Well, pretty soon the old man was up and around again, and then he
went for Judge Thatcher in the courts to make him give up that money,
and he went for me, too, for not stopping school. He catched me a
couple of times and thrashed me, but I went to school just the same,
and dodged him or outrun him most of the time. I didn't want to go to
school much before, but I reckoned I'd go now to spite pap. That law
trial was a slow business--appeared like they warn't ever going to get
started on it; so every now and then I'd borrow two or three dollars
off of the judge for him, to keep from getting a cowhiding. Every time
he got money he got drunk; and every time he got drunk he raised Cain
around town; and every time he raised Cain he got jailed. He was just
suited--this kind of thing was right in his line.

He got to hanging around the widow's too much, and so she told him at
last that if he didn't quit using around there she would make trouble
for him. Well, _wasn't_ he mad? He said he would show who was Huck
Finn's boss. So he watched out for me one day in the spring, and
catched me, and took me up the river about three mile in a skiff, and
crossed over to the Illinois shore where it was woody and there warn't
no houses but an old log hut in a place where the timber was so thick
you couldn't find it if you didn't know where it was.

He kept me with him all the time, and I never got a chance to run off.
We lived in that old cabin, and he always locked the door and put the
key under his head nights. He had a gun which he had stole, I reckon,
and we fished and hunted, and that was what we lived on. Every little
while he locked me in and went down to the store, three miles, to the
ferry, and traded fish and game for whisky, and fetched it home and
got drunk and had a good time, and licked me. The widow she found out
where I was by and by, and she sent a man over to try to get hold of
me; but pap drove him off with the gun, and it warn't long after that
till I was used to being where I was, and liked it--all but the
cowhide part.

It was kind of lazy and jolly, laying off comfortable all day, smoking
and fishing, and no books nor study. Two months or more run along, and
my clothes got to be all rags and dirt, and I didn't see how I'd ever
got to like it so well at the widow's, where you had to wash, and eat
on a plate, and comb up, and go to bed and get up regular, and be
forever bothering over a book, and have old Miss Watson pecking at you
all the time. I didn't want to go back no more. I had stopped cussing,
because the widow didn't like it; but now I took to it again because
pap hadn't no objections. It was pretty good times up in the woods
there, take it all around.

But by and by pap got too handy with his hick'ry, and I couldn't stand
it. I was all over welts. He got to going away so much, too, and
locking me in. Once he locked me in and was gone three days. It was
dreadful lonesome. I judged he had got drownded, and I wasn't ever
going to get out any more. I was scared. I made up my mind I would fix
up some way to leave there. I had tried to get out of that cabin many
a time, but I couldn't find no way. There warn't a window to it big
enough for a dog to get through. I couldn't get up the chimbly; it was
too narrow. The door was thick, solid oak slabs. Pap was pretty
careful not to leave a knife or anything in the cabin when he was
away; I reckon I had hunted the place over as much as a hundred times;
well, I was most all the time at it, because it was about the only way
to put in the time. But this time I found something at last; I found
an old rusty wood-saw without any handle; it was laid in between a
rafter and the clapboards of the roof. I greased it up and went to
work. There was an old horse-blanket nailed against the logs at the
far end of the cabin behind the table, to keep the wind from blowing
through the chinks and putting the candle out. I got under the table
and raised the blanket, and went to work to saw a section of the big
bottom log out--big enough to let me through. Well, it was a good long
job, but I was getting toward the end of it when I heard pap's gun in
the woods. I got rid of the signs of my work, and dropped the blanket
and hid my saw, and pretty soon pap come in.

Pap warn't in a good humor--so he was his natural self. He said he was
down-town, and everything was going wrong. His lawyer said he reckoned
he would win his lawsuit and get the money if they ever got started on
the trial; but then there was ways to put it off a long time, and
Judge Thatcher knowed how to do it. And he said people allowed there'd
be another trial to get me away from him and give me to the widow for
my guardian, and they guessed it would win this time. This shook me up
considerable, because I didn't want to go back to the widow's any more
and be so cramped up and sivilized, as they called it. Then the old
man got to cussing, and cussed everything and everybody he could think
of, and then cussed them all over again to make sure he hadn't skipped
any, and after that he polished off with a kind of a general cuss all
round, including a considerable parcel of people which he didn't know
the names of, and so called them what's-his-name when he got to them,
and went right along with his cussing.

