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and listen if you can hear 'em coming."

So in they come, but couldn't see us in the dark, and most trod on us

whilst we was hustling to get under the bed. But we got under all right,

and out through the hole, swift but soft--Jim first, me next, and Tom

last, which was according to Tom's orders. Now we was in the lean-to,

and heard trampings close by outside. So we crept to the door, and Tom

stopped us there and put his eye to the crack, but couldn't make out

nothing, it was so dark; and whispered and said he would listen for the

steps to get further, and when he nudged us Jim must glide out first, and

him last. So he set his ear to the crack and listened, and listened, and

listened, and the steps a-scraping around out there all the time; and at

last he nudged us, and we slid out, and stooped down, not breathing, and

not making the least noise, and slipped stealthy towards the fence in

Injun file, and got to it all right, and me and Jim over it; but Tom's

britches catched fast on a splinter on the top rail, and then he hear the

steps coming, so he had to pull loose, which snapped the splinter and

made a noise; and as he dropped in our tracks and started somebody sings

out:

"Who's that? Answer, or I'll shoot!"

But we didn't answer; we just unfurled our heels and shoved. Then there

was a rush, and a BANG, BANG, BANG! and the bullets fairly whizzed around

us! We heard them sing out:

"Here they are! They've broke for the river! After 'em, boys, and turn

loose the dogs!"

So here they come, full tilt. We could hear them because they wore boots

and yelled, but we didn't wear no boots and didn't yell. We was in the

path to the mill; and when they got pretty close on to us we dodged into

the bush and let them go by, and then dropped in behind them. They'd had

all the dogs shut up, so they wouldn't scare off the robbers; but by this

time somebody had let them loose, and here they come, making powwow

enough for a million; but they was our dogs; so we stopped in our tracks

till they catched up; and when they see it warn't nobody but us, and no

excitement to offer them, they only just said howdy, and tore right ahead

towards the shouting and clattering; and then we up-steam again, and

whizzed along after them till we was nearly to the mill, and then struck

up through the bush to where my canoe was tied, and hopped in and pulled

for dear life towards the middle of the river, but didn't make no more

noise than we was obleeged to. Then we struck out, easy and comfortable,

for the island where my raft was; and we could hear them yelling and

barking at each other all up and down the bank, till we was so far away

the sounds got dim and died out. And when we stepped on to the raft I

says:

"NOW, old Jim, you're a free man again, and I bet you won't ever be a

slave no more."

"En a mighty good job it wuz, too, Huck. It 'uz planned beautiful, en it

'uz done beautiful; en dey ain't NOBODY kin git up a plan dat's mo'

mixed-up en splendid den what dat one wuz."

We was all glad as we could be, but Tom was the gladdest of all because

he had a bullet in the calf of his leg.

When me and Jim heard that we didn't feel so brash as what we did before.

It was hurting him considerable, and bleeding; so we laid him in the

wigwam and tore up one of the duke's shirts for to bandage him, but he

says:

"Gimme the rags; I can do it myself. Don't stop now; don't fool around

here, and the evasion booming along so handsome; man the sweeps, and set

her loose! Boys, we done it elegant!--'deed we did. I wish WE'D a had

the handling of Louis XVI., there wouldn't a been no 'Son of Saint Louis,

ascend to heaven!' wrote down in HIS biography; no, sir, we'd a whooped

him over the BORDER--that's what we'd a done with HIM--and done it just

as slick as nothing at all, too. Man the sweeps--man the sweeps!"

But me and Jim was consulting--and thinking. And after we'd thought a

minute, I says:

"Say it, Jim."

So he says:

"Well, den, dis is de way it look to me, Huck. Ef it wuz HIM dat 'uz

bein' sot free, en one er de boys wuz to git shot, would he say, 'Go on

en save me, nemmine 'bout a doctor f'r to save dis one?' Is dat like

Mars Tom Sawyer? Would he say dat? You BET he wouldn't! WELL, den, is

JIM gywne to say it? No, sah--I doan' budge a step out'n dis place 'dout

a DOCTOR, not if it's forty year!"

