Tom and Huck's Howling Adventure

by Tim Champlin

  “Auntie, those kidnappers told Judge Thatcher that me and Huck has to deliver the 612,000 ransom Friday to an island down near St. Louis.”

  “What? You two?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s the only way they’ll set Becky free.”

  “Lordy! What’s this world coming to? If I don’t let you go, what then?”

  “I reckon they’ll kill her.”

  The old lady wrung her hands and paced toward the front window. “My lands, who are these men, anyway?”

  “Nobody knows. The sheriff and judge figure they’s after the treasure me and Huck found, ’cause it’s mostly the same amount.”

  “I can’t let you go,” she said firmly. “I almost lost you before. I can’t take a chance of losing you for sure this time.”

  Tom looked at Zane but said nothing. Zane knew an appeal would be made by Judge Thatcher and Sheriff Stiles, so Tom didn’t have to plead his own case.

  Instead, Tom changed the subject. “Auntie, can Zane spend the night here?”

  “I hope the Widow Douglas doesn’t let that scamp, Huckleberry, run off on such a fool’s errand,” she mused, staring out the window.

  “Auntie, can my friend, Zane, stay here tonight?” Tom asked again, trying to distract the old lady.

  “What? Yes, yes,” she nodded. “He can have Sid’s bed. He and Mary are off to your uncle’s farm for the week.” Then she resumed wringing her hands, her mind obviously focused on the tragedy that was occupying the rest of the village.

  “Auntie, if you don’t need us for the next little bit, me and Zane’ll go do some fishing.”

  She didn’t reply at first until Tom repeated himself.

  “Yes, go ’long with you. This business has me that befuddled until I don’t know if I’m afoot or afloat. Hardly a wonder I’m turning white-headed.”

  “We’ll be back directly,” he said, motioning for Zane to follow him out the door. “By suppertime for sure,” he said as they made their escape.

  The boys did spend the afternoon fishing from the bank of the river upstream of the village. They’d dug some night crawlers from a moist, shaded area in the garden behind the house and Tom showed Zane how to bait a hook, attach a lead sinker and a cork bobber, and let the bait drift along with the slight current. They managed to pull in a couple of bluegill and two small catfish. “None of ’em a size to keep,” Tom remarked slipping the last one back into the river.

  Then, during the heat of the afternoon, the fish quit biting in the shallow water near the bank. The boys stretched out on a patch of grass and fell to talking.

  It was a good time for Tom to pull out two ripe, juicy tomatoes he’d hooked from the garden when they’d been digging fishing worms. Though somewhat squashed from being in his pocket, they were still delicious.

  Zane reflected that he was glad to have the straw hat to blunt the fierce June sun while he munched on the tomato and stared out over the broad Mississippi. He glanced at his wristwatch.

  “You got somers to go?” Tom asked.

  “Uh . . . no. Just a habit, I reckon.”

  He took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was pleasant to put the kidnapping out of his mind for a time. They talked of Tom’s earlier plans for the summer, and also recalled how Tom and Huck had found the treasure. It seemed strange to Zane to hear the details from a participant after having read about it in a book. “Do you have any of those coins with you now?” Zane asked.

  Tom dug into his pants pocket and produced a 62.50 gold piece and a 65 gold piece. “I hooked these from the treasure when we first found it. Carry ’em for good luck, mostly. Auntie doesn’t like me to carry this much money around in case I lose it or somebody robs me,” Tom said. “But Judge Thatcher he lets me have some of the interest now and again when I ask him. It’s a lot more than I need to buy candy and a new hoop, or a ball. But it does me a power o’ good to help Aunt Polly, so she don’t have to pay for everything—food, clothes, rent, and such.”

  Zane turned over the coins in his hand, marveling at how they shone in the sun. “I sure wish we had gold circulating where I come from. Gold coins were taken out of circulation back in the 1930s during the Depression.”

  “What’s a depression?”

  “A financial panic. People lose their jobs and go bumming around looking for work. Hard times. Can’t say as I understand it all that well, but heard it was bad. Long before my time.”

