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"I'm
agreed."
So
they swore again with dread solemnities.
"What
is the talk around, Huck? I've heard a power of it."
"Talk?
Well, it's just Muff Potter, Muff Potter, Muff Potter all the time. It
keeps me in a sweat, constant, so's I want to hide som'ers."
"That's
just the same way they go on round me. I reckon he's a goner. Don't you
feel sorry for him, sometimes?"
"Most
always -- most always. He ain't no account; but then he hain't ever done
anything to hurt anybody. Just fishes a little, to get money to get drunk
on -- and loafs around considerable; but lord, we all do that -- leastways
most of us -- preachers and such like. But he's kind of good -- he give me
half a fish, once, when there warn't enough for two; and lots of times
he's kind of stood by me when I was out of luck."
"Well,
he's mended kites for me, Huck, and knitted hooks on to my line. I wish we
could get him out of there."
"My!
we couldn't get him out, Tom. And besides, 'twouldn't do any good; they'd
ketch him again."
"Yes
-- so they would. But I hate to hear 'em abuse him so like the dickens
when he never done -- that."
"I
do too, Tom. Lord, I hear 'em say he's the bloodiest looking villain in
this country, and they wonder he wasn't ever hung before."
"Yes,
they talk like that, all the time. I've heard 'em say that if he was to
get free they'd lynch him."
"And
they'd do it, too."
The
boys had a long talk, but it brought them little comfort. As the twilight
drew on, they found themselves hanging about the neighborhood of the
little isolated jail, perhaps with an undefined hope that something would
happen that might clear away their difficulties. But nothing happened;
there seemed to be no angels or fairies interested in this luckless
captive.
The
boys did as they had often done before -- went to the cell grating and
gave Potter some tobacco and matches. He was on the ground floor and there
were no guards.
His
gratitude for their gifts had always smote their consciences before -- it
cut deeper than ever, this time. They felt cowardly and treacherous to the
last degree when Potter said:
"You've
been mighty good to me, boys -- better'n anybody else in this town. And I
don't forget it, I don't. Often I says to myself, says I, 'I used to mend
all the boys' kites and things, and show 'em where the good fishin' places
was, and befriend 'em what I could, and now they've all forgot old Muff
when he's in trouble; but Tom don't, and Huck don't -- THEY don't forget
him, says I, 'and I don't forget them.' Well, boys, I done an awful thing
-- drunk and crazy at the time -- that's the only way I account for it --
and now I got to swing for it, and it's right. Right, and BEST, too, I
reckon -- hope so, anyway. Well, we won't talk about that. I don't want to
make YOU feel bad; you've befriended me. But what I want to say, is, don't
YOU ever get drunk -- then you won't ever get here. Stand a litter furder
west -- so -- that's it; it's a prime comfort to see faces that's friendly
when a body's in such a muck of trouble, and there don't none come here
but yourn. Good friendly faces -- good friendly faces. Git up on one
another's backs and let me touch 'em. That's it. Shake hands -- yourn'll
come through the bars, but mine's too big. Little hands, and weak -- but
they've helped Muff Potter a power, and they'd help him more if they
could."
Tom
went home miserable, and his dreams that night were full of horrors. The
next day and the day after, he hung about the court-room, drawn by an
almost irresistible impulse to go in, but forcing himself to stay out.
Huck was having the same experience. They studiously avoided each other.
Each wandered away, from time to time, but the same dismal fascination
always brought them back presently. Tom kept his ears open when idlers
sauntered out of the courtroom, but invariably heard distressing news --
the toils were closing more and more relentlessly around poor Potter. At
the end of the second day the village talk was to the effect that Injun
Joe's evidence stood firm and unshaken, and that there was not the
slightest question as to what the jury's verdict would be.
Tom
was out late, that night, and came to bed through the window. He was in a
tremendous state of excitement. It was hours before he got to sleep. All
the village flocked to the court-house the next morning, for this was to
be the great day. Both sexes were about equally represented in the packed
audience. After a long wait the jury filed in and took their places;
shortly afterward, Potter, pale and haggard, timid and hopeless, was
brought in, with chains upon him, and seated where all the curious eyes
could stare at him; no less conspicuous was Injun Joe, stolid as ever.