I knowed he was white inside, and I reckoned he'd say what he did say--so

it was all right now, and I told Tom I was a-going for a doctor. He

raised considerable row about it, but me and Jim stuck to it and wouldn't

budge; so he was for crawling out and setting the raft loose himself; but

we wouldn't let him. Then he give us a piece of his mind, but it didn't

do no good.

So when he sees me getting the canoe ready, he says:

"Well, then, if you re bound to go, I'll tell you the way to do when you

get to the village. Shut the door and blindfold the doctor tight and

fast, and make him swear to be silent as the grave, and put a purse full

of gold in his hand, and then take and lead him all around the back

alleys and everywheres in the dark, and then fetch him here in the canoe,

in a roundabout way amongst the islands, and search him and take his

chalk away from him, and don't give it back to him till you get him back

to the village, or else he will chalk this raft so he can find it again.

It's the way they all do."

So I said I would, and left, and Jim was to hide in the woods when he see

the doctor coming till he was gone again.

CHAPTER XLI.

THE doctor was an old man; a very nice, kind-looking old man when I got

him up. I told him me and my brother was over on Spanish Island hunting

yesterday afternoon, and camped on a piece of a raft we found, and about

midnight he must a kicked his gun in his dreams, for it went off and shot

him in the leg, and we wanted him to go over there and fix it and not say

nothing about it, nor let anybody know, because we wanted to come home

this evening and surprise the folks.

"Who is your folks?" he says.

"The Phelpses, down yonder."

"Oh," he says. And after a minute, he says:

"How'd you say he got shot?"

"He had a dream," I says, "and it shot him."

"Singular dream," he says.

So he lit up his lantern, and got his saddle-bags, and we started. But

when he sees the canoe he didn't like the look of her--said she was big

enough for one, but didn't look pretty safe for two. I says:

"Oh, you needn't be afeard, sir, she carried the three of us easy

enough."

"What three?"

"Why, me and Sid, and--and--and THE GUNS; that's what I mean."

"Oh," he says.

But he put his foot on the gunnel and rocked her, and shook his head, and

said he reckoned he'd look around for a bigger one. But they was all

locked and chained; so he took my canoe, and said for me to wait till he

come back, or I could hunt around further, or maybe I better go down home

and get them ready for the surprise if I wanted to. But I said I didn't;

so I told him just how to find the raft, and then he started.

I struck an idea pretty soon. I says to myself, spos'n he can't fix that

leg just in three shakes of a sheep's tail, as the saying is? spos'n it

takes him three or four days? What are we going to do?--lay around there

till he lets the cat out of the bag? No, sir; I know what I'LL do. I'll

wait, and when he comes back if he says he's got to go any more I'll get

down there, too, if I swim; and we'll take and tie him, and keep him, and

shove out down the river; and when Tom's done with him we'll give him

what it's worth, or all we got, and then let him get ashore.

So then I crept into a lumber-pile to get some sleep; and next time I

waked up the sun was away up over my head! I shot out and went for the

doctor's house, but they told me he'd gone away in the night some time or

other, and warn't back yet. Well, thinks I, that looks powerful bad for

Tom, and I'll dig out for the island right off. So away I shoved, and

turned the corner, and nearly rammed my head into Uncle Silas's stomach!

He says:

"Why, TOM! Where you been all this time, you rascal?"

"I hain't been nowheres," I says, "only just hunting for the runaway

nigger--me and Sid."

"Why, where ever did you go?" he says. "Your aunt's been mighty uneasy."

"She needn't," I says, "because we was all right. We followed the men

and the dogs, but they outrun us, and we lost them; but we thought we

heard them on the water, so we got a canoe and took out after them and

crossed over, but couldn't find nothing of them; so we cruised along

up-shore till we got kind of tired and beat out; and tied up the canoe

and went to sleep, and never waked up till about an hour ago; then we

paddled over here to hear the news, and Sid's at the post-office to see

what he can hear, and I'm a-branching out to get something to eat for us,

and then we're going home."