  “Oh. Well, gold is best. Lots o’ banks print their own paper money, but it ain’t good once you travel too far away from where the bank is. And if the bank closes up, their notes ain’t no good at all.” He took the coins back and put them in his pocket. “But gold is always good.”

  “Yeah. In this day and time, I don’t suppose kidnappers would demand paper bank notes,” Zane said. “Tom, you think this kidnapping business is gonna work out all right in the end?”

  “I have to believe it. If I didn’t, I never woulda told the judge I’d go deliver the gold.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Oh, a little, I guess. But I can’t let on. There ain’t nothin’ to it, really. All me and Huck need to do is drop off the steamboat, find the tree and toss the sacks into it, and leave.” He pulled up his hook and saw something had taken his bait. He dug out another night crawler from the can of coffee grounds, rebaited his hook, and dropped it back into the water. “We ain’t never gonna see the kidnappers or Becky, so it won’t be dangersome.”

  “Then why do you think those criminals demanded that you two deliver it?”

  “That’s the onliest thing that makes me jumpy. They’s some reason, but I can’t figure it.”

  “And what about landing on that island? How do you plan to do it if the steamboat won’t land you?”

  “I been studyin’ on that, and I have a plan. B’tween me and Huck and the judge, there’s plenty o’ money to buy a skiff. Or, we’ll ask the captain if we can buy the yawl offen the steamboat. When we’re near the island, we’ll ask the captain to heave to, have the yawl put overside with me and Huck and the gold, and the steamer can go on. We’ll pull the boat to Eagles Nest Island, make the drop, and then row on downriver about twelve mile to where the Missouri River joins in. Bound to be a busy village or two nearby. I think Alton, Illinois, is along there somers. We can sell the yawl, easy, and use the money to buy two tickets home.”

  “The way you explain it, it all sounds simple,” Zane said. “Then when you’re back here, you wait to hear where Becky has been turned loose, go pick her up, and the police take out on the trail of the kidnappers. Once they’re caught and go to jail, you have the treasure back and everything returns to normal. Then you’re back to plannin’ for adventures in the territory.” He paused. “Of course, it’s never as easy as all that.”

  “I sure hope these men ain’t the killin’ kind. I read about kidnappers in the old days who collected the ransom, but killed the hostage anyways, just out of pure meanness.”

  “Don’t even think like that,” Zane said. “Becky’s going to be fine. After all, Providence has to let me meet her while I’m here. She’ll be set free.” He tried to sound confident. If most people here believed in the workings of Providence, Zane thought he’d drag it into the conversation. Providence could easily be blamed for anything that was unexpected or unexplainable. “I sure wish I could come with you,” Zane said. “Jim, too.”

  “That would likely scare ’em off,” Tom said. “And they might kill Becky out of spite.” He grimaced. “Wish I could lay my hands on those two right now. No tellin’ what I’d do.” Then he relaxed and gave a deep sigh. “But I reckon if I was riled up enough and kilt ’em, I wouldn’t escape the hangman.”

  “It’s strange what hate can do to a person.”

  “Can’t hate someone you don’t know atall. I just hate they took Becky prisoner.”

  Zane had given himself an idea. “Looky here, maybe Jim and I should tail along on th
e next steamboat to help out if there’s trouble.”

  “The next southbound boat ain’t ’til the next day.”

  “In that case, why don’t Jim and I come along on the same boat. Maybe pay the captain to stand off the island a bit to make sure the drop goes okay before the steamer heads on downriver.”

  “I reckon the judge and the sheriff or some lawmen will be ridin’ the hurricane deck with a spyglass to see if they can spot the kidnappers, and to keep an eye on things so’s there ain’t no hitches.” Tom picked up a pebble and chucked it into the river. “Iffen I was one of the kidnappers, I’d make sure to stay outa sight ’til the coast was clear before I went for that treasure. Maybe after dark. We can’t be supposin’ these kidnappers don’t have no sense.”

  “Will you and Huck carry guns?”

  “I doubt the judge will let us. Me and Huck have a couple old pistols hid in the cave. But they ain’t much account—mostly rusted up—so it don’t matter. Besides, we won’t see nobody, so we won’t need ’em.”

