THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER BY MARK TWAIN (Samuel Langhorne Clemens)

 Part 3

CHAPTER VIII

TOM dodged hither and thither through lanes until he was well out ofthe track of returning scholars, and then fell into a moody jog. Hecrossed a small "branch" two or three times, because of a prevailingjuvenile superstition that to cross water baffled pursuit. Half an hourlater he was disappearing behind the Douglas mansion on the summit ofCardiff Hill, and the schoolhouse was hardly distinguishable away offin the valley behind him. He entered a dense wood, picked his pathlessway to the centre of it, and sat down on a mossy spot under a spreadingoak. There was not even a zephyr stirring; the dead noonday heat hadeven stilled the songs of the birds; nature lay in a trance that wasbroken by no sound but the occasional far-off hammering of awoodpecker, and this seemed to render the pervading silence and senseof loneliness the more profound. The boy's soul was steeped inmelancholy; his feelings were in happy accord with his surroundings. Hesat long with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, meditating. It seemed to him that life was but a trouble, at best, andhe more than half envied Jimmy Hodges, so lately released; it must bevery peaceful, he thought, to lie and slumber and dream forever andever, with the wind whispering through the trees and caressing thegrass and the flowers over the grave, and nothing to bother and grieveabout, ever any more. If he only had a clean Sunday-school record hecould be willing to go, and be done with it all. Now as to this girl. What had he done? Nothing. He had meant the best in the world, and beentreated like a dog--like a very dog. She would be sorry some day--maybewhen it was too late. Ah, if he could only die TEMPORARILY!

But the elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into oneconstrained shape long at a time. Tom presently began to driftinsensibly back into the concerns of this life again. What if he turnedhis back, now, and disappeared mysteriously? What if he went away--everso far away, into unknown countries beyond the seas--and never cameback any more! How would she feel then! The idea of being a clownrecurred to him now, only to fill him with disgust. For frivolity andjokes and spotted tights were an offense, when they intruded themselvesupon a spirit that was exalted into the vague august realm of theromantic. No, he would be a soldier, and return after long years, allwar-worn and illustrious. No--better still, he would join the Indians, and hunt buffaloes and go on the warpath in the mountain ranges and thetrackless great plains of the Far West, and away in the future comeback a great chief, bristling with feathers, hideous with paint, andprance into Sunday-school, some drowsy summer morning, with abloodcurdling war-whoop, and sear the eyeballs of all his companionswith unappeasable envy. But no, there was something gaudier even thanthis. He would be a pirate! That was it! NOW his future lay plainbefore him, and glowing with unimaginable splendor. How his name wouldfill the world, and make people shudder! How gloriously he would goplowing the dancing seas, in his long, low, black-hulled racer, theSpirit of the Storm, with his grisly flag flying at the fore! And atthe zenith of his fame, how he would suddenly appear at the old villageand stalk into church, brown and weather-beaten, in his black velvetdoublet and trunks, his great jack-boots, his crimson sash, his beltbristling with horse-pistols, his crime-rusted cutlass at his side, hisslouch hat with waving plumes, his black flag unfurled, with the skulland crossbones on it, and hear with swelling ecstasy the whisperings, "It's Tom Sawyer the Pirate!--the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main!"

Yes, it was settled; his career was determined. He would run away fromhome and enter upon it. He would start the very next morning. Thereforehe must now begin to get ready. He would collect his resourcestogether. He went to a rotten log near at hand and began to dig underone end of it with his Barlow knife. He soon struck wood that soundedhollow. He put his hand there and uttered this incantation impressively:

"What hasn't come here, come! What's here, stay here!"

Then he scraped away the dirt, and exposed a pine shingle. He took itup and disclosed a shapely little treasure-house whose bottom and sideswere of shingles. In it lay a marble. Tom's astonishment was boundless!He scratched his head with a perplexed air, and said:

"Well, that beats anything!"

Then he tossed the marble away pettishly, and stood cogitating. Thetruth was, that a superstition of his had failed, here, which he andall his comrades had always looked upon as infallible. If you buried amarble with certain necessary incantations, and left it alone afortnight, and then opened the place with the incantation he had justused, you would find that all the marbles you had ever lost hadgathered themselves together there, meantime, no matter how widely theyhad been separated. But now, this thing had actually and unquestionablyfailed. Tom's whole structure of faith was shaken to its foundations. He had many a time heard of this thing succeeding but never of itsfailing before. It did not occur to him that he had tried it severaltimes before, himself, but could never find the hiding-placesafterward. He puzzled over the matter some time, and finally decidedthat some witch had interfered and broken the charm. He thought hewould satisfy himself on that point; so he searched around till hefound a small sandy spot with a little funnel-shaped depression in it. He laid himself down and put his mouth close to this depression andcalled--

"Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know! Doodle-bug, doodle-bug, tell me what I want to know!"

