“Didn’t you say the Finn boy was with you? Saw everything same as you when Watson’s Jim and them other slaves done the killing? Didn’t you say that?”
Tom nods agin.
“Is that right, Huckleberry Finn?” says Judge Thatcher. “You saw it too? The truth now! Take your hand off his mouth, Mr Finn – I want an answer out of that boy.”
Pap takes his hand away, kind of reluctant. Tom’s looking up at me, his eyes wide and pleading, and I guess what’s happened – they’ve got his folks. That’s where the third feller is – round at Tom’s Aunt Polly’s with a shotgun on her and Mary and Sid, ready to unleash some deviltry on ’em if Tom don’t do as he’s told. It don’t give me no choice.
“Yes,” says I, quiet, like I’m putting the noose round his neck myself. “It was Jim.”
“Well, all right,” says the sheriff. “I know you like him but you shouldn’t try and save a murdering monster like that – truth’s best, boy. And it’ll always come out in the end.”
I was doing a bad day’s work so far, and there warn’t but one way I could set things straight. ’Fore Pap can lay a-holt of me agin I dive into that crowd and run for it, clutching that box of talismans to me like it was glass and gold dust both. Pap’s arm snakes out, but I’m too lively for him, off-guard and half-drunk as he is; hardly any of the fellers in that crowd try to stop me – think I’m going off to hang my head in shame, ’most like, ’cause of what the sheriff said to me. Didn’t care what they thought – I knew what I had to do: I was lighting out for Tom’s Aunt Polly’s place to rescue his folks.
Injun Joe must’ve made a move to follow me, soon as he saw me step for it, ’cause I hear the sheriff say: “Leave him, Joe – we’ve more important things to do than chase after boys with no sense. Now, these rebels: where d’you think they’re likeliest to head? Make a break for Illinois, I reckon – leastways head north. What d’you say?”
When I heard that I knew that cutthroat was caught up by his own distraction for a time. He’d have to answer the sheriff’s questions, then see that posse was headed away from where he wanted to be and that there was no one dogging his steps and only then could he come after me. I wasn’t worried for Tom particularly – knowed he’d have sense to stick to that sheriff’s side and not leave hisself alone with Injun Joe or his pal for a moment. I’ll lay they figured they could use Tom to hook me, and Jim too, and leave themselves free and clear – well we warn’t playing that game! As I get free of that mob, though, I look back over my shoulder and see Injun Joe’s pal working his way along the edge of the crowd, his eyes glaring at me through the dark like a cat’s – he ain’t going to let me out of his sight if he can help it.
I duck down the side of the first building I come to on the Mississippi side of the street – I figure this feller is expecting me to skip town right off (which was only natural, all things considered) and don’t know I have to keep clear of the Miz. I mean to shake him off down near the waterfront then double back and heel it to Tom’s Aunt Polly’s. I’d told Tom’s cousin Mary I was the sneakingest boy in Petersburg when I had a mind to be – and I had a mind to now, I’ll bet. Well, I run down that alleyway and hang back just long ’nuff to feel sure that feller’s seen me turn toward the Miz. Once I’m out of his line of sight agin I’m straight over a fence and ’cross a garden; then over the next fence along and squatting down against the planks, holding my breath and listening out for the sound of that outlaw heading the wrong way. Less’n a minute later I hear him pass by; minute after that it’s time for the real sneaking to start. I pick my way through them yards and gardens, hoping not to be seen nor heard by nobody who’d holler or scream – the town being so fearful – and give my game away. That costs me some minutes. Soon as I’m sure I’m clear I take to my heels agin, don’t stop till I’m taking a squint at Tom’s Aunt Polly’s place from round the corner of the house opposite.
The parlour was lit up by a lantern, but the curtains was drawn. Looked normal ’cept that sometimes a shadow’d cross them curtains – shadow of a man. And he was wearing his hat indoors, so I knowed he warn’t no respectable guest. Every few minutes there’d be a little flutter at one side of them curtains or t’other, so I knowed that feller was keeping a look out.