  Zane had a strange feeling about this paying of the ransom. His gut instinct told him it would be more dangerous than Tom imagined. “Is it okay with you and Huck if I ask Jim to come along and keep an eye on you two, in case of trouble?”

  Tom gave him a quizzical look. “Sure. We’ll all buy tickets on the same steamboat. We’ll use a few dollars of that money the judge give us. The rest of those half-eagles and eagles you and Jim can keep safe for a day or three until we’re all back home. Better to have you two carry it, secret like, in a couple money belts under your clothes than to hide it somers and maybe lose it. I’ll slide my share under the floorboards in the house tonight ’til we’re ready to board the boat day after tomorrow.”

  “You got a bite!”

  Tom managed to grab his neglected pole before it was pulled into the water. He gave a yank and a silvery body flashed through the air and lay flopping in the grass.

  “That’s a keeper!” Zane had never caught a fish that size.

  “ ’Tain’t nothin’ but a drum—a trash fish. Too bony. No good for eatin.” He captured the fish and tossed it back into the river. With a flick of its tail, it disappeared. “Some folks eat carp, bowfin, and drum,” Tom said. “Jim told me he even used to boil up fish head soup. All that bilin’ softens the bones and nothin’ is wasted.”

  “I thought old Miss Watson could feed him better than that,” Zane said.

  “Jim warn’t always owned by Miss Watson.”

  “Oh.” Zane cringed at the thought of fish head soup.

  Tom grinned. “But I reckon when you’re powerful hungry, fish heads ain’t no worse than chitlins.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Hog guts. Boiled or fried.”

  Zane swallowed down his rising gorge. “Some people still eat pork rinds in my world. I’m told they’re nice and crisp and not too bad.”

  “I read somers the French eat snails, too, with lots o’ sauce to make ’em go down easy-like. Lots o’ stuff you’re bound to get used to while you’re here.” Tom grinned. “It’s easin’ on toward suppertime. You ready to go?”

  Zane followed him back to the house, thoughts of the kidnapping forgotten for the moment.

  “Where’s your bathroom?”

  Tom pointed toward the outhouse. “Watch out for spiders.”

  Zane had used fiberglass portable potties at outdoor events, so using the wooden two-holer was not an entirely new experience. He knew to hold his breath against the stench until he was done.

  By the time he’d washed up at the town pump and helped Tom carry two buckets of water back to the house, his appetite had returned.

  Aunt Polly had boiled up a pot of white beans and a hambone. With cornbread and buttermilk, it was as good a meal as Zane had ever tasted.

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  The next morning, Zane felt better than he’d felt since arriving in this strange place.

  “I was surprised how well I slept on Sid’s bed,” he remarked as the boys headed for Judge Thatcher’s house.

  “Why wouldn’t you sleep good?” Tom asked.

  “Well, I’ve never slept on a bed with rope springs.”

  “It’s the feather tick that makes the difference,” Tom said. “Corn-shuck mattresses is good, too, but they rustle a lot and sometimes keep a body awake if you roll around a good bit.”

  The judge was in his study when the cook let the boys in.

  Tom informed him what the steamboat pilot of the Susannah had said about avoiding Eagles Nest Island.

  “That presents a problem,” the judge said, swiveling around in his chair to face the boys.

  “I been studyin’ on it, Judge, and here’s what I come up with.” Tom laid out his plan to rent or buy one of the yawls carried aboard, and then use that to land, allowing the steamer to proceed downstream.

  Judge Thatcher rubbed his freshly shaved chin. “That might work at that—if I can convince the steamboat captain to allow it. Where would you and Huckleberry go from there?”

  “I was lookin’ at a map on the wall o’ the ticket office,” Tom said. “It ain’t over fourteen miles downstream to where the Missouri comes in. We can row that easy. There ’pears to be a village or two on the Illinois side, so we can buy some grub. If we can’t sell the yawl ashore, we can always sell it to some steamboat captain. Those are good boats for layin’ markers and soundin’ and such, so if we offer it at a fair price, we won’t have no trouble sellin’ it. With the money it fetches, we can buy tickets back home.”