The sand began to work, and presently a small black bug appeared for asecond and then darted under again in a fright. 

"He dasn't tell! So it WAS a witch that done it. I just knowed it. "

He well knew the futility of trying to contend against witches, so hegave up discouraged. But it occurred to him that he might as well havethe marble he had just thrown away, and therefore he went and made apatient search for it. But he could not find it. Now he went back tohis treasure-house and carefully placed himself just as he had beenstanding when he tossed the marble away; then he took another marblefrom his pocket and tossed it in the same way, saying:

"Brother, go find your brother!"

He watched where it stopped, and went there and looked. But it musthave fallen short or gone too far; so he tried twice more. The lastrepetition was successful. The two marbles lay within a foot of eachother. 

Just here the blast of a toy tin trumpet came faintly down the greenaisles of the forest. Tom flung off his jacket and trousers, turned asuspender into a belt, raked away some brush behind the rotten log, disclosing a rude bow and arrow, a lath sword and a tin trumpet, and ina moment had seized these things and bounded away, barelegged, withfluttering shirt. He presently halted under a great elm, blew ananswering blast, and then began to tiptoe and look warily out, this wayand that. He said cautiously--to an imaginary company:

"Hold, my merry men! Keep hid till I blow. "

Now appeared Joe Harper, as airily clad and elaborately armed as Tom. Tom called:

"Hold! Who comes here into Sherwood Forest without my pass?"

"Guy of Guisborne wants no man's pass. Who art thou that--that--"

"Dares to hold such language, " said Tom, prompting--for they talked"by the book, " from memory. 

"Who art thou that dares to hold such language?"

"I, indeed! I am Robin Hood, as thy caitiff carcase soon shall know. "

"Then art thou indeed that famous outlaw? Right gladly will I disputewith thee the passes of the merry wood. Have at thee!"

They took their lath swords, dumped their other traps on the ground, struck a fencing attitude, foot to foot, and began a grave, carefulcombat, "two up and two down. " Presently Tom said:

"Now, if you've got the hang, go it lively!"

So they "went it lively, " panting and perspiring with the work. By andby Tom shouted:

"Fall! fall! Why don't you fall?"

"I sha'n't! Why don't you fall yourself? You're getting the worst ofit. "

"Why, that ain't anything. I can't fall; that ain't the way it is inthe book. The book says, 'Then with one back-handed stroke he slew poorGuy of Guisborne. ' You're to turn around and let me hit you in theback. "

There was no getting around the authorities, so Joe turned, receivedthe whack and fell. 

"Now, " said Joe, getting up, "you got to let me kill YOU. That's fair. "

"Why, I can't do that, it ain't in the book. "

"Well, it's blamed mean--that's all. "

"Well, say, Joe, you can be Friar Tuck or Much the miller's son, andlam me with a quarter-staff; or I'll be the Sheriff of Nottingham andyou be Robin Hood a little while and kill me. "

This was satisfactory, and so these adventures were carried out. ThenTom became Robin Hood again, and was allowed by the treacherous nun tobleed his strength away through his neglected wound. And at last Joe, representing a whole tribe of weeping outlaws, dragged him sadly forth, gave his bow into his feeble hands, and Tom said, "Where this arrowfalls, there bury poor Robin Hood under the greenwood tree. " Then heshot the arrow and fell back and would have died, but he lit on anettle and sprang up too gaily for a corpse. 

The boys dressed themselves, hid their accoutrements, and went offgrieving that there were no outlaws any more, and wondering what moderncivilization could claim to have done to compensate for their loss. They said they would rather be outlaws a year in Sherwood Forest thanPresident of the United States forever. 

CHAPTER IX

AT half-past nine, that night, Tom and Sid were sent to bed, as usual. They said their prayers, and Sid was soon asleep. Tom lay awake andwaited, in restless impatience. When it seemed to him that it must benearly daylight, he heard the clock strike ten! This was despair. Hewould have tossed and fidgeted, as his nerves demanded, but he wasafraid he might wake Sid. So he lay still, and stared up into the dark. Everything was dismally still. By and by, out of the stillness, little, scarcely perceptible noises began to emphasize themselves. The tickingof the clock began to bring itself into notice. Old beams began tocrack mysteriously. The stairs creaked faintly. Evidently spirits wereabroad. A measured, muffled snore issued from Aunt Polly's chamber. Andnow the tiresome chirping of a cricket that no human ingenuity couldlocate, began. Next the ghastly ticking of a deathwatch in the wall atthe bed's head made Tom shudder--it meant that somebody's days werenumbered. Then the howl of a far-off dog rose on the night air, and wasanswered by a fainter howl from a remoter distance. Tom was in anagony. At last he was satisfied that time had ceased and eternitybegun; he began to doze, in spite of himself; the clock chimed eleven, but he did not hear it. And then there came, mingling with hishalf-formed dreams, a most melancholy caterwauling. The raising of aneighboring window disturbed him. A cry of "Scat! you devil!" and thecrash of an empty bottle against the back of his aunt's woodshedbrought him wide awake, and a single minute later he was dressed andout of the window and creeping along the roof of the "ell" on allfours. He "meow'd" with caution once or twice, as he went; then jumpedto the roof of the woodshed and thence to the ground. Huckleberry Finnwas there, with his dead cat. The boys moved off and disappeared in thegloom. At the end of half an hour they were wading through the tallgrass of the graveyard. 

