The Further Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

by Greg Matthews

  “No …” says Lydia, looking scared for the first time, but it warn’t the colonel or no one military so she relaxed and passed the worry on to me, because when they got closer I seen that two of them is the two from the Berringer train that give me scornful talk back at Fort Laramie when they reckoned I warn’t nothing but an Injun, and seeing as I give them some backtalk at the time they ain’t going to believe I’m a mute. I told the others fast what happened and Lydia says it’s a pity I give them lip that way because being silent give me that Injun look, taciturn is what she calls it, but there ain’t no help for it now. Jim says he wants to be mute this time so’s he don’t have to talk with no squeaky voice, which would of been the full limit far as he’s concerned, and Lydia says yes, it’s safer that way. Then the riders reined in alongside us. The first two was still dressed natty and the other two was normal, both with long rifles. One of the natties says:

  “Good morning to you. Mr. Collins and Mrs. Beckwith, I presume?”

  “What makes you think so?” says Andrew, trying to look tough and dangersome, but spoiling it with a whole slew of sneezing.

  “You two are the talk of Fort Laramie. There has not been such drama since Romeo absconded with Juliet. Before you become angry, may I point out that I and my companions do not sit in judgment upon you. Your choice to cut and run is strictly your own business, but it would be needlessly embarrassing for us all if you were to adopt false identities for our sake.”

  “Such a thought would never have entered our heads,” says Lydia.

  “A sensible outlook if I may say so, Mrs. Beckwith. Permit me to introduce us. I am Randolph Squires, and this is my cousin Bertram. The two gentlemen accompanying us are Mr. Bob Raffe and Mr. Jesse Drummond.”

  Those last two was both mean-looking men with full beards and knee boots and looked like they done outdoor work before they was forty-niners. Andrew wipes his nose and says.

  “Mrs. Beckwith and I appreciate your candor, Mr. Squires. Such welcome lack of rectitude is uncommon out here, but of course you are both men of intelligence. All four of you, I mean.”

  He never meant that at all, and Bob and Jesse give each other a look that says they know, but they ain’t bothered. Men that tough don’t let no one skinny as Andrew bother them unless they get insulted direct, then they generally hammer the one that insulted them into the ground with their chins. Lydia says:

  “Were you not with the wagon train which arrived at the fort prior to our departure?”

  “We were, ma’am, but the day after your leavetaking cholera broke out among us. In the absence of your husband chaos reigned supreme. The redskins took down their tepees and departed en masse, and all from the train were forbidden entry to the fort upon pain of shooting. We four were unburdened by wagons, having joined the train only a hundred miles or so back along the trail. We therefore decided to resume our journey unaccompanied rather than wait with the rest and risk contamination. That was more than a week ago and we have developed no signs of the disease, so you may rest easy in our presence. May I suggest we ride along with your party? We all bear arms and I see only yourself and the redskin have taken similar precautions. We must not forget the presence of his tinted brethren around us. Together we present a formidable array of weaponry that should deter would-be scalpers.”

  I never trusted none of them, and I seen Andrew and Lydia warn’t none too happy either, but he’s talking sense so they give their agreement and we got moving again with Bob and Jesse at the rear, which give me an uneasy feeling. Randolph talked breezy and confident, telling how him and Bertram, who’s the potbellied one, was bored with St. Louis and decided to head west for the rush, but he never give out what kind of work they done there. Andrew asks Bob and Jesse what they done before they was forty-niners.

  “Farmin’,” says Bob.

  “The same,” says Jesse.

  But I never believed it. They never had that wore-down tired look farmers has got, and I figured them for roughneck rivermen, but it ain’t wise to say such things out loud, not if you’re Injun like me.

  “That’s the biggest nigger woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” says Bertram, meaning Jim.

  “Hannah has been with me for some years now,” lies Lydia, never batting an eye.

  “She must be the progeny of giants,” he says. “Why, the father alone must have been over seven feet tall to sire a female that size. How tall was your father, Hannah?”

  Jim just give him a sideways glare and Lydia says:

  “Hannah is a mute. She is also short-tempered, so I advise you not to trifle with her in any way.”