He said he would like to see the widow get me. He said he would watch
out, and if they tried to come any such game on him he knowed of a
place six or seven mile off to stow me in, where they might hunt till
they dropped and they couldn't find me. That made me pretty uneasy
again, but only for a minute; I reckoned I wouldn't stay on hand till
he got that chance.

The old man made me go to the skiff and fetch the things he had got.
There was a fifty-pound sack of corn meal, and a side of bacon,
ammunition, and a four-gallon jug of whisky, and an old book and two
newspapers for wadding, besides some tow. I toted up a load, and went
back and set down on the bow of the skiff to rest. I thought it all
over, and I reckoned I would walk off with the gun and some lines, and
take to the woods when I run away. I guessed I wouldn't stay in one
place, but just tramp right across the country, mostly night-times,
and hunt and fish to keep alive, and so get so far away that the old
man nor the widow couldn't ever find me any more. I judged I would saw
out and leave that night if pap got drunk enough, and I reckoned he
would. I got so full of it I didn't notice how long I was staying till
the old man hollered and asked me whether I was asleep or drownded.

I got the things all up to the cabin, and then it was about dark.
While I was cooking supper the old man took a swig or two and got sort
of warmed up, and went to ripping again. He had been drunk over in
town, and laid in the gutter all night, and he was a sight to look at.
A body would 'a' thought he was Adam--he was just all mud. Whenever
his liquor begun to work he most always went for the govment. This
time he says:

"Call this a govment! why, just look at it and see what it's like.
Here's the law a-standing ready to take a man's son away from him--a
man's own son, which he has had all the trouble and all the anxiety
and all the expense of raising. Yes, just as that man has got that son
raised at last, and ready to go to work and begin to do suthin' for
_him_ and give him a rest, the law up and goes for him. And they call
_that_ govment! That ain't all, nuther. The law backs that old Judge
Thatcher up and helps him to keep me out o' my property. Here's what
the law does: The law takes a man worth six thousand dollars and
up'ards, and jams him into an old trap of a cabin like this, and lets
him go round in clothes that ain't fitten for a hog. They call that
govment! A man can't get his rights in a govment like this. Sometimes
I've a mighty notion to just leave the country for good and all. Yes,
and I _told_ 'em so; I told old Thatcher so to his face. Lots of 'em
heard me, and can tell what I said. Says I, for two cents I'd leave
the blamed country and never come a-near it ag'in. Them's the very
words. I says, look at my hat--if you call it a hat--but the lid
raises up and the rest of it goes down till it's below my chin, and
then it ain't rightly a hat at all, but more like my head was shoved
up through a jint o' stove-pipe. Look at it, says I--such a hat for me
to wear--one of the wealthiest men in this town if I could git my
rights.

"Oh, yes, this is a wonderful govment, wonderful. Why, looky here.
There was a free nigger there from Ohio--a mulatter, most as white as
a white man. He had the whitest shirt on you ever see, too, and the
shiniest hat; and there ain't a man in that town that's got as fine
clothes as what he had; and he had a gold watch and chain, and a
silver-headed cane--the awfulest old gray-headed nabob in the state.
And what do you think? They said he was a p'fessor in a college, and
could talk all kinds of languages, and knowed everything. And that
ain't the wust. They said he could _vote_ when he was at home. Well,
that let me out. Thinks I, what is the country a-coming to? It was
'lection day, and I was just about to go and vote myself if I warn't
too drunk to get there; but when they told me there was a state in
this country where they'd let that nigger vote, I drawed out. I says
I'll never vote ag'in. Them's the very words I said; they all heard
me; and the country may rot for all me--I'll never vote ag'in as long
as I live. And to see the cool way of that nigger--why, he wouldn't
'a' give me the road if I hadn't shoved him out o' the way. I says to
the people, why ain't this nigger put up at auction and sold?--that's
what I want to know. And what do you reckon they said? Why, they said
he couldn't be sold till he'd been in the state six months, and he
hadn't been there that long yet. There, now--that's a specimen. They
call that a govment that can't sell a free nigger till he's been in
the state six months. Here's a govment that calls itself a govment,
and lets on to be a govment, and thinks it is a govment, and yet's got
to set stock-still for six whole months before it can take a-hold of a
prowling, thieving, infernal, white-shirted free nigger, and--"