It was a graveyard of the old-fashioned Western kind. It was on ahill, about a mile and a half from the village. It had a crazy boardfence around it, which leaned inward in places, and outward the rest ofthe time, but stood upright nowhere. Grass and weeds grew rank over thewhole cemetery. All the old graves were sunken in, there was not atombstone on the place; round-topped, worm-eaten boards staggered overthe graves, leaning for support and finding none. "Sacred to the memoryof" So-and-So had been painted on them once, but it could no longerhave been read, on the most of them, now, even if there had been light. 

A faint wind moaned through the trees, and Tom feared it might be thespirits of the dead, complaining at being disturbed. The boys talkedlittle, and only under their breath, for the time and the place and thepervading solemnity and silence oppressed their spirits. They found thesharp new heap they were seeking, and ensconced themselves within theprotection of three great elms that grew in a bunch within a few feetof the grave. 

Then they waited in silence for what seemed a long time. The hootingof a distant owl was all the sound that troubled the dead stillness. Tom's reflections grew oppressive. He must force some talk. So he saidin a whisper:

"Hucky, do you believe the dead people like it for us to be here?"

Huckleberry whispered:

"I wisht I knowed. It's awful solemn like, AIN'T it?"

"I bet it is. "

There was a considerable pause, while the boys canvassed this matterinwardly. Then Tom whispered:

"Say, Hucky--do you reckon Hoss Williams hears us talking?"

"O' course he does. Least his sperrit does. "

Tom, after a pause:

"I wish I'd said Mister Williams. But I never meant any harm. Everybody calls him Hoss. "

"A body can't be too partic'lar how they talk 'bout these-yer deadpeople, Tom. "

This was a damper, and conversation died again. 

Presently Tom seized his comrade's arm and said:

"Sh!"

"What is it, Tom?" And the two clung together with beating hearts. 

"Sh! There 'tis again! Didn't you hear it?"

"I--"

"There! Now you hear it. "

"Lord, Tom, they're coming! They're coming, sure. What'll we do?"

"I dono. Think they'll see us?"

"Oh, Tom, they can see in the dark, same as cats. I wisht I hadn'tcome. "

"Oh, don't be afeard. I don't believe they'll bother us. We ain'tdoing any harm. If we keep perfectly still, maybe they won't notice usat all. "

"I'll try to, Tom, but, Lord, I'm all of a shiver. "

"Listen!"

The boys bent their heads together and scarcely breathed. A muffledsound of voices floated up from the far end of the graveyard. 

"Look! See there!" whispered Tom. "What is it?"

"It's devil-fire. Oh, Tom, this is awful. "

Some vague figures approached through the gloom, swinging anold-fashioned tin lantern that freckled the ground with innumerablelittle spangles of light. Presently Huckleberry whispered with ashudder:

"It's the devils sure enough. Three of 'em! Lordy, Tom, we're goners!Can you pray?"

"I'll try, but don't you be afeard. They ain't going to hurt us. 'NowI lay me down to sleep, I--'"

"Sh!"

"What is it, Huck?"

"They're HUMANS! One of 'em is, anyway. One of 'em's old Muff Potter'svoice. "

"No--'tain't so, is it?"

"I bet I know it. Don't you stir nor budge. He ain't sharp enough tonotice us. Drunk, the same as usual, likely--blamed old rip!"

"All right, I'll keep still. Now they're stuck. Can't find it. Herethey come again. Now they're hot. Cold again. Hot again. Red hot!They're p'inted right, this time. Say, Huck, I know another o' themvoices; it's Injun Joe. "

"That's so--that murderin' half-breed! I'd druther they was devils adern sight. What kin they be up to?"

The whisper died wholly out, now, for the three men had reached thegrave and stood within a few feet of the boys' hiding-place. 

"Here it is, " said the third voice; and the owner of it held thelantern up and revealed the face of young Doctor Robinson. 

Potter and Injun Joe were carrying a handbarrow with a rope and acouple of shovels on it. They cast down their load and began to openthe grave. The doctor put the lantern at the head of the grave and cameand sat down with his back against one of the elm trees. He was soclose the boys could have touched him. 

