第 35 页

again when he came out. He fetched uncle a key about the time we got up

from table--same key, I bet. Watermelon shows man, lock shows prisoner;

and it ain't likely there's two prisoners on such a little plantation,

and where the people's all so kind and good. Jim's the prisoner. All

right--I'm glad we found it out detective fashion; I wouldn't give

shucks for any other way. Now you work your mind, and study out a plan

to steal Jim, and I will study out one, too; and we'll take the one we

like the best."

What a head for just a boy to have! If I had Tom Sawyer's head I

wouldn't trade it off to be a duke, nor mate of a steamboat, nor clown in

a circus, nor nothing I can think of. I went to thinking out a plan, but

only just to be doing something; I knowed very well where the right plan

was going to come from. Pretty soon Tom says:

"Ready?"

"Yes," I says.

"All right--bring it out."

"My plan is this," I says. "We can easy find out if it's Jim in there.

Then get up my canoe to-morrow night, and fetch my raft over from the

island. Then the first dark night that comes steal the key out of the

old man's britches after he goes to bed, and shove off down the river on

the raft with Jim, hiding daytimes and running nights, the way me and Jim

used to do before. Wouldn't that plan work?"

"WORK? Why, cert'nly it would work, like rats a-fighting. But it's too

blame' simple; there ain't nothing TO it. What's the good of a plan that

ain't no more trouble than that? It's as mild as goose-milk. Why, Huck,

it wouldn't make no more talk than breaking into a soap factory."

I never said nothing, because I warn't expecting nothing different; but I

knowed mighty well that whenever he got HIS plan ready it wouldn't have

none of them objections to it.

And it didn't. He told me what it was, and I see in a minute it was

worth fifteen of mine for style, and would make Jim just as free a man as

mine would, and maybe get us all killed besides. So I was satisfied, and

said we would waltz in on it. I needn't tell what it was here, because I

knowed it wouldn't stay the way, it was. I knowed he would be changing

it around every which way as we went along, and heaving in new

bullinesses wherever he got a chance. And that is what he done.

Well, one thing was dead sure, and that was that Tom Sawyer was in

earnest, and was actuly going to help steal that nigger out of slavery.

That was the thing that was too many for me. Here was a boy that was

respectable and well brung up; and had a character to lose; and folks at

home that had characters; and he was bright and not leather-headed; and

knowing and not ignorant; and not mean, but kind; and yet here he was,

without any more pride, or rightness, or feeling, than to stoop to this

business, and make himself a shame, and his family a shame, before

everybody. I COULDN'T understand it no way at all. It was outrageous,

and I knowed I ought to just up and tell him so; and so be his true

friend, and let him quit the thing right where he was and save himself.

And I DID start to tell him; but he shut me up, and says:

"Don't you reckon I know what I'm about? Don't I generly know what I'm

about?"

"Yes."

"Didn't I SAY I was going to help steal the nigger?"

"Yes."

"WELL, then."

That's all he said, and that's all I said. It warn't no use to say any

more; because when he said he'd do a thing, he always done it. But I

couldn't make out how he was willing to go into this thing; so I just let

it go, and never bothered no more about it. If he was bound to have it

so, I couldn't help it.

When we got home the house was all dark and still; so we went on down to

the hut by the ash-hopper for to examine it. We went through the yard so

as to see what the hounds would do. They knowed us, and didn't make no

more noise than country dogs is always doing when anything comes by in

the night. When we got to the cabin we took a look at the front and the

two sides; and on the side I warn't acquainted with--which was the north

side--we found a square window-hole, up tolerable high, with just one

stout board nailed across it. I says:

"Here's the ticket. This hole's big enough for Jim to get through if we

wrench off the board."

Tom says:

"It's as simple as tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row, and as easy as playing

hooky. I should HOPE we can find a way that's a little more complicated

than THAT, Huck Finn."

"Well, then," I says, "how 'll it do to saw him out, the way I done

before I was murdered that time?"

"That's more LIKE," he says. "It's real mysterious, and troublesome, and

good," he says; "but I bet we can find a way that's twice as long. There

ain't no hurry; le's keep on looking around."

Betwixt the hut and the fence, on the back side, was a lean-to that

joined the hut at the eaves, and was made out of plank. It was as long

as the hut, but narrow--only about six foot wide. The door to it was at

the south end, and was padlocked. Tom he went to the soap-kettle and

searched around, and fetched back the iron thing they lift the lid with;

so he took it and prized out one of the staples. The chain fell down,

and we opened the door and went in, and shut it, and struck a match, and

see the shed was only built against a cabin and hadn't no connection with

it; and there warn't no floor to the shed, nor nothing in it but some old

rusty played-out hoes and spades and picks and a crippled plow. The

match went out, and so did we, and shoved in the staple again, and the

door was locked as good as ever. Tom was joyful. He says;

"Now we're all right. We'll DIG him out. It 'll take about a week!"

Then we started for the house, and I went in the back door--you only have

to pull a buckskin latch-string, they don't fasten the doors--but that

warn't romantical enough for Tom Sawyer; no way would do him but he must

climb up the lightning-rod. But after he got up half way about three

times, and missed fire and fell every time, and the last time most busted

his brains out, he thought he'd got to give it up; but after he was

rested he allowed he would give her one more turn for luck, and this time

he made the trip.

In the morning we was up at break of day, and down to the nigger cabins

to pet the dogs and make friends with the nigger that fed Jim--if it WAS

Jim that was being fed. The niggers was just getting through breakfast

and starting for the fields; and Jim's nigger was piling up a tin pan

with bread and meat and things; and whilst the others was leaving, the

key come from the house.

