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
Injun 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 "hispy" and "gully-keeper" with a
crowd of their schoolmates. 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 longdelayed 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 provisionbaskets. 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, boylike, 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 woody
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. Byand-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-andby 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 footpassengers 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-Injun 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 murder 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 Injun 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 nigger!-with all the town looking on! HORSEWHIPPED!-do you
understand? He took advantage of me and died. But I'll take it out of
"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
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.