  “‘Perish the thought,” says Bertram, looking at Jim’s big meaty hands, then Randolph says to Andrew:

  “Your Injun friend intrigues me. We encountered him once outside the fort and were amazed to find he speaks fluent English.”

  “Turtle was raised by missionaries and taught all that a white child knows, isn’t that so, Turtle.”

  “That’s right, Mr. Collins, sir,” says I. “They brung me up by the Book since I was just a sprout some squaw dropped on their doorstep. I’m half-white and half-Injun and proud of it.”

  Behind me Bob and Jesse give a laugh.

  “Dirt on its own’s a mighty good thing,” says Jesse, “and water on its own is mighty good too, but when you mix ’em together you get mud, and that’s the closest thing to shit I know.”

  “Would you mind not using such language!” snaps Lydia, and Jesse sweeps off his hat and bows in the saddle, mocking-like, and says:

  “Fifty thousand pardons, ma’am. Momentarily I forgot we’re keepin’ company with a genuine lady.”

  The way him and Bob laughed made it clear they reckon a woman who runs off from her husband ain’t no kind of lady, then Randolph turns around on them and says sternish but quiet:

  “Both of you keep civil tongues in your heads or you’ll answer to me.”

  They scowled some but never answered back, so Randolph has got their respect even if he’s dressed fancy. I seen he’s the leader and made up my mind to keep a close watch on him. He’s a handsomer man than the rest and he give Lydia a look every now and then, admiring, and she seen it even if she pretended she never. Andrew seen it too and got upset, but tried not to show it. The whole situation was primed for trouble and we only just now got acquainted, so I warn’t too hopeful about our chances of sticking together all the way to California. Randolph took over that party the minute he rode up, and he acted like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to ride alongside Lydia and Andrew, all three in the lead, with Bertram and Jim and me next and Bob and Jesse last.

  All through the afternoon Randolph talked on this and that, but not idle tongue wagging, sensible talk on weighty subjects like the way the gold rush is likely going to change the face of the nation and such, and every so often he’d throw in something lightweight for variety and ended up with a joke that had Lydia almost out of her saddle with laughing. Andrew tried to laugh too, but it come out more like a croak. Randolph decided it’s time to include him in the conversation and in about five seconds found out Andrew’s a poet, and he asks him to do some of his stuff. Andrew done it, but halfhearted, not like his usual arm-waving self, and the results was dismal listening. I seen Lydia was disappointed at the poor showing he made in front of strangers and she never spoke to him hardly at all the rest of the day.

  We made camp and Jim and me got to sleep closer to the fire on account of the others being there put a stop to the lovebirds’ billing and cooing, and next morning you never seen a more woeful face than Andrew’s. Lydia still warn’t giving him no more than the time of day so he got to sulking and let Randolph do all the talking while we rode, which only made things worse.

  In late afternoon Romulus and Remus flushed a bear out of hiding and it come blundering into the open ahead of us with the dogs nipping his heels.

  “Don’t shoot!” yells Lydia, meaning we might hit the dogs.

  The bear got mad and swu
ng around and swiped at them, lightning fast for a crittur that size, and Romulus went bowling head over heels and yipping with pain. Remus kept right on rushing at the bear and trying to reach the neck with his fangs, hard to do when there ain’t much neck to get hold of and all of that under fat and fur, but he kept on anyway and had that bear turning in circles till he must of got dizzy with it, then when Remus was around the other side of him pulling on his snout Lydia whipped up her rifle and planted a shot right behind the bear’s shoulder. The ball went straight through into his heart and he fell dead. We rode up and Remus was stood over it wagging his tail proud like he done it all himself, but Romulus was in a sorry way, his belly all tore open by them long claws and his innards poking out. He was alive yet, and give his tail a feeble wag when Lydia kneeled down by him with tears running down her face.