"Hurry, men!" he said, in a low voice; "the moon might come out at anymoment. "

They growled a response and went on digging. For some time there wasno noise but the grating sound of the spades discharging their freightof mould and gravel. It was very monotonous. Finally a spade struckupon the coffin with a dull woody accent, and within another minute ortwo the men had hoisted it out on the ground. They pried off the lidwith their shovels, got out the body and dumped it rudely on theground. The moon drifted from behind the clouds and exposed the pallidface. The barrow was got ready and the corpse placed on it, coveredwith a blanket, and bound to its place with the rope. Potter took out alarge spring-knife and cut off the dangling end of the rope and thensaid:

"Now the cussed thing's ready, Sawbones, and you'll just out withanother five, or here she stays. "

"That's the talk!" said Injun Joe. 

"Look here, what does this mean?" said the doctor. "You required yourpay in advance, and I've paid you. "

"Yes, and you done more than that, " said Injun Joe, approaching thedoctor, who was now standing. "Five years ago you drove me away fromyour father's kitchen one night, when I come to ask for something toeat, and you said I warn't there for any good; and when I swore I'd geteven with you if it took a hundred years, your father had me jailed fora vagrant. Did you think I'd forget? The Injun blood ain't in me fornothing. And now I've GOT you, and you got to SETTLE, you know!"

He was threatening the doctor, with his fist in his face, by thistime. The doctor struck out suddenly and stretched the ruffian on theground. Potter dropped his knife, and exclaimed:

"Here, now, don't you hit my pard!" and the next moment he hadgrappled with the doctor and the two were struggling with might andmain, trampling the grass and tearing the ground with their heels. Injun Joe sprang to his feet, his eyes flaming with passion, snatchedup Potter's knife, and went creeping, catlike and stooping, round andround about the combatants, seeking an opportunity. All at once thedoctor flung himself free, seized the heavy headboard of Williams'grave and felled Potter to the earth with it--and in the same instantthe half-breed saw his chance and drove the knife to the hilt in theyoung man's breast. He reeled and fell partly upon Potter, flooding himwith his blood, and in the same moment the clouds blotted out thedreadful spectacle and the two frightened boys went speeding away inthe dark. 

Presently, when the moon emerged again, Injun Joe was standing overthe two forms, contemplating them. The doctor murmured inarticulately, gave a long gasp or two and was still. The half-breed muttered:

"THAT score is settled--damn you. "

Then he robbed the body. After which he put the fatal knife inPotter's open right hand, and sat down on the dismantled coffin. Three--four--five minutes passed, and then Potter began to stir and moan. Hishand closed upon the knife; he raised it, glanced at it, and let itfall, with a shudder. Then he sat up, pushing the body from him, andgazed at it, and then around him, confusedly. His eyes met Joe's. 

"Lord, how is this, Joe?" he said. 

"It's a dirty business, " said Joe, without moving. 

"What did you do it for?"

"I! I never done it!"

"Look here! That kind of talk won't wash. "

Potter trembled and grew white. 

"I thought I'd got sober. I'd no business to drink to-night. But it'sin my head yet--worse'n when we started here. I'm all in a muddle;can't recollect anything of it, hardly. Tell me, Joe--HONEST, now, oldfeller--did I do it? Joe, I never meant to--'pon my soul and honor, Inever meant to, Joe. Tell me how it was, Joe. Oh, it's awful--and himso young and promising. "

"Why, you two was scuffling, and he fetched you one with the headboardand you fell flat; and then up you come, all reeling and staggeringlike, and snatched the knife and jammed it into him, just as he fetchedyou another awful clip--and here you've laid, as dead as a wedge tilnow. "

"Oh, I didn't know what I was a-doing. I wish I may die this minute ifI did. It was all on account of the whiskey and the excitement, Ireckon. I never used a weepon in my life before, Joe. I've fought, butnever with weepons. They'll all say that. Joe, don't tell! Say youwon't tell, Joe--that's a good feller. I always liked you, Joe, andstood up for you, too. Don't you remember? You WON'T tell, WILL you, Joe?" And the poor creature dropped on his knees before the stolidmurderer, and clasped his appealing hands. 

"No, you've always been fair and square with me, Muff Potter, and Iwon't go back on you. There, now, that's as fair as a man can say. "

"Oh, Joe, you're an angel. I'll bless you for this the longest day Ilive. " And Potter began to cry. 

"Come, now, that's enough of that. This ain't any time for blubbering. You be off yonder way and I'll go this. Move, now, and don't leave anytracks behind you. "

Potter started on a trot that quickly increased to a run. Thehalf-breed stood looking after him. He muttered:

"If he's as much stunned with the lick and fuddled with the rum as hehad the look of being, he won't think of the knife till he's gone sofar he'll be afraid to come back after it to such a place by himself--chicken-heart!"

Two or three minutes later the murdered man, the blanketed corpse, thelidless coffin, and the open grave were under no inspection but themoon's. The stillness was complete again, too. 

