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"Oh
yes; I saw them down-town and follered them."
"Splendid!
Describe them -- describe them, my boy!"
"One's
the old deaf and dumb Spaniard that's ben around here once or twice, and
t'other's a mean-looking, ragged --"
"That's
enough, lad, we know the men! Happened on them in the woods back of the
widow's one day, and they slunk away. Off with you, boys, and tell the
sheriff -- get your breakfast to-morrow morning!"
The
Welshman's sons departed at once. As they were leaving the room Huck
sprang up and exclaimed:
"Oh,
please don't tell ANYbody it was me that blowed on them! Oh, please!"
"All
right if you say it, Huck, but you ought to have the credit of what you
did."
"Oh
no, no! Please don't tell!"
When
the young men were gone, the old Welshman said:
"They
won't tell -- and I won't. But why don't you want it known?"
Huck
would not explain, further than to say that he already knew too much about
one of those men and would not have the man know that he knew anything
against him for the whole world -- he would be killed for knowing it,
sure.
The
old man promised secrecy once more, and said:
"How
did you come to follow these fellows, lad? Were they looking
suspicious?"
Huck
was silent while he framed a duly cautious reply. Then he said:
"Well,
you see, I'm a kind of a hard lot, -- least everybody says so, and I don't
see nothing agin it -- and sometimes I can't sleep much, on account of
thinking about it and sort of trying to strike out a new way of doing.
That was the way of it last night. I couldn't sleep, and so I come along
up-street 'bout midnight, a-turning it all over, and when I got to that
old shackly brick store by the Temperance Tavern, I backed up agin the
wall to have another think. Well, just then along comes these two chaps
slipping along close by me, with something under their arm, and I reckoned
they'd stole it. One was a-smoking, and t'other one wanted a light; so
they stopped right before me and the cigars lit up their faces and I see
that the big one was the deaf and dumb Spaniard, by his white whiskers and
the patch on his eye, and t'other one was a rusty, ragged-looking
devil."
"Could
you see the rags by the light of the cigars?"
This
staggered Huck for a moment. Then he said:
"Well,
I don't know -- but somehow it seems as if I did."
"Then
they went on, and you --"
"Follered
'em -- yes. That was it. I wanted to see what was up -- they sneaked along
so. I dogged 'em to the widder's stile, and stood in the dark and heard
the ragged one beg for the widder, and the Spaniard swear he'd spile her
looks just as I told you and your two --"
"What!
The DEAF AND DUMB man said all that!"
Huck
had made another terrible mistake! He was trying his best to keep the old
man from getting the faintest hint of who the Spaniard might be, and yet
his tongue seemed determined to get him into trouble in spite of all he
could do. He made several efforts to creep out of his scrape, but the old
man's eye was upon him and he made blunder after blunder. Presently the
Welshman said:
"My
boy, don't be afraid of me. I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head for all
the world. No -- I'd protect you -- I'd protect you. This Spaniard is not
deaf and dumb; you've let that slip without intending it; you can't cover
that up now. You know something about that Spaniard that you want to keep
dark. Now trust me -- tell me what it is, and trust me -- I won't betray
you."
Huck
looked into the old man's honest eyes a moment, then bent over and
whispered in his ear:
"'Tain't
a Spaniard -- it's Injun Joe!"
The
Welshman almost jumped out of his chair. In a moment he said:
"It's
all plain enough, now. When you talked about notching ears and slitting
noses I judged that that was your own embellishment, because white men
don't take that sort of revenge. But an Injun! That's a different matter
altogether."
During
breakfast the talk went on, and in the course of it the old man said that
the last thing which he and his sons had done, before going to bed, was to
get a lantern and examine the stile and its vicinity for marks of blood.
They found none, but captured a bulky bundle of --
"Of
WHAT?"
If
the words had been lightning they could not have leaped with a more
stunning suddenness from Huck's blanched lips. His eyes were staring wide,
now, and his breath suspended -- waiting for the answer. The Welshman
started -- stared in return -- three seconds -- five seconds -- ten --
then replied:
"Of
burglar's tools. Why, what's the MATTER with you?"