Pap was a-going on so he never noticed where his old limber legs was
taking him to, so he went head over heels over the tub of salt pork
and barked both shins, and the rest of his speech was all the hottest
kind of language--mostly hove at the nigger and the govment, though he
give the tub some, too, all along, here and there. He hopped around
the cabin considerable, first on one leg and then on the other,
holding first one shin and then the other one, and at last he let out
with his left foot all of a sudden and fetched the tub a rattling
kick. But it warn't good judgment, because that was the boot that had
a couple of his toes leaking out of the front end of it; so now he
raised a howl that fairly made a body's hair raise, and down he went
in the dirt, and rolled there, and held his toes; and the cussing he
done then laid over anything he had ever done previous. He said so his
own self afterwards. He had heard old Sowberry Hagan in his best days,
and he said it laid over him, too; but I reckon that was sort of
piling it on, maybe.

After supper pap took the jug, and said he had enough whisky there for
two drunks and one delirium tremens. That was always his word. I
judged he would be blind drunk in about an hour, and then I would
steal the key, or saw myself out, one or t'other. He drank and drank,
and tumbled down on his blankets by and by; but luck didn't run my
way. He didn't go sound asleep, but was uneasy. He groaned and moaned
and thrashed around this way and that for a long time. At last I got
so sleepy I couldn't keep my eyes open all I could do, and so before I
knowed what I was about I was sound asleep, and the candle burning.

I don't know how long I was asleep, but all of a sudden there was an
awful scream and I was up. There was pap looking wild, and skipping
around every which way and yelling about snakes. He said they was
crawling up his legs; and then he would give a jump and scream, and
say one had bit him on the cheek--but I couldn't see no snakes. He
started and run round and round the cabin, hollering "Take him off!
take him off! he's biting me on the neck!" I never see a man look so
wild in the eyes. Pretty soon he was all fagged out, and fell down
panting; then he rolled over and over wonderful fast, kicking things
every which way, and striking and grabbing at the air with his hands,
and screaming and saying there was devils a-hold of him. He wore out
by and by, and laid still awhile, moaning. Then he laid stiller, and
didn't make a sound. I could hear the owls and the wolves away off in
the woods, and it seemed terrible still. He was laying over by the
corner. By and by he raised up part way and listened, with his head to
one side. He says, very low:

"Tramp--tramp--tramp; that's the dead; tramp--tramp--tramp; they're
coming after me; but I won't go. Oh, they're here! don't touch
me--don't! hands off--they're cold; let go. Oh, let a poor devil
alone!"

Then he went down on all fours and crawled off, begging them to let
him alone, and he rolled himself up in his blanket and wallowed in
under the old pine table, still a-begging; and then he went to crying.
I could hear him through the blanket.

By and by he rolled out and jumped up on his feet looking wild, and he
see me and went for me. He chased me round and round the place with a
clasp-knife, calling me the Angel of Death, and saying he would kill
me, and then I couldn't come for him no more. I begged, and told him I
was only Huck; but he laughed _such_ a screechy laugh, and roared and
cussed, and kept on chasing me up. Once when I turned short and dodged
under his arm he made a grab and got me by the jacket between my
shoulders, and I thought I was gone; but I slid out of the jacket
quick as lightning, and saved myself. Pretty soon he was all tired
out, and dropped down with his back against the door, and said he
would rest a minute and then kill me. He put his knife under him, and
said he would sleep and get strong, and then he would see who was who.

So he dozed off pretty soon. By and by I got the old split-bottom
chair and clumb up as easy as I could, not to make any noise, and got
down the gun. I slipped the ramrod down it to make sure it was loaded,
and then I laid it across the turnip-barrel, pointing towards pap, and
set down behind it to wait for him to stir. And how slow and still the
time did drag along.

"Git up! What you 'bout?"

I opened my eyes and looked around, trying to make out where I was. It
was after sun-up, and I had been sound asleep. Pap was standing over
me looking sour--and sick, too. He says:

"What you doin' with this gun?"

I judged he didn't know nothing about what he had been doing, so I
says:

"Somebody tried to get in, so I was laying for him."

"Why didn't you roust me out?"

"Well, I tried to, but I couldn't; I couldn't budge you."

"Well, all right. Don't stand there palavering all day, but out with
you and see if there's a fish on the lines for breakfast. I'll be
along in a minute."