CHAPTER X

THE two boys flew on and on, toward the village, speechless withhorror. They glanced backward over their shoulders from time to time, apprehensively, as if they feared they might be followed. Every stumpthat started up in their path seemed a man and an enemy, and made themcatch their breath; and as they sped by some outlying cottages that laynear the village, the barking of the aroused watch-dogs seemed to givewings 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 muchlonger. "

Huckleberry's hard pantings were his only reply, and the boys fixedtheir 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 burstthrough the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in the shelteringshadows 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 Injun JoeDIDN'T hang? Why, he'd kill us some time or other, just as dead sure aswe're a laying here. "

"That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck. "

"If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it, if he's fool enough. He'sgenerally drunk enough. "

Tom said nothing--went on thinking. Presently he whispered:

"Huck, Muff 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 Injun Joe done it. D'you reckonhe 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; andbesides, he always has. Well, when pap's full, you might take and belthim over the head with a church and you couldn't phase him. He says so, his own self. So it's the same with Muff Potter, of course. But if aman 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 Injun devil wouldn'tmake any more of drownding us than a couple of cats, if we was tosqueak 'bout this and they didn't hang him. Now, look-a-here, Tom, lesstake and swear to one another--that's what we got to do--swear to keepmum. "

"I'm agreed. It's the best thing. Would you just hold hands and swearthat we--"

"Oh no, that wouldn't do for this. That's good enough for littlerubbishy common things--specially with gals, cuz THEY go back on youanyway, 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, andawful; the hour, the circumstances, the surroundings, were in keepingwith 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 onhis work, and painfully scrawled these lines, emphasizing each slowdown-stroke by clamping his tongue between his teeth, and letting upthe 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 lapeland was going to prick his flesh, but Tom said:

"Hold on! Don't do that. A pin's brass. It might have verdigrease onit. "

"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 boypricked the ball of his thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. Intime, after many squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials, using theball of his little finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry how tomake an H and an F, and the oath was complete. They buried the shingleclose to the wall, with some dismal ceremonies and incantations, andthe fetters that bound their tongues were considered to be locked andthe key thrown away. 

A figure crept stealthily through a break in the other end of theruined 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 gotto 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 upa long, lugubrious howl just outside--within ten feet of them. The boysclasped 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 BullHarbison. " *

[* If Mr. Harbison owned a slave named Bull, Tom would have spoken ofhim as "Harbison's Bull, " but a son or a dog of that name was "BullHarbison. "]

"Oh, that's good--I tell you, Tom, I was most scared to death; I'd abet 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. Hiswhisper 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 'boutwhere I'LL go to. I been so wicked. "

"Dad fetch it! This comes of playing hookey and doing everything afeller'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 layI'll just WALLER in Sunday-schools!" And Tom began to snuffle a little. 

"YOU bad!" and Huckleberry began to snuffle too. "Consound it, TomSawyer, 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 tosleep there, sometimes, 'long with the hogs, but laws bless you, hejust lifts things when HE snores. Besides, I reckon he ain't evercoming 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 Injun Joe!"

Tom quailed. But presently the temptation rose up strong again and theboys agreed to try, with the understanding that they would take totheir heels if the snoring stopped. So they went tiptoeing stealthilydown, the one behind the other. When they had got to within five stepsof 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 Muff Potter. The boys' hearts had stood still, and their hopestoo, when the man moved, but their fears passed away now. They tiptoedout, through the broken weather-boarding, and stopped at a littledistance to exchange a parting word. That long, lugubrious howl rose onthe night air again! They turned and saw the strange dog standingwithin a few feet of where Potter was lying, and FACING Potter, withhis 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'shouse, 'bout midnight, as much as two weeks ago; and a whippoorwillcome in and lit on the banisters and sung, the very same evening; andthere ain't anybody dead there yet. "

"Well, I know that. And suppose there ain't. Didn't Gracie Miller fallin 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 MuffPotter's a goner. That's what the niggers say, and they know all aboutthese kind of things, Huck. "

Then they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept in at his bedroomwindow the night was almost spent. He undressed with excessive caution, and fell asleep congratulating himself that nobody knew of hisescapade. He was not aware that the gently-snoring Sid was awake, andhad been so for an hour. 

When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone. There was a late look in thelight, a late sense in the atmosphere. He was startled. Why had he notbeen called--persecuted till he was up, as usual? The thought filledhim with bodings. Within five minutes he was dressed and down-stairs, feeling sore and drowsy. The family were still at table, but they hadfinished breakfast. There was no voice of rebuke; but there wereaverted eyes; there was a silence and an air of solemnity that struck achill to the culprit's heart. He sat down and tried to seem gay, but itwas up-hill work; it roused no smile, no response, and he lapsed intosilence and let his heart sink down to the depths. 