  “Tom, you have a good head on your shoulders. I shouldn’t wonder if you don’t turn out to be a fine businessman someday. But I’d prefer, as long as you’re rowing and drifting that far, you row a few more miles on down to the St. Louis landing and meet up with me and Sheriff Stiles so we’ll know you’re safe. Then we can dispose of the boat, or have it hoisted aboard a steamer and ride home together.”

  “That’s a better idea, Judge. We’ll aim to do that.”

  The judge stood up. “I’ll go down to the ticket office right now and see if I can arrange it.”

  “Here’s the money for our tickets while you’re there.” He handed the older man several gold coins. “That’s enough for tickets for Jim and Zane too; I want them to come along on the steamboat.”

  “Looks like we’ll all be riding,” the judge said. “Sheriff Stiles and I will be aboard as well. We’ll buy tickets to St. Louis.” He took his black coat from the hall tree and slipped it on.

  “Oh, and while you’re out, Judge, would you mind buying two money belts? I don’t want nobody to know they’re for us. But if you buy ’em, they won’t think nothin’ of it.”

  “Certainly.” His face grew suddenly somber. “Can’t help but wonder if those criminals are mistreating my Becky.”

  “Judge, they’ll treat her prime,” Tom said, his voice full of confidence. “Iffen they don’t, and she comes back with even her hair mussed up, the law will hound ’em to the ends of the world.”

  “Yes, yes. I suppose you’re right,” he nodded. “It wouldn’t benefit them at all to harm her.” He went out and the boys followed.

  An hour later, the judge found Tom and Zane sitting in the shade of a tree near the levee, whittling new pipes from corncobs. Zane had indicated he had no desire to learn to smoke, that smoking was bad for the health and had killed many people in his own day. But he was helping Tom create some new pipes for Huck and Jim. “Smokin’s okay, but it don’t agree with me,” Tom said, blowing the scrapings out of the soft center of the cob. “So, now, I generally let it be.”

  “Oh, there you are, boys,” Judge Thatcher greeted them as he walked up, wiping his brow, coat draped over one arm. He braced one foot on the slope of the levee and leaned an elbow on his knee, breathing deeply. “It’s all arranged,” he said, handing them four one-way tickets to St. Louis. “John Lackey, the agent, is a good friend of the captain of the Millicent, a side-wheeler that will tie up here overnight T
hursday and leave out Friday morning. That boat for sure can’t land on Eagles Nest Island. So, once I explained what we planned to do, and—considering the seriousness of the situation—Lackey authorized me to buy one of their two yawls for 650.”

  “That’s a power o’ money for a small boat,” Tom said.

  “Those are sleek, handmade, twenty-foot double-enders that row and sail. They sell wholesale for 630,” the judge said. “I gave Lackey retail and threw in a tip for his trouble. But two men can row one o’ those with ease. You and Huck should have no trouble with it.” He flung down two leather money belts that were draped over his arm. “There you are.”

  “Thanks a lot, Judge.”

  “I have some business to attend to. If you need anything, I’ll be at my house.”

  He departed into the hot sunshine.

  Zane wondered if the judge thought he was buying the money belts to transport the ransom. Tom had not said they were for Zane and Jim to carry the three hundred in gold.

  Early that afternoon, Huck, Tom, and Zane managed to entice Jim away from his work hoeing weeds in the widow’s garden atop Cardiff Hill. The four of them slipped away into the nearby woods. They found the oak tree where Tom had played Robin Hood two summers before and flopped down on the grass in the shade.

  Tom laid out his plan for them to all come along, he and Huck to deliver the ransom, and Zane and Jim as observers from the deck of the steamboat.

  “You won’t be away more’en a couple days, Jim,” Tom assured him. “And me and Huck’ll pay you double wages for whatever time o’ work you’ll miss. Everybody in town knows about the kidnapping, so the widow won’t mind if you come along. I’ll tell her you’re helping.”

  “Da sheriff he come up to de house dis mawnin’,” Jim said, “and spoke to de Missus. Dat’s da fust she know about Huck havin’ to deliver de ransom.”

  “How’d she take it?” Tom asked.