He unlocked the door, and I cleared out up the river-bank. I noticed
some pieces of limbs and such things floating down, and a sprinkling
of bark; so I knowed the river had begun to rise. I reckoned I would
have great times now if I was over at the town. The June rise used to
be always luck for me; because as soon as that rise begins here comes
cordwood floating down, and pieces of log rafts--sometimes a dozen
logs together; so all you have to do is to catch them and sell them to
the woodyards and the sawmill.

I went along up the bank with one eye out for pap and t'other one out
for what the rise might fetch along. Well, all at once here comes a
canoe; just a beauty, too, about thirteen or fourteen foot long,
riding high like a duck. I shot head-first off of the bank like a
frog, clothes and all on, and struck out for the canoe. I just
expected there'd be somebody laying down in it, because people often
done that to fool folks, and when a chap had pulled a skiff out most
to it they'd raise up and laugh at him. But it warn't so this time. It
was a drift-canoe sure enough, and I clumb in and paddled her ashore.
Thinks I, the old man will be glad when he sees this--she's worth ten
dollars. But when I got to shore pap wasn't in sight yet, and as I was
running her into a little creek like a gully, all hung over with vines
and willows, I struck another idea: I judged I'd hide her good, and
then, 'stead of taking to the woods when I run off, I'd go down the
river about fifty mile and camp in one place for good, and not have
such a rough time tramping on foot.

It was pretty close to the shanty, and I thought I heard the old man
coming all the time; but I got her hid; and then I out and looked
around a bunch of willows, and there was the old man down the path a
piece just drawing a bead on a bird with his gun. So he hadn't seen
anything.

When he got along I was hard at it taking up a "trot" line. He abused
me a little for being so slow; but I told him I fell in the river, and
that was what made me so long. I knowed he would see I was wet, and
then he would be asking questions. We got five catfish off the lines
and went home.

While we laid off after breakfast to sleep up, both of us being about
wore out, I got to thinking that if I could fix up some way to keep
pap and the widow from trying to follow me, it would be a certainer
thing than trusting to luck to get far enough off before they missed
me; you see, all kinds of things might happen. Well, I didn't see no
way for a while, but by and by pap raised up a minute to drink another
barrel of water, and he says:

"Another time a man comes a-prowling round here you roust me out, you
hear? That man warn't here for no good. I'd a shot him. Next time you
roust me out, you hear?"

Then he dropped down and went to sleep again; what he had been saying
give me the very idea I wanted. I says to myself, I can fix it now so
nobody won't think of following me.

About twelve o'clock we turned out and went along up the bank. The
river was coming up pretty fast, and lots of driftwood going by on the
rise. By and by along comes part of a log raft--nine logs fast
together. We went out with the skiff and towed it ashore. Then we had
dinner. Anybody but pap would 'a' waited and seen the day through, so
as to catch more stuff; but that warn't pap's style. Nine logs was
enough for one time; he must shove right over to town and sell. So he
locked me in and took the skiff, and started off towing the raft about
half past three. I judged he wouldn't come back that night. I waited
till I reckoned he had got a good start; then I out with my saw, and
went to work on that log again. Before he was t'other side of the
river I was out of the hole; him and his raft was just a speck on the
water away off yonder.

[Illustration: HUCKLEBERRY FINN]

I took the sack of corn meal and took it to where the canoe was hid,
and shoved the vines and branches apart and put it in; then I done the
same with the side of bacon; then the whisky-jug. I took all the
coffee and sugar there was, and all the ammunition; I took the
wadding; I took the bucket and gourd; took a dipper and a tin cup, and
my old saw and two blankets, and the skillet and the coffee-pot. I
took fish-lines and matches and other things--everything that was
worth a cent. I cleaned out the place. I wanted an ax, but there
wasn't any, only the one out at the woodpile, and I knowed why I was
going to leave that. I fetched out the gun, and now I was done.

I had wore the ground a good deal crawling out of the hole and
dragging out so many things. So I fixed that as good as I could from
the outside by scattering dust on the place, which covered up the
smoothness and the sawdust. Then I fixed the piece of log back into
its place, and put two rocks under it and one against it to hold it
there, for it was bent up at that place and didn't quite touch ground.
If you stood four or five foot away and didn't know it was sawed, you
wouldn't never notice it; and besides, this was the back of the cabin,
and it warn't likely anybody would go fooling around there.