Huck
sank back, panting gently, but deeply, unutterably grateful. The Welshman
eyed him gravely, curiously -- and presently said:
"Yes,
burglar's tools. That appears to relieve you a good deal. But what did
give you that turn? What were YOU expecting we'd found?"
Huck
was in a close place -- the inquiring eye was upon him -- he would have
given anything for material for a plausible answer -- nothing suggested
itself -- the inquiring eye was boring deeper and deeper -- a senseless
reply offered -- there was no time to weigh it, so at a venture he uttered
it -- feebly:
"Sunday-school
books, maybe."
Poor
Huck was too distressed to smile, but the old man laughed loud and
joyously, shook up the details of his anatomy from head to foot, and ended
by saying that such a laugh was money in a-man's pocket, because it cut
down the doctor's bill like everything. Then he added:
"Poor
old chap, you're white and jaded -- you ain't well a bit -- no wonder
you're a little flighty and off your balance. But you'll come out of it.
Rest and sleep will fetch you out all right, I hope."
Huck
was irritated to think he had been such a goose and betrayed such a
suspicious excitement, for he had dropped the idea that the parcel brought
from the tavern was the treasure, as soon as he had heard the talk at the
widow's stile. He had only thought it was not the treasure, however -- he
had not known that it wasn't -- and so the suggestion of a captured bundle
was too much for his self-possession. But on the whole he felt glad the
little episode had happened, for now he knew beyond all question that that
bundle was not THE bundle, and so his mind was at rest and exceedingly
comfortable. In fact, everything seemed to be drifting just in the right
direction, now; the treasure must be still in No. 2, the men would be
captured and jailed that day, and he and Tom could seize the gold that
night without any trouble or any fear of interruption.
Just
as breakfast was completed there was a knock at the door. Huck jumped for
a hiding-place, for he had no mind to be connected even remotely with the
late event. The Welshman admitted several ladies and gentlemen, among them
the Widow Douglas, and noticed that groups of citizens were climbing up
the hill -- to stare at the stile. So the news had spread. The Welshman
had to tell the story of the night to the visitors. The widow's gratitude
for her preservation was outspoken.
"Don't
say a word about it, madam. There's another that you're more beholden to
than you are to me and my boys, maybe, but he don't allow me to tell his
name. We wouldn't have been there but for him."
Of
course this excited a curiosity so vast that it almost belittled the main
matter -- but the Welshman allowed it to eat into the vitals of his
visitors, and through them be transmitted to the whole town, for he
refused to part with his secret. When all else had been learned, the widow
said:
"I
went to sleep reading in bed and slept straight through all that noise.
Why didn't you come and wake me?"
"We
judged it warn't worth while. Those fellows warn't likely to come again --
they hadn't any tools left to work with, and what was the use of waking
you up and scaring you to death? My three negro men stood guard at your
house all the rest of the night. They've just come back."
More
visitors came, and the story had to be told and retold for a couple of
hours more.
There
was no Sabbath-school during day-school vacation, but everybody was early
at church. The stirring event was well canvassed. News came that not a
sign of the two villains had been yet discovered. When the sermon was
finished, Judge Thatcher's wife dropped alongside of Mrs. Harper as she
moved down the aisle with the crowd and said:
"Is
my Becky going to sleep all day? I just expected she would be tired to
death."
"Your
Becky?"
"Yes,"
with a startled look -- "didn't she stay with you last night?"
"Why,
no."
Mrs.
Thatcher turned pale, and sank into a pew, just as Aunt Polly, talking
briskly with a friend, passed by. Aunt Polly said:
"Good-morning,
Mrs. Thatcher. Good-morning, Mrs. Harper. I've got a boy that's turned up
missing. I reckon my Tom stayed at your house last night -- one of you.
And now he's afraid to come to church. I've got to settle with him."
Mrs.
Thatcher shook her head feebly and turned paler than ever.
"He
didn't stay with us," said Mrs. Harper, beginning to look uneasy. A
marked anxiety came into Aunt Polly's face.
"Joe
Harper, have you seen my Tom this morning?"
"No'm."
"When
did you see him last?"
