER in Sunday-schools!"
And Tom began to snuffle a little.
"YOU bad!"
and Huckleberry began to snuffle too.
"Consound it, Tom Sawyer, you're just old
pie, 'longside o' what I am.
Oh, LORDY, lordy, lordy, I wisht I only
had half your chance."
Tom choked off and whispered:
"Look, Hucky, look!
He's got his BACK to us!"
Hucky looked, with joy in his heart.
"Well, he has, by jingoes!
Did he before?"
"Yes, he did.
But I, like a fool, never thought.
Oh, this is bully, you know.
NOW who can he mean?"
The howling stopped.
Tom pricked up his ears.
"Sh!
What's that?"
he whispered.
"Sounds like--like hogs grunting.
No--it's somebody snoring, Tom."
"That IS it!
Where 'bouts is it, Huck?"
"I bleeve it's down at 'tother end.
Sounds so, anyway.
Pap used to sleep there, sometimes, 'long
with the hogs, but laws bless you, he just
lifts things when HE snores.
Besides, I reckon he ain't ever coming
back to this town any more."
The spirit of adventure rose in the boys'
souls once more.
"Hucky, do you das't to go if I lead?"
"I don't like to, much.
Tom, s'pose it's *** Joe!"
Tom quailed.
But presently the temptation rose up
strong again and the boys agreed to try,
with the understanding that they would
take to their heels if the snoring
stopped.
So they went tiptoeing stealthily down,
the one behind the other.
When they had got to within five steps of
the snorer, Tom stepped on a stick, and it
broke with a sharp snap.
The man moaned, writhed a little, and his
face came into the moonlight.
It was *** Potter.
The boys' hearts had stood still, and
their hopes too, when the man moved, but
their fears passed away now.
They tiptoed out, through the broken
weather-boarding, and stopped at a little
distance to exchange a parting word.
That long, lugubrious howl rose on the
night air again!
They turned and saw the strange dog
standing within a few feet of where Potter
was lying, and FACING Potter, with his
nose pointing heavenward.
"Oh, geeminy, it's HIM!"
exclaimed both boys, in a breath.
"Say, Tom--they say a stray dog come
howling around Johnny Miller's house,
'bout midnight, as much as two weeks ago;
and a whippoorwill come in and lit on the
banisters and sung, the very same evening;
and there ain't anybody dead there yet."
"Well, I know that.
And suppose there ain't.
Didn't Gracie Miller fall in the kitchen
fire and burn herself terrible the very
next Saturday?"
"Yes, but she ain't DEAD.
And what's more, she's getting better,
too."
"All right, you wait and see.
She's a goner, just as dead sure as ***
Potter's a goner.
That's what the *** say, and they know
all about these kind of things, Huck."
Then they separated, cogitating.
When Tom crept in at his bedroom window
the night was almost spent.
He undressed with excessive caution, and
fell asleep congratulating himself that
nobody knew of his escapade.
He was not aware that the gently-snoring
Sid was awake, and had been so for an
hour.
When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone.
There was a late look in the light, a late
sense in the atmosphere.
He was startled.
Why had he not been called--persecuted
till he was up, as usual?
The thought filled him with bodings.
Within five minutes he was dressed and
down-stairs, feeling sore and drowsy.
The family were still at table, but they
had finished breakfast.
There was no voice of rebuke; but there
were averted eyes; there was a silence and
an air of solemnity that struck a chill to
the culprit's heart.
He sat down and tried to seem gay, but it
was up-hill work; it roused no smile, no
response, and he lapsed into silence and
let his heart sink down to the depths.
After breakfast his aunt took him aside,
and Tom almost brightened in the hope that
he was going to be flogged; but it was not
so.
His aunt wept over him and asked him how
he could go and break her old heart so;
and finally told him to go on, and ruin
himself and bring her gray hairs with
sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for
her to try any more.
This was worse than a thousand whippings,
and Tom's heart was sorer now than his
body.
He cried, he pleaded for forgiveness,
promised to reform over and over again,
and then received his dismissal, feeling
that he had won but an imperfect
forgiveness and established but a feeble
confidence.
He left the presence too miserable to even
feel revengeful toward Sid; and so the
latter's prompt retreat through the back
gate was unnecessary.
He moped to school gloomy and sad, and
took his flogging, along with Joe Harper,
for playing hookey the day before, with
the air of one whose heart was busy with
heavier woes and wholly dead to trifles.
Then he betook himself to his seat, rested
his elbows on his desk and his jaws in his
hands, and stared at the wall with the
stony stare of suffering that has reached
the limit and can no further go.
His elbow was pressing against some hard
substance.
After a long time he slowly and sadly
changed his position, and took up this
object with a sigh.
It was in a paper.
He unrolled it.
A long, lingering, colossal sigh followed,
and his heart broke.
It was his brass andiron ***!
This final feather broke the camel's back.