It was all grass clear to the canoe, so I hadn't left a track. I
followed around to see. I stood on the bank and looked out over the
river. All safe. So I took the gun and went up a piece into the woods,
and was hunting around for some birds when I see a wild pig; hogs soon
went wild in them bottoms after they had got away from the
prairie-farms. I shot this fellow and took him into camp.

I took the ax and smashed in the door. I beat it and hacked it
considerable a-doing it. I fetched the pig in, and took him back
nearly to the table and hacked into his throat with the ax, and laid
him down on the ground to bleed; I say ground because it was
ground--hard packed, and no boards. Well, next I took an old sack and
put a lot of big rocks in it--all I could drag--and I started it from
the pig, and dragged it to the door and through the woods down to the
river and dumped it in, and down it sunk, out of sight. You could easy
see that something had been dragged over the ground. I did wish Tom
Sawyer was there; I knowed he would take an interest in this kind of
business, and throw in the fancy touches. Nobody could spread himself
like Tom Sawyer in such a thing as that.

Well, last I pulled out some of my hair, and blooded the ax good, and
stuck it on the back side, and slung the ax in the corner. Then I took
up the pig and held him to my breast with my jacket (so he couldn't
drip) till I got a good piece below the house and then dumped him into
the river. Now I thought of something else. So I went and got the bag
of meal and my old saw out of the canoe, and fetched them to the
house. I took the bag to where it used to stand, and ripped a hole in
the bottom of it with the saw, for there warn't no knives and forks on
the place--pap done everything with his clasp-knife about the cooking.
Then I carried the sack about a hundred yards across the grass and
through the willows east of the house, to a shallow lake that was five
mile wide and full of rushes--and ducks too, you might say, in the
season. There was a slough or a creek leading out of it on the other
side that went miles away, I don't know where, but it didn't go to the
river. The meal sifted out and made a little track all the way to the
lake. I dropped pap's whetstone there too, so as to look like it had
been done by accident. Then I tied up the rip in the meal-sack with a
string, so it wouldn't leak no more, and took it and my saw to the
canoe again.

It was about dark now; so I dropped the canoe down the river under
some willows that hung over the bank, and waited for the moon to rise.
I made fast to a willow; then I took a bite to eat, and by and by laid
down in the canoe to smoke a pipe and lay out a plan. I says to
myself, they'll follow the track of that sackful of rocks to the shore
and then drag the river for me. And they'll follow that meal track to
the lake and go browsing down the creek that leads out of it to find
the robbers that killed me and took the things. They won't ever hunt
the river for anything but my dead carcass. They'll soon get tired of
that, and won't bother no more about me. All right; I can stop
anywhere I want to. Jackson's Island is good enough for me; I know
that island pretty well, and nobody ever comes there. And then I can
paddle over to town nights, and slink around and pick up things I
want. Jackson's Island's the place.

I was pretty tired, and the first thing I knowed I was asleep. When I
woke up I didn't know where I was for a minute. I set up and looked
around, a little scared. Then I remembered. The river looked miles and
miles across. The moon was so bright I could 'a' counted the
drift-logs that went a-slipping along, black and still, hundreds of
yards out from shore. Everything was dead quiet, and it looked late,
and _smelt_ late. You know what I mean--I don't know the words to put
it in.

I took a good gap and a stretch, and was just going to unhitch and
start when I heard a sound away over the water. I listened. Pretty
soon I made it out. It was that dull kind of a regular sound that
comes from oars working in rowlocks when it's a still night. I peeped
out through the willow branches, and there it was--a skiff, away
across the water. I couldn't tell how many was in it. It kept
a-coming, and when it was abreast of me I see there warn't but one man
in it. Thinks I, maybe it's pap, though I warn't expecting him. He
dropped below me with the current, and by and by he came a-swinging up
shore in the easy water, and he went by so close I could 'a' reached
out the gun and touched him. Well, it _was_ pap, sure enough--and
sober, too, by the way he laid his oars.