Now, I hadn’t seen but two fellers with Injun Joe and I was a mite surprised he’d scraped together as many no-goods as that, given his reputation. (And I guess that wendigo inside of him must’ve just been straining itself fit to bust what with acting cool and reasonable for the sheriff and the townsfolks, and like a regular bandit for the no-goods. If what Mother Hopkins said was right – and I reckoned it was – Injun Joe must’ve spent the whole time wanting to tear up and kill and eat whoever come his way. I wouldn’t want to be near when he felt he didn’t have no need to keep a-holt of hisself.) But my point is there was just two and Injun Joe. Injun Joe warn’t here. Feller who chased me warn’t here. There was just that feller at the front of the house. So I’d go round the back.
Well, I’m so used to getting round back of Tom’s Aunt Polly’s place without being seen by Tom’s Aunt Polly or Sid or Mary – when I need to roust him out evenings, say, by giving him a sign like miaowing ’neath his window like a cat – well, I’m so used to that I could do it in my sleep. That’s just pie to me! So that’s what I do right now.
I was creeping round the corner, toward the kitchen window, keeping close to the wall so’s even somebody right up at the pane couldn’t see me, when I hear a hiss and ’most jump out my skin.
“Fssst!” it went. Then “Fssst!” agin. If I hadn’t heard a voice speak right after I’d have took to my heels and been over the next fence.
“Hucky,” says the voice, only just ’bove a whisper. “That you, Hucky? What’s going on?”
I recognise that voice; it’s Sandy – Tom’s Aunt Polly’s boy. Sounds like he’s in the woodshed. Sounds mighty scared too; he warn’t taking to that shed as well as I had.
“It’s me, all right,” says I, keeping my voice low and scooting over to the door. “What you doing in the woodshed, Sandy?”
“Missus locked me in,” says Sandy. He means Tom’s Aunt Polly. “One of Farmer Jones’ sons come roun’ an’ warn her there was a slave risin’ an’ the Widder Douglas was kilt an’ Miss Watson’s Jim was leadin’ ’em an’ they was arm to the teeth an’ headin’ for town. Well, Missus couldn’t hardly believe that – but she says she knows the Jones boys an’ knows they wouldn’t hardly say somethin’ like that without ’cause. ‘Thing like this tends to make folks go crazy,’ says she. ‘An’ I don’t reckon Petersburg folks is any less crazy than folks elsewheres. I’m gonna lock you in the woodshed, Sandy – keep you safe an’ out of sight till I know what’s what and things is calm agin.’ So she brung me out here an’ lock me in. An’ it’s just as well she did, I reckon, ’cause not long after, some feller come roun’ with his shotgun ready – spied him through this here knothole. Jus’ marched straight into the kitchen an’ rousted Missus an’ Mary an’ Sid through to the parlour. He looked awful mean, Hucky, an’ Missus an’ the rest looked awful scared – reckon he’d been sent to get me. But they couldn’ve told him nothin’ ’cause I’m still here. Ain’t seen nor heard nothin’ since then; seems an awful long time.”
“Well, some of that’s right and some of it ain’t,” says I, whispering up against that knothole. “But I ain’t got time to set you straight on all points, Sandy. ’Nuff to say there ain’t no rising, Jim didn’t kill no one, and that no-good half-breed Injun Joe and a couple of other no-goods is behind it all. That’s one of ’em inside the house right now; he didn’t come for you, he come for Tom’s Aunt Polly and the others so’s Tom’d have to pin some blame on Jim. So I reckon it’s up to us to rescue ’em quick before he does something desperate and they all wind up like the Widow and Miss Watson.”
“Oh, Lord, what c’n we do, Hucky? If Marse Tom was here he’d have an’ idea, I bet.”
“Well, maybe he would too, Sandy,�
� says I. “But last time I saw him, Tom’d run out of ideas, far as I could see. Now: how can we get you out of here?”
“That part’s easy, Hucky,” says he. “Missus left me the key. Here tis!”
I look down and he’s sliding it out through the gap ’twixt the bottom of the door and the ground. I lay down Mother Hopkins’ box of talismans and take up that key; moment later I’ve got the door open wide ’nuff for Sandy to squeeze through. He looks smaller’n I remembered him being, and scared with it – but there ain’t no one else to help me.
“Kitchen door unlocked?” says I.
“Think so, Hucky,” says Sandy. “What we gonna do?”
“You go round to the front porch – walk ’bout a bit and make a noise, like you was trying to creep up on him quiet but warn’t doing it well. Keep an eye on the curtains. Keep that feller at ’em and looking out – but don’t let him see you. I’ll sneak in through the kitchen and get him from behind.”
“Get him how, Hucky?”