After breakfast his aunt took him aside, and Tom almost brightened inthe hope that he was going to be flogged; but it was not so. His auntwept 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 grayhairs with sorrow to the grave, for it was no use for her to try anymore. This was worse than a thousand whippings, and Tom's heart wassorer now than his body. He cried, he pleaded for forgiveness, promisedto reform over and over again, and then received his dismissal, feelingthat he had won but an imperfect forgiveness and established but afeeble confidence. 

He left the presence too miserable to even feel revengeful toward Sid;and so the latter's prompt retreat through the back gate wasunnecessary. He moped to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging, along with Joe Harper, for playing hookey the day before, with the airof one whose heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead totrifles. Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on hisdesk and his jaws in his hands, and stared at the wall with the stonystare of suffering that has reached the limit and can no further go. His elbow was pressing against some hard substance. After a long timehe slowly and sadly changed his position, and took up this object witha sigh. It was in a paper. He unrolled it. A long, lingering, colossalsigh followed, and his heart broke. It was his brass andiron knob!

This final feather broke the camel's back. 

CHAPTER XI

CLOSE upon the hour of noon the whole village was suddenly electrifiedwith 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 tohouse, with little less than telegraphic speed. Of course theschoolmaster gave holiday for that afternoon; the town would havethought strangely of him if he had not. 

A gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had beenrecognized by somebody as belonging to Muff Potter--so the story ran. And it was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter washinghimself in the "branch" about one or two o'clock in the morning, andthat Potter had at once sneaked off--suspicious circumstances, especially the washing which was not a habit with Potter. It was alsosaid that the town had been ransacked for this "murderer" (the publicare not slow in the matter of sifting evidence and arriving at averdict), but that he could not be found. Horsemen had departed downall the roads in every direction, and the Sheriff "was confident" thathe would be captured before night. 

All the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heartbreakvanished and he joined the procession, not because he would not athousand 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 dismalspectacle. It seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebodypinched his arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's. Then bothlooked elsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed anythingin their mutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent upon thegrisly spectacle before them. 

"Poor fellow!" "Poor young fellow!" "This ought to be a lesson tograve robbers!" "Muff Potter'll hang for this if they catch him!" Thiswas the drift of remark; and the minister said, "It was a judgment; Hishand is here. "

Now Tom shivered from head to heel; for his eye fell upon the stolidface of Injun 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. 

"Muff 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'ttrying to get away--he only looked doubtful and perplexed. 

"Infernal impudence!" said a bystander; "wanted to come and take aquiet 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 washaggard, and his eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stoodbefore the murdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his facein his hands and burst into tears. 

"I didn't do it, friends, " he sobbed; "'pon my word and honor I neverdone it. "

"Who's accused you?" shouted a voice. 

This shot seemed to carry home. Potter lifted his face and lookedaround him with a pathetic hopelessness in his eyes. He saw Injun Joe, and exclaimed:

"Oh, Injun 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 tothe 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 thestony-hearted liar reel off his serene statement, they expecting everymoment 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 hadfinished and still stood alive and whole, their wavering impulse tobreak their oath and save the poor betrayed prisoner's life faded andvanished away, for plainly this miscreant had sold himself to Satan andit 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?" somebodysaid. 

"I couldn't help it--I couldn't help it, " Potter moaned. "I wanted torun away, but I couldn't seem to come anywhere but here. " And he fellto sobbing again. 

Injun Joe repeated his statement, just as calmly, a few minutesafterward on the inquest, under oath; and the boys, seeing that thelightnings were still withheld, were confirmed in their belief that Joehad sold himself to the devil. He was now become, to them, the mostbalefully interesting object they had ever looked upon, and they couldnot take their fascinated eyes from his face. 

They inwardly resolved to watch him nights, when opportunity shouldoffer, in the hope of getting a glimpse of his dread master. 

Injun Joe helped to raise the body of the murdered man and put it in awagon for removal; and it was whispered through the shuddering crowdthat the wound bled a little! The boys thought that this happycircumstance would turn suspicion in the right direction; but they weredisappointed, for more than one villager remarked:

"It was within three feet of Muff Potter when it done it. "

Tom's fearful secret and gnawing conscience disturbed his sleep for asmuch 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 meawake half the time. "

Tom blanched and dropped his eyes. 

"It's a bad sign, " said Aunt Polly, gravely. "What you got on yourmind, Tom?"

"Nothing. Nothing 't I know of. " But the boy's hand shook so that hespilled his coffee. 

"And you do talk such stuff, " Sid said. "Last night you said, 'It'sblood, it's blood, that's what it is!' You said that over and over. Andyou said, 'Don't torment me so--I'll tell!' Tell WHAT? What is ityou'll tell?"