There was another pause, and then the judge arrived and the sheriff
proclaimed the opening of the court. The usual whisperings among the
lawyers and gathering together of papers followed. These details and
accompanying delays worked up an atmosphere of preparation that was as
impressive as it was fascinating.
Now
a witness was called who testified that he found Muff Potter washing in
the brook, at an early hour of the morning that the murder was discovered,
and that he immediately sneaked away. After some further questioning,
counsel for the prosecution said:
"Take
the witness."
The
prisoner raised his eyes for a moment, but dropped them again when his own
counsel said:
"I
have no questions to ask him."
The
next witness proved the finding of the knife near the corpse. Counsel for
the prosecution said:
"Take
the witness."
"I
have no questions to ask him," Potter's lawyer replied.
A
third witness swore he had often seen the knife in Potter's possession.
"Take
the witness."
Counsel
for Potter declined to question him. The faces of the audience began to
betray annoyance. Did this attorney mean to throw away his client's life
without an effort?
Several
witnesses deposed concerning Potter's guilty behavior when brought to the
scene of the murder. They were allowed to leave the stand without being
cross-questioned.
Every
detail of the damaging circumstances that occurred in the graveyard upon
that morning which all present remembered so well was brought out by
credible witnesses, but none of them were crossexamined by Potter's
lawyer. The perplexity and dissatisfaction of the house expressed itself
in murmurs and provoked a reproof from the bench. Counsel for the
prosecution now said:
"By
the oaths of citizens whose simple word is above suspicion, we have
fastened this awful crime, beyond all possibility of question, upon the
unhappy prisoner at the bar. We rest our case here."
A
groan escaped from poor Potter, and he put his face in his hands and
rocked his body softly to and fro, while a painful silence reigned in the
court-room. Many men were moved, and many women's compassion testified
itself in tears. Counsel for the defence rose and said:
"Your
honor, in our remarks at the opening of this trial, we foreshadowed our
purpose to prove that our client did this fearful deed while under the
influence of a blind and irresponsible delirium produced by drink. We have
changed our mind. We shall not offer that plea." [Then to the clerk:]
"Call Thomas Sawyer!"
A
puzzled amazement awoke in every face in the house, not even excepting
Potter's. Every eye fastened itself with wondering interest upon Tom as he
rose and took his place upon the stand. The boy looked wild enough, for he
was badly scared. The oath was administered.
"Thomas
Sawyer, where were you on the seventeenth of June, about the hour of
midnight?"
Tom
glanced at Injun Joe's iron face and his tongue failed him. The audience
listened breathless, but the words refused to come. After a few moments,
however, the boy got a little of his strength back, and managed to put
enough of it into his voice to make part of the house hear:
"In
the graveyard!"
"A
little bit louder, please. Don't be afraid. You were --"
"In
the graveyard."
A
contemptuous smile flitted across Injun Joe's face.
"Were
you anywhere near Horse Williams' grave?"
"Yes,
sir."
"Speak
up -- just a trifle louder. How near were you?"
"Near
as I am to you."
"Were
you hidden, or not?"
"I
was hid."
"Where?"
"Behind
the elms that's on the edge of the grave."
Injun
Joe gave a barely perceptible start.
"Any
one with you?"
"Yes,
sir. I went there with --"
"Wait
-- wait a moment. Never mind mentioning your companion's name. We will
produce him at the proper time. Did you carry anything there with
you."
Tom
hesitated and looked confused.
"Speak
out, my boy -- don't be diffident. The truth is always respectable. What
did you take there?"
"Only
a -- a -- dead cat."
There
was a ripple of mirth, which the court checked.
"We
will produce the skeleton of that cat. Now, my boy, tell us everything
that occurred -- tell it in your own way -- don't skip anything, and don't
be afraid."
Tom
began -- hesitatingly at first, but as he warmed to his subject his words
flowed more and more easily; in a little while every sound ceased but his
own voice; every eye fixed itself upon him; with parted lips and bated
breath the audience hung upon his words, taking no note of time, rapt in
the ghastly fascinations of the tale. The strain upon pent emotion reached
its climax when the boy said:
"--
and as the doctor fetched the board around and Muff Potter fell, Injun Joe
jumped with the knife and --"
Crash!
Quick as lightning the half-breed sprang for a window, tore his way
through all opposers, and was gone!
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