Joe
tried to remember, but was not sure he could say. The people had stopped
moving out of church. Whispers passed along, and a boding uneasiness took
possession of every countenance. Children were anxiously questioned, and
young teachers. They all said they had not noticed whether Tom and Becky
were on board the ferryboat on the homeward trip; it was dark; no one
thought of inquiring if any one was missing. One young man finally blurted
out his fear that they were still in the cave! Mrs. Thatcher swooned away.
Aunt Polly fell to crying and wringing her hands.
The
alarm swept from lip to lip, from group to group, from street to street,
and within five minutes the bells were wildly clanging and the whole town
was up! The Cardiff Hill episode sank into instant insignificance, the
burglars were forgotten, horses were saddled, skiffs were manned, the
ferryboat ordered out, and before the horror was half an hour old, two
hundred men were pouring down highroad and river toward the cave.
All
the long afternoon the village seemed empty and dead. Many women visited
Aunt Polly and Mrs. Thatcher and tried to comfort them. They cried with
them, too, and that was still better than words. All the tedious night the
town waited for news; but when the morning dawned at last, all the word
that came was, "Send more candles -- and send food." Mrs.
Thatcher was almost crazed; and Aunt Polly, also. Judge Thatcher sent
messages of hope and encouragement from the cave, but they conveyed no
real cheer.
The
old Welshman came home toward daylight, spattered with candle-grease,
smeared with clay, and almost worn out. He found Huck still in the bed
that had been provided for him, and delirious with fever. The physicians
were all at the cave, so the Widow Douglas came and took charge of the
patient. She said she would do her best by him, because, whether he was
good, bad, or indifferent, he was the Lord's, and nothing that was the
Lord's was a thing to be neglected. The Welshman said Huck had good spots
in him, and the widow said:
"You
can depend on it. That's the Lord's mark. He don't leave it off. He never
does. Puts it somewhere on every creature that comes from his hands."
Early
in the forenoon parties of jaded men began to straggle into the village,
but the strongest of the citizens continued searching. All the news that
could be gained was that remotenesses of the cavern were being ransacked
that had never been visited before; that every corner and crevice was
going to be thoroughly searched; that wherever one wandered through the
maze of passages, lights were to be seen flitting hither and thither in
the distance, and shoutings and pistolshots sent their hollow
reverberations to the ear down the sombre aisles. In one place, far from
the section usually traversed by tourists, the names "BECKY &
TOM" had been found traced upon the rocky wall with candle-smoke, and
near at hand a grease-soiled bit of ribbon. Mrs. Thatcher recognized the
ribbon and cried over it. She said it was the last relic she should ever
have of her child; and that no other memorial of her could ever be so
precious, because this one parted latest from the living body before the
awful death came. Some said that now and then, in the cave, a far-away
speck of light would glimmer, and then a glorious shout would burst forth
and a score of men go trooping down the echoing aisle -- and then a
sickening disappointment always followed; the children were not there; it
was only a searcher's light.
Three
dreadful days and nights dragged their tedious hours along, and the
village sank into a hopeless stupor. No one had heart for anything. The
accidental discovery, just made, that the proprietor of the Temperance
Tavern kept liquor on his premises, scarcely fluttered the public pulse,
tremendous as the fact was. In a lucid interval, Huck feebly led up to the
subject of taverns, and finally asked -- dimly dreading the worst -- if
anything had been discovered at the Temperance Tavern since he had been
ill.
"Yes,"
said the widow.
Huck
started up in bed, wild-eyed:
"What?
What was it?"
"Liquor!
-- and the place has been shut up. Lie down, child -- what a turn you did
give me!"
"Only
tell me just one thing -- only just one -- please! Was it Tom Sawyer that
found it?"
The
widow burst into tears. "Hush, hush, child, hush! I've told you
before, you must NOT talk. You are very, very sick!"
Then
nothing but liquor had been found; there would have been a great powwow if
it had been the gold. So the treasure was gone forever -- gone forever!
But what could she be crying about? Curious that she should cry.
These
thoughts worked their dim way through Huck's mind, and under the weariness
they gave him he fell asleep. The widow said to herself:
"There
-- he's asleep, poor wreck. Tom Sawyer find it! Pity but somebody could
find Tom Sawyer! Ah, there ain't many left, now, that's got hope enough,
or strength enough, either, to go on searching."
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