Everything was swimming before Tom. There is no telling what mighthave happened, now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt Polly'sface and she came to Tom's relief without knowing it. She said:

"Sho! It's that dreadful murder. I dream about it most every nightmyself. Sometimes I dream it's me that done it. "

Mary said she had been affected much the same way. Sid seemedsatisfied. 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 hisjaws every night. He never knew that Sid lay nightly watching, andfrequently slipped the bandage free and then leaned on his elbowlistening a good while at a time, and afterward slipped the bandageback to its place again. Tom's distress of mind wore off gradually andthe toothache grew irksome and was discarded. If Sid really managed tomake anything out of Tom's disjointed mutterings, he kept it to himself. 

It seemed to Tom that his schoolmates never would get done holdinginquests on dead cats, and thus keeping his trouble present to hismind. 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 wasstrange; and Sid did not overlook the fact that Tom even showed amarked aversion to these inquests, and always avoided them when hecould. Sid marvelled, but said nothing. However, even inquests went outof vogue at last, and ceased to torture Tom's conscience. 

Every day or two, during this time of sorrow, Tom watched hisopportunity and went to the little grated jail-window and smuggled suchsmall comforts through to the "murderer" as he could get hold of. Thejail was a trifling little brick den that stood in a marsh at the edgeof the village, and no guards were afforded for it; indeed, it wasseldom occupied. These offerings greatly helped to ease Tom'sconscience. 

The villagers had a strong desire to tar-and-feather Injun Joe andride him on a rail, for body-snatching, but so formidable was hischaracter that nobody could be found who was willing to take the leadin the matter, so it was dropped. He had been careful to begin both ofhis inquest-statements with the fight, without confessing thegrave-robbery that preceded it; therefore it was deemed wisest notto try the case in the courts at present. 

CHAPTER XII

ONE of the reasons why Tom's mind had drifted away from its secrettroubles was, that it had found a new and weighty matter to interestitself about. Becky Thatcher had stopped coming to school. Tom hadstruggled with his pride a few days, and tried to "whistle her down thewind, " but failed. He began to find himself hanging around her father'shouse, nights, and feeling very miserable. She was ill. What if sheshould die! There was distraction in the thought. He no longer took aninterest in war, nor even in piracy. The charm of life was gone; therewas nothing but dreariness left. He put his hoop away, and his bat;there was no joy in them any more. His aunt was concerned. She began totry all manner of remedies on him. She was one of those people who areinfatuated with patent medicines and all new-fangled methods ofproducing health or mending it. She was an inveterate experimenter inthese things. When something fresh in this line came out she was in afever, right away, to try it; not on herself, for she was never ailing, but on anybody else that came handy. She was a subscriber for all the"Health" periodicals and phrenological frauds; and the solemn ignorancethey were inflated with was breath to her nostrils. All the "rot" theycontained about ventilation, and how to go to bed, and how to get up, and what to eat, and what to drink, and how much exercise to take, andwhat frame of mind to keep one's self in, and what sort of clothing towear, was all gospel to her, and she never observed that herhealth-journals of the current month customarily upset everything theyhad recommended the month before. She was as simple-hearted and honestas the day was long, and so she was an easy victim. She gatheredtogether her quack periodicals and her quack medicines, and thus armedwith death, went about on her pale horse, metaphorically speaking, with"hell following after. " But she never suspected that she was not anangel of healing and the balm of Gilead in disguise, to the sufferingneighbors. 

The water treatment was new, now, and Tom's low condition was awindfall to her. She had him out at daylight every morning, stood himup in the woodshed and drowned him with a deluge of cold water; thenshe scrubbed him down with a towel like a file, and so brought him to;then she rolled him up in a wet sheet and put him away under blanketstill she sweated his soul clean and "the yellow stains of it camethrough his pores"--as Tom said. 

Yet notwithstanding all this, the boy grew more and more melancholyand pale and dejected. She added hot baths, sitz baths, shower baths, and plunges. The boy remained as dismal as a hearse. She began toassist the water with a slim oatmeal diet and blister-plasters. Shecalculated his capacity as she would a jug's, and filled him up everyday with quack cure-alls. 

Tom had become indifferent to persecution by this time. This phasefilled the old lady's heart with consternation. This indifference mustbe broken up at any cost. Now she heard of Pain-killer for the firsttime. She ordered a lot at once. She tasted it and was filled withgratitude. It was simply fire in a liquid form. She dropped the watertreatment and everything else, and pinned her faith to Pain-killer. Shegave Tom a teaspoonful and watched with the deepest anxiety for theresult. Her troubles were instantly at rest, her soul at peace again;for the "indifference" was broken up. The boy could not have shown awilder, heartier interest, if she had built a fire under him. 

Tom felt that it was time to wake up; this sort of life might beromantic enough, in his blighted condition, but it was getting to havetoo little sentiment and too much distracting variety about it. So hethought over various plans for relief, and finally hit pon that ofprofessing to be fond of Pain-killer. He asked for it so often that hebecame a nuisance, and his aunt ended by telling him to help himselfand quit bothering her. If it had been Sid, she would have had nomisgivings to alloy her delight; but since it was Tom, she watched thebottle clandestinely. She found that the medicine did really diminish, but it did not occur to her that the boy was mending the health of acrack in the sitting-room floor with it. 