  “Romulus …” she says. “Romulus … my poor friend.…”

  It was real sad. There warn’t no way to save him, and Lydia reloaded and put a ball in his head herself, then went away into the trees to be on her own a little while. Me and Bob and Jesse set to skinning the bear and cutting off the best chunks of meat. Andrew drug Romulus away and buried him with a shovel from the Squires’ pack horse and the Squires both stood around smoking cigars and saying how the bear’s head would look dandy mounted on a wall in the Serenity Club, which must be some place in St. Louis they knowed of. It took so long to work on the bear we made camp on the spot, and it warn’t till the sky was dark and the fire lit that Lydia come back to join us.

  I wondered who she’ll go to for comfort, Andrew or Randolph, but she stayed away from both of them and made up her bed early. With her gone the men felt more relaxed and told hot yarns about women they knowed. Andrew never had much to tell of before Lydia so he stayed quiet, sometimes looking over at where she’s sleeping under a tree, or pretending to. Bob and Jesse done the most talking and they was the disgustingest stories. I never believed most of them, and it’s plain bad manners to be talking that way in front of a nigger maid like Jim, even if she’s mute and can’t say she’s offended by all the brisk language.

  After awhile Jim had enough and walked off into the woods, and pretty soon after Jesse went off in the same direction. Thinks I to myself, here comes trouble. Bob talked on, all about this woman he knowed with no teeth in her head but she’s popular, why I don’t know, a toothless woman don’t have no kind of appeal I can see. Then there’s a howling from the trees and Jesse come back with blood pouring out his nose and down his shirt, and a minute later Jim come stomping back to the fire rubbing his knuckles and looking put out.

  “That nigger bitch!” says Jesse. “I never done nothing’ ’cept sneak up on her and give her a fright.”

  “Is that right, Hannah?” says I.

  Jim shook his head and picked up his blanket to go sleep way over yonder before a real argument starts up.

  “I killed men for less’n that,” says Jesse, leaking more blood.

  “You must of asked for it,” says I, and Bob turned on me and says:

  “You keep your mouth shut, Injun, or I’ll shut it for you.”

  “There’s no need for any of this,” says Andrew.

  “And keep your’s shut too, you lily-livered pansy.”

  “I don’t believe insults are called for.…”

  “Awww, go write a poem about it, mamma’s boy.”

  The Squires never put in a word, just sat there watching it all. That bear made mighty fine eating, but the meal left a bad taste in my mouth, and I figure I ain’t tasted nothing yet.

  Next day it drizzled rain for hours. You couldn’t hardly see the trail for mist, and Andrew says we’re so high up we’re traveling right through low clouds, and I reckon it’s so because we never seen one mountain peak all day, just cottony whiteness all around, and there warn’t much talking done. We kept our blankets around us for dryness and our eyes on the ground to follow the wagon ruts. More stuff was throwed out by the trains hereabouts it’s so steep and we come across a pedal organ and a commode with a lid over the bowl and armrests, for them that takes their time or falls asleep over their function. Lydia was still grieving over Romulus and Andrew seen it but had the sense to stay quiet. The rain eased up some but the mist thickened even more. It’s mighty mysterious to go plodding through it and never see nothing past your horse’s head. Seeing as there ain’t no talk getting done we never kept bunched up but separated a ways and after awhile got strung out in a line so you never seen who’s in front of you and who’s behind. Now and then you heard a bird call way off somewheres sounding lost and alone in all the whiteness, same as you.

  It was the perfect time to do some considering, and what I turned over was a long scramble of people I knowed and things that happened to me and what it all means, which I never got the answer of. It’s like a mirror that’s all smashed to flinders; you pick up all the pieces you can find and fit them back together, only you missed some and there’s gaps, and even them pieces you found don’t fit together true, so when you look at yourself you got one eye higher than the other and two mouths and a nose that belongs in a hogpen, so you don’t get the entire picture at all. That’s what it’s like trying to figure how it come about that I’m crossing the Rockies with a murdering Pap and a famous detective up ahead of me and a whole stretch of country behind me I can’t go back to no more. Only one thing come through clear, and it’s this: I got to keep going, like a stick in a current that don’t have the chance to get ashore. I got to follow where it takes me and just hope there ain’t rapids and waterfalls up ahead that can crush me to nothing, which is a fate I reckon I don’t deserve.