This nigger had a good-natured, chuckle-headed face, and his wool was all

tied up in little bunches with thread. That was to keep witches off. He

said the witches was pestering him awful these nights, and making him see

all kinds of strange things, and hear all kinds of strange words and

noises, and he didn't believe he was ever witched so long before in his

life. He got so worked up, and got to running on so about his troubles,

he forgot all about what he'd been a-going to do. So Tom says:

"What's the vittles for? Going to feed the dogs?"

The nigger kind of smiled around gradually over his face, like when you

heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says:

"Yes, Mars Sid, A dog. Cur'us dog, too. Does you want to go en look at

'im?"

"Yes."

I hunched Tom, and whispers:

"You going, right here in the daybreak? THAT warn't the plan."

"No, it warn't; but it's the plan NOW."

So, drat him, we went along, but I didn't like it much. When we got in

we couldn't hardly see anything, it was so dark; but Jim was there, sure

enough, and could see us; and he sings out:

"Why, HUCK! En good LAN'! ain' dat Misto Tom?"

I just knowed how it would be; I just expected it. I didn't know nothing

to do; and if I had I couldn't a done it, because that nigger busted in

and says:

"Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?"

We could see pretty well now. Tom he looked at the nigger, steady and

kind of wondering, and says:

"Does WHO know us?"

"Why, dis-yer runaway nigger."

"I don't reckon he does; but what put that into your head?"

"What PUT it dar? Didn' he jis' dis minute sing out like he knowed you?"

Tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way:

"Well, that's mighty curious. WHO sung out? WHEN did he sing out? WHAT

did he sing out?" And turns to me, perfectly ca'm, and says, "Did YOU

hear anybody sing out?"

Of course there warn't nothing to be said but the one thing; so I says:

"No; I ain't heard nobody say nothing."

Then he turns to Jim, and looks him over like he never see him before,

and says:

"Did you sing out?"

"No, sah," says Jim; "I hain't said nothing, sah."

"Not a word?"

"No, sah, I hain't said a word."

"Did you ever see us before?"

"No, sah; not as I knows on."

So Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and distressed, and

says, kind of severe:

"What do you reckon's the matter with you, anyway? What made you think

somebody sung out?"

"Oh, it's de dad-blame' witches, sah, en I wisht I was dead, I do. Dey's

awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos' kill me, dey sk'yers me so. Please to

don't tell nobody 'bout it sah, er ole Mars Silas he'll scole me; 'kase

he say dey AIN'T no witches. I jis' wish to goodness he was heah now

--DEN what would he say! I jis' bet he couldn' fine no way to git aroun'

it DIS time. But it's awluz jis' so; people dat's SOT, stays sot; dey

won't look into noth'n'en fine it out f'r deyselves, en when YOU fine it

out en tell um 'bout it, dey doan' b'lieve you."

Tom give him a dime, and said we wouldn't tell nobody; and told him to

buy some more thread to tie up his wool with; and then looks at Jim, and

says:

"I wonder if Uncle Silas is going to hang this nigger. If I was to catch

a nigger that was ungrateful enough to run away, I wouldn't give him up,

I'd hang him." And whilst the nigger stepped to the door to look at the

dime and bite it to see if it was good, he whispers to Jim and says:

"Don't ever let on to know us. And if you hear any digging going on

nights, it's us; we're going to set you free."

Jim only had time to grab us by the hand and squeeze it; then the nigger

come back, and we said we'd come again some time if the nigger wanted us

to; and he said he would, more particular if it was dark, because the

witches went for him mostly in the dark, and it was good to have folks

around then.

CHAPTER XXXV.

IT would be most an hour yet till breakfast, so we left and struck down

into the woods; because Tom said we got to have SOME light to see how to

dig by, and a lantern makes too much, and might get us into trouble; what

we must have was a lot of them rotten chunks that's called fox-fire, and

just makes a soft kind of a glow when you lay them in a dark place. We

fetched an armful and hid it in the weeds, and set down to rest, and Tom

says, kind of dissatisfied:

"Blame it, this whole thing is just as easy and awkward as it can be.

And so it makes it so rotten difficult to get up a difficult plan. There

ain't no watchman to be drugged--now there OUGHT to be a watchman. There

ain't even a dog to give a sleeping-mixture to. And there's Jim chained

by one leg, with a ten-foot chain, to the leg of his bed: why, all you

got to do is to lift up the bedstead and slip off the chain. And Uncle

Silas he trusts everybody; sends the key to the punkin-headed nigger, and

don't send nobody to watch the nigger. Jim could a got out of that

window-hole before this, only there wouldn't be no use trying to travel

with a ten-foot chain on his leg. Why, drat it, Huck, it's the stupidest

arrangement I ever see. You got to invent ALL the difficulties. Well, we

can't help it; we got to do the best we can with the materials we've got.

Anyhow, there's one thing--there's more honor in getting him out

through a lot of difficulties and dangers, where there warn't one of them

furnished to you by the people who it was their duty to furnish them, and

you had to contrive them all out of your own head. Now look at just that

one thing of the lantern. When you come down to the cold facts, we

simply got to LET ON that a lantern's resky. Why, we could work with a

torchlight procession if we wanted to, I believe. Now, whilst I think of

it, we got to hunt up something to make a saw out of the first chance we

get."

"What do we want of a saw?"

"What do we WANT of a saw? Hain't we got to saw the leg of Jim's bed

off, so as to get the chain loose?"

"Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain

off."

"Well, if that ain't just like you, Huck Finn. You CAN get up the

infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing. Why, hain't you ever read

any books at all?--Baron Trenck, nor Casanova, nor Benvenuto Chelleeny,

nor Henri IV., nor none of them heroes? Who ever heard of getting a

prisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as that? No; the way all the

best authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just so,

and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and