So then we went to the post-office to get "Sid"; but just as I

suspicioned, he warn't there; so the old man he got a letter out of the

office, and we waited awhile longer, but Sid didn't come; so the old man

said, come along, let Sid foot it home, or canoe it, when he got done

fooling around--but we would ride. I couldn't get him to let me stay and

wait for Sid; and he said there warn't no use in it, and I must come

along, and let Aunt Sally see we was all right.

When we got home Aunt Sally was that glad to see me she laughed and cried

both, and hugged me, and give me one of them lickings of hern that don't

amount to shucks, and said she'd serve Sid the same when he come.

And the place was plum full of farmers and farmers' wives, to dinner; and

such another clack a body never heard. Old Mrs. Hotchkiss was the worst;

her tongue was a-going all the time. She says:

"Well, Sister Phelps, I've ransacked that-air cabin over, an' I b'lieve

the nigger was crazy. I says to Sister Damrell--didn't I, Sister

Damrell?--s'I, he's crazy, s'I--them's the very words I said. You all

hearn me: he's crazy, s'I; everything shows it, s'I. Look at that-air

grindstone, s'I; want to tell ME't any cretur 't's in his right mind 's a

goin' to scrabble all them crazy things onto a grindstone, s'I? Here

sich 'n' sich a person busted his heart; 'n' here so 'n' so pegged along

for thirty-seven year, 'n' all that--natcherl son o' Louis somebody, 'n'

sich everlast'n rubbage. He's plumb crazy, s'I; it's what I says in the

fust place, it's what I says in the middle, 'n' it's what I says last 'n'

all the time--the nigger's crazy--crazy 's Nebokoodneezer, s'I."

"An' look at that-air ladder made out'n rags, Sister Hotchkiss," says old

Mrs. Damrell; "what in the name o' goodness COULD he ever want of--"

"The very words I was a-sayin' no longer ago th'n this minute to Sister

Utterback, 'n' she'll tell you so herself. Sh-she, look at that-air rag

ladder, sh-she; 'n' s'I, yes, LOOK at it, s'I--what COULD he a-wanted of

it, s'I. Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss, sh-she--"

"But how in the nation'd they ever GIT that grindstone IN there, ANYWAY?

'n' who dug that-air HOLE? 'n' who--"

"My very WORDS, Brer Penrod! I was a-sayin'--pass that-air sasser o'

m'lasses, won't ye?--I was a-sayin' to Sister Dunlap, jist this minute,

how DID they git that grindstone in there, s'I. Without HELP, mind you

--'thout HELP! THAT'S wher 'tis. Don't tell ME, s'I; there WUZ help,

s'I; 'n' ther' wuz a PLENTY help, too, s'I; ther's ben a DOZEN a-helpin'

that nigger, 'n' I lay I'd skin every last nigger on this place but I'D

find out who done it, s'I; 'n' moreover, s'I--"

"A DOZEN says you!--FORTY couldn't a done every thing that's been done.

Look at them case-knife saws and things, how tedious they've been made;

look at that bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a week's work for six men; look

at that nigger made out'n straw on the bed; and look at--"

"You may WELL say it, Brer Hightower! It's jist as I was a-sayin' to

Brer Phelps, his own self. S'e, what do YOU think of it, Sister

Hotchkiss, s'e? Think o' what, Brer Phelps, s'I? Think o' that bed-leg

sawed off that a way, s'e? THINK of it, s'I? I lay it never sawed

ITSELF off, s'I--somebody SAWED it, s'I; that's my opinion, take it or

leave it, it mayn't be no 'count, s'I, but sich as 't is, it's my

opinion, s'I, 'n' if any body k'n start a better one, s'I, let him DO it,

s'I, that's all. I says to Sister Dunlap, s'I--"

"Why, dog my cats, they must a ben a house-full o' niggers in there every

night for four weeks to a done all that work, Sister Phelps. Look at

that shirt--every last inch of it kivered over with secret African writ'n

done with blood! Must a ben a raft uv 'm at it right along, all the

time, amost. Why, I'd give two dollars to have it read to me; 'n' as for

the niggers that wrote it, I 'low I'd take 'n' lash 'm t'll--"