  There ain’t nothing like deep thinking to give you the need to piss so I pulled off the trail and got down and done it, and while I’m getting mounted again Bob and Jesse went by. They never seen me and I never seen them, but I heard plenty.

  “It ain’t right,” Jesse says. “When I snuck up on her she warn’t squatting like a woman does, she’s stood up like a man and pissing over a log. I ask you, how can a woman do that?”

  “You must of made a mistake. Maybe she warn’t pissing at all.”

  “I heard enough piss hit the ground in my life to reckernize the sound. She was pissing stood up, I swear. That nigger ain’t no female, she’s a man. Lookit the size of it. You ever see a woman that big? She’s a man, and it’s mightly queer the way that bunch is hiding it by putting skirts on him, mighty queer.”

  Then they was too far away and their voices got muffled in the mist so I never heard no more, but I already heard enough to give me the fan-tods. Now that they suspicioned Jim they ain’t going to let up till they figure out the meaning. I never got no enjoyment from the mist after that and kept behind them so they won’t guess I overheard what they was talking about. I stayed that way till it got dark and the tailenders catched up with the leaders and we made camp.

  I snuck word to Jim that he’s been suspicioned and he says it had to come sooner or later even if he’s been getting up before the rest of a morning and shaving himself in secret to keep the ruse going long as he can, but he’s doubtful if that’ll be much longer now Bob and Jesse smelled a rat.

  There warn’t no joy to be got around the fire that night. The cold and damp had got in our bones and made us shiver and creak like oldtimers with the rheumatiz, so we just et bear meat and stoked up the flames and huddled under our blankets. Lydia was best off with Remus to hug close and get warmth from. Andrew would of give his arm to trade with that dog, but Lydia and him still ain’t on regular speaking terms. Up till the time Randolph and the rest joined us the lovebirds was pesky with their noise but happy together, which rubbed off some on Jim and me and was tolerable mainly in daylight. But now the spark has gone out between them and it’s all the fault of the new bunch that’s gone and shoved a wedge between them, specially Randolph, who’s got the kind of manly looks I reckon Andrew wished he had himself, so his confidence is gone just when he needs it most. A poem ain’t beans against a prof
ile, not if you’re a hot-blooded woman which is Lydia’s kind I reckon. But it ain’t my problem, thinks I, and nodded off.

  20

  Death in the Mist—A Haven of Safety—A Philosophical Poem—A Nasty Surprise—Unseemly Laughter

  It’s a week now since we come through South Pass and Lydia says we must be getting near Fort Bridger, which is named for the famous mountain man. Thaddeus knowed Jim Bridger one time and told me there warn’t a tougher man alive, but decent too. Why, he’d say a prayer over every Injun he shot and begged pardon off all the beaver he skinned and never done killing on a Sunday, just a little maiming to keep his hand in, and was fair-minded as well.

  There was the time him and Thaddeus got snowed in among the mountains and there warn’t no game around so they was mighty pleased to find a dead Injun that froze in the snow, and Jim Bridger reckoned they’d have to eat him to stay alive. Thaddeus was agreeable and they argued over which was the best part to take along with them, and after considerable jawing they settled on the legs, which has got meat on them but ain’t too hard to carry seeing as you can sling one over your shoulder. But when they cut the Injun’s legs off they found one was shorter than the other on account of the Injun was born and raised on a hillside, Thaddeus says, and Jim Bridger done the gentlemanly thing and says Thaddeus can have the longer one. Thaddeus reckoned it warn’t right for one man to have more than his partner so he hacked the toes off his Injun leg and give them to Jim to even things up, and Jim crunched them up like pecan nuts and says he got more pleasure from the bones and toenails than the flesh, which is kind of rubbery if it’s et uncooked. That’s what Thaddeus told me. I disbelieved some parts but it’s a good yarn. Tom Sawyer would of loved it.

  We went all day without catching sight of no fort, just more mist swirling around, and we strung out same as before and plodded along. Without no scenery to catch my eye I got mighty bored, and seeing as I never got my share of sleep last night I slid away into Nod for awhile. When I woke up my horse has wandered away from the wagon ruts and gone among the trees and I don’t even know where I am.