“I’ll… I could…” Thinking ahead warn’t never my strength, so I don’t have an answer right off. “I’ll lam him with this.” I pull a good size piece of timber out that woodshed – long ’nuff to keep that feller at a distance, but thick ’nuff so’s he’d know ’bout it when I hit him. “If I can’t get his head, I’ll get his knee – all I’ve got to do is make him drop that gun and slow him up so’s he can’t catch me.”
Well, it warn’t no Tom Sawyer plan – not halfways fancy ’nuff – but it was all I’d got, so there warn’t nothing else but to get on and do it.
“Take some stones with you, Sandy,” says I. “Throw ’em ’bout a bit – keep that feller not knowing where to look next.”
“All right, Hucky,” says he. “You c’n rely on me.”
Reckon I could too – he was all right, Sandy. Well, he scuttled off round toward the front of the house and I scooted back over to that kitchen door and got my hand ready on the knob. Pressed my ear against the door, but there warn’t no talking coming from inside – quiet as the grave it was. Then I hear a long slow creak, like weight being put on the front porch, then a pattering of feet hurrying along it, then a swooshing from some bushes, like someone was hiding in ’em. Good old Sandy – reckon the feller indoors’d’ve heard that all right. I turn the doorknob and go in on my hands and knees; close the door behind me quiet so there won’t be no draft. Then I crawl out the kitchen door and along the hall toward the parlour. I can hear movement from the parlour – that feller is getting stirred up, I reckon, like I’d hoped.
“You keep quiet,” comes his voice, growling. “Don’t you make a sound.”
Then I hear a shotgun being cocked and the floorboards creak as that feller crosses the parlour, coming toward the hall. He ain’t staying put at the window at all – he’s coming my way. Well, there’s a little table against the wall of that hallway with a flowerpot on it and some big leafy flower sticking out. That’s ’bout all I got to work with, so I duck down quick behind it and pull my knees in close. That hunk of wood? That’s in my hand, you bet. Once that bandit reaches the hall, he don’t bother trying to be quiet no more – he leaps to the front door and flings it open, then stands there looking out, gun in his hand.
“Where are you, you varmint?” he shouts. “I know you’re there. You come on out or I’m a-coming to get you.”
Well, Sandy warn’t fool ’nuff to stand up and wave when he heard that – don’t reckon many folks would’ve been. But that feller stands there on the threshold anyway, staring out into the dark and trying to pick something out in the moonlight, his finger getting itchier and itchier on that trigger. It’s ’bout the best chance I’ll get. I stand up and creep toward him. I get closer and closer, raising that stick aloft, ready to fetch him one. I’m going quiet, all right, ’most like a cat. Problem is I didn’t pay heed to the lantern hanging up in the hallway – soon as I step under that my shadow lights out past that outlaw to stand alongside his on the porch. He sees it at once and spins round, pointing his shotgun at me and tucking it into his side, braced to fire. Lord!
His hair is lank, the colour of straw that’s been trod into the mud; his jowls haven’t seen no razor for a while and his eyes has a hungry look to ’em. He gives me a narrow, brown smile.
“Well, well,” says he. “You’re one of them boys Joe wants, aintcha? What you doing with that?” He flicks his eyes at the piece of wood I’m holding; I let it fall, like it’s burning. “Shame you’ve gone and got yourself killed by them murdering slaves, ain’t it?” And he takes aim right at the centre of my chest.
BANG!
That noise warn’t the shotgun – it was the butt of a rusty old revolver coming down hard on the back of that feller’s skull. Pap’s standing behind him in the doorway.
“Bet you’re glad to see your old Pap now, I reckon,” says he, wiping some blood off of the revolver on his britches. “Ain’t a trick o’ yourn I don’t know, boy – taught you half o’ ’em myself. Saw you decoy t’other feller toward the river then stalked you here. And you can get yourself in here too!” He steps back onto the porch and flicks the gun barrel a couple of times, beckoning. Sandy creeps into sight, kind of sheepish.
“Good ev’ning, Mr Finn, sir,” says he, so quiet you can hardly hear him.
“Good? Don’t know ’bout that, boy,” says Pap. “Mighty puzzling, that’s fer sure! ‘Sir’, though – respectful. I like that – you could learn your manners from this here boy, Huckleberry.”
He steps inside, hooks his foot round the edge of the door and pushes it shut behind him without taking his eyes off of me.