One day Tom was in the act of dosing the crack when his aunt's yellowcat came along, purring, eying the teaspoon avariciously, and beggingfor a taste. Tom said:

"Don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter. "

But Peter signified that he did want it. 

"You better make sure. "

Peter was sure. 

"Now you've asked for it, and I'll give it to you, because there ain'tanything mean about me; but if you find you don't like it, you mustn'tblame anybody but your own self. "

Peter was agreeable. So Tom pried his mouth open and poured down thePain-killer. Peter sprang a couple of yards in the air, and thendelivered a war-whoop and set off round and round the room, bangingagainst furniture, upsetting flower-pots, and making general havoc. Next he rose on his hind feet and pranced around, in a frenzy ofenjoyment, with his head over his shoulder and his voice proclaiminghis unappeasable happiness. Then he went tearing around the house againspreading chaos and destruction in his path. Aunt Polly entered in timeto see him throw a few double summersets, deliver a final mightyhurrah, and sail through the open window, carrying the rest of theflower-pots with him. The old lady stood petrified with astonishment, peering over her glasses; Tom lay on the floor expiring with laughter. 

"Tom, what on earth ails that cat?"

"I don't know, aunt, " gasped the boy. 

"Why, I never see anything like it. What did make him act so?"

"Deed I don't know, Aunt Polly; cats always act so when they're havinga good time. "

"They do, do they?" There was something in the tone that made Tomapprehensive. 

"Yes'm. That is, I believe they do. "

"You DO?"

"Yes'm. "

The old lady was bending down, Tom watching, with interest emphasizedby anxiety. Too late he divined her "drift. " The handle of the telltaleteaspoon was visible under the bed-valance. Aunt Polly took it, held itup. Tom winced, and dropped his eyes. Aunt Polly raised him by theusual handle--his ear--and cracked his head soundly with her thimble. 

"Now, sir, what did you want to treat that poor dumb beast so, for?"

"I done it out of pity for him--because he hadn't any aunt. "

"Hadn't any aunt!--you numskull. What has that got to do with it?"

"Heaps. Because if he'd had one she'd a burnt him out herself! She'd aroasted his bowels out of him 'thout any more feeling than if he was ahuman!"

Aunt Polly felt a sudden pang of remorse. This was putting the thingin a new light; what was cruelty to a cat MIGHT be cruelty to a boy, too. She began to soften; she felt sorry. Her eyes watered a little, and she put her hand on Tom's head and said gently:

"I was meaning for the best, Tom. And, Tom, it DID do you good. "

Tom looked up in her face with just a perceptible twinkle peepingthrough his gravity. 

"I know you was meaning for the best, aunty, and so was I with Peter. It done HIM good, too. I never see him get around so since--"

"Oh, go 'long with you, Tom, before you aggravate me again. And youtry and see if you can't be a good boy, for once, and you needn't takeany more medicine. "

Tom reached school ahead of time. It was noticed that this strangething had been occurring every day latterly. And now, as usual of late, he hung about the gate of the schoolyard instead of playing with hiscomrades. He was sick, he said, and he looked it. He tried to seem tobe looking everywhere but whither he really was looking--down the road. Presently Jeff Thatcher hove in sight, and Tom's face lighted; he gazeda moment, and then turned sorrowfully away. When Jeff arrived, Tomaccosted him; and "led up" warily to opportunities for remark aboutBecky, but the giddy lad never could see the bait. Tom watched andwatched, hoping whenever a frisking frock came in sight, and hating theowner of it as soon as he saw she was not the right one. At last frocksceased to appear, and he dropped hopelessly into the dumps; he enteredthe empty schoolhouse and sat down to suffer. Then one more frockpassed in at the gate, and Tom's heart gave a great bound. The nextinstant he was out, and "going on" like an Indian; yelling, laughing, chasing boys, jumping over the fence at risk of life and limb, throwinghandsprings, standing on his head--doing all the heroic things he couldconceive of, and keeping a furtive eye out, all the while, to see ifBecky Thatcher was noticing. But she seemed to be unconscious of itall; she never looked. Could it be possible that she was not aware thathe was there? He carried his exploits to her immediate vicinity; camewar-whooping around, snatched a boy's cap, hurled it to the roof of theschoolhouse, broke through a group of boys, tumbling them in everydirection, and fell sprawling, himself, under Becky's nose, almostupsetting her--and she turned, with her nose in the air, and he heardher say: "Mf! some people think they're mighty smart--always showingoff!"

Tom's cheeks burned. He gathered himself up and sneaked off, crushedand crestfallen.