“Say, boy,” says he to Sandy. “Got any rope in this here place?”
Sandy nods.
“Well, fetch it then, boy.” Sandy picks his way past that feller sprawled in the hallway. “Don’t keep me waitin’ for it, now.” Sandy runs off into the kitchen and I hear him go out into the yard.
Pap scratches his head with the barrel of his revolver and stares down at the feller he brained. He steps forward, stoops, and starts going through that fellers pockets. He’s right in front of the doorway to the parlour now, standing open, and takes a glance inside. I step up too and look round the doorframe: there’s Tom’s Aunt Polly and his cousin Mary and his brother Sid all sitting upright in chairs, tied hand and foot, with gags in their mouths.
“Ma’am,” says Pap, nodding to Tom’s Aunt Polly.
All three of them start talking away, urgent, though it’s too muffled to make out, their mouths full of rag. Think I could guess the gist, though. Pap’s more interested in the feller’s pockets. He rousts out some dollar bills and some coins and a watch from his waistcoat. He’s mumbling away to hisself and to me while he’s about it.
“So you’re a friend of Injun Joe’s, eh? So you try an’ kid the sheriff he’s behind all these here murders, eh? So he sends one of his friends hunting after you and another to keep your pal’s folks hostage, eh? I know what this is all ’bout, Huckleberry.”
“You do?”
“You an’ your pal the Sawyer boy’ve found out where Injun Joe keeps his treasure hid, ain’t you? Heard him tellin’ Mother Hopkins or someone while you was out playing your fool games in the woods, I’ll bet – ain’t it so? You warn’t fetching that box for Injun Joe, was you? You was takin’ it for yourself – thought you’d have a free run at it while he’s got hisself tied up with the sheriff, chasin’ down those murderin’ niggers. Ain’t that it?”
It’d do better’n the truth, I reckoned.
“That’s it, Pap, near ’nuff.”
“Thought so. C’mere!” I step closer and Pap fetches me one with the back of his hand that sends me sprawling ’cross the floor. Least he didn’t hit me with the gun. Tom’s cousin Mary makes a little scream and his Aunt Polly starts up, giving Pap a piece of her mind, no doubt, and staring daggers at him. But they’re both still too muffled to make much noise. “Now where’s that box at?”
I wipe some more blood from
my nose on the back of my hand and sniff.
“Outside,” says I. If I’d lied he’d’ve fetched me one agin. “But it ain’t what you think, Pap. It’s just keepsakes – and they ain’t even Injun Joe’s. Hain’t got nothing to do with his treasure.” I knew those dreams of easy money was so fixed in Pap’s mind I warn’t going to be able to prise them loose, but maybe I could get his thoughts off of that box so least I could get Tom’s and Jim’s souls back to ’em somehow. Mine too, if I could figure a way to hook that counterfeit back out of Pap’s pocket.
“Keepsakes!” says Pap, kind of snorting. “Reckon you could find some folks’d believe you – folks that don’t know you, maybe. But you tell me what you do know ’bout Injun Joe’s treasure – no lies now, else I’ll tan you!” Sandy steps back into the hallway now, a mess of ropes of different lengths bundled up in his arms. He looks mighty scared. “Hand me them ropes, boy,” says Pap. “Hurry now – or d’you want this feller to wake up ’fore I get him tied?”
“No, sir, Marse Finn,” says Sandy, and he hands them ropes over prompt, passing one after another to Pap till that feller’s bound hand and foot and hog-tied and got a kerchief stuffed in his mouth so’s he can’t make no more noise than the others. While he’s working – quick, like he’s used to this kind of business – Pap’s questioning me. He flicks his eyes over me sudden, now and then, so I’ve got to make sure my face don’t give me away – ’cause I’m fixing to stretch the truth some.
“Where’s Injun Joe’s treasure?” says Pap. “Answer me – won’t ask you agin!”
“He keeps it downriver,” says I. “Though I don’t know how far ’zactly.”
“I knowed it,” says Pap. “It’s always quicker to go downriver than up. Best place to stash it quick an’ fetch it quick; an’ if he had to skip town for good he’d go downriver, I’ll lay. That’s what I’d do.” Pap always leant toward an idea more if it squared with what he ’ready wanted to do. I knowed he wanted to head downriver – told me that hisself when he said he was fixing to catch Big Missouri. “Missouri side or Illinois?”
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