I didn't lose no time. The next minute I was a-spinning down-stream
soft, but quick, in the shade of the bank. I made two mile and a half,
and then struck out a quarter of a mile or more toward the middle of
the river, because pretty soon I would be passing the ferry-landing,
and people might see me and hail me. I got out amongst the driftwood,
and then laid down in the bottom of the canoe and let her float. I
laid there, and had a good rest and a smoke out of my pipe, looking
away into the sky; not a cloud in it. The sky looks ever so deep when
you lay down on your back in the moonshine; I never knowed it before.
And how far a body can hear on the water such nights! I heard people
talking at the ferry-landing. I heard what they said, too--every word
of it. One man said it was getting towards the long days and the short
nights now. T'other one said _this_ warn't one of the short ones, he
reckoned--and then they laughed, and he said it over again, and they
laughed again; then they waked up another fellow and told him, and
laughed, but he didn't laugh; he ripped out something brisk, and said
let him alone. The first fellow said he 'lowed to tell it to his old
woman--she would think it was pretty good; but he said that warn't
nothing to some things he had said in his time. I heard one man say it
was nearly three o'clock, and he hoped daylight wouldn't wait more
than about a week longer. After that the talk got further and further
away, and I couldn't make out the words any more; but I could hear the
mumble, and now and then a laugh, too, but it seemed a long ways off.

I was away below the ferry now. I rose up, and there was Jackson's
Island, about two mile and a half down-stream, heavy-timbered and
standing up out of the middle of the river, big and dark and solid,
like a steamboat without any lights. There warn't any signs of the bar
at the head--it was all under water now.

It didn't take me long to get there. I shot past the head at a ripping
rate, the current was so swift, and then I got into the dead water and
landed on the side towards the Illinois shore. I run the canoe into a
deep dent in the bank that I knowed about; I had to part the willow
branches to get in; and when I made fast nobody could 'a' seen the
canoe from the outside.

I went up and set down on a log at the head of the island, and looked
out on the big river and the black driftwood and away over to the
town, three mile away, where there was three or four lights twinkling.
A monstrous big lumber-raft was about a mile upstream, coming along
down, with a lantern in the middle of it. I watched it come creeping
down, and when it was most abreast of where I stood I heard a man say,
"Stern oars, there! heave her head to stabboard!" I heard that just as
plain as if the man was by my side.

There was a little gray in the sky now; so I stepped into the woods,
and laid down for a nap before breakfast.

The sun was up so high when I waked that I judged it was after eight
o'clock. I laid there in the grass and the cool shade thinking about
things, and feeling rested and ruther comfortable and satisfied. I
could see the sun out at one or two holes, but mostly it was big trees
all about, and gloomy in there amongst them. There was freckled places
on the ground where the light sifted down through the leaves, and the
freckled places swapped about a little, showing there was a little
breeze up there. A couple of squirrels set on a limb and jabbered at
me very friendly.

I was powerful lazy and comfortable--didn't want to get up and cook
breakfast. Well, I was dozing off again when I thinks I hears a deep
sound of "boom!" away up the river. I rouses up, and rests on my elbow
and listens; pretty soon I hears it again. I hopped up, and went and
looked out at a hole in the leaves, and I see a bunch of smoke laying
on the water a long ways up--about abreast the ferry. And there was
the ferryboat full of people floating along down. I knowed what was
the matter now. "Boom!" I see the white smoke squirt out of the
ferryboat's side. You see, they was firing cannon over the water,
trying to make my carcass come to the top.

I was pretty hungry, but it warn't going to do for me to start a fire,
because they might see the smoke. So I set there and watched the
cannon-smoke and listened to the boom. The river was a mile wide
there, and it always looks pretty on a summer morning--so I was having
a good enough time seeing them hunt for my remainders if I only had a
bite to eat. Well, then I happened to think how they always put
quicksilver in loaves of bread and float them off, because they always
go right to the drownded carcass and stop there. So, says I, I'll keep
a lookout, and if any of them's floating around after me I'll give
them a show. I changed to the Illinois edge of the island to see what
luck I could have, and I warn't disappointed. A big double loaf come
along, and I most got it with a long stick, but my foot slipped and
she floated out further. Of course I was where the current set in the
closest to the shore--I knowed enough for that. But by and by along
comes another one, and this time I won. I took out the plug and shook
out the little dab of quicksilver, and set my teeth in. It was
"baker's bread"--what the quality eat; none of your low-down
corn-pone.

I got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there on a log,
munching the bread and watching the ferry-boat, and very well
satisfied. And then something struck me. I says, now I reckon the
widow or the parson or somebody prayed that this bread would find me,
and here it has gone and done it. So there ain't no doubt but there is
something in that thing--that is, there's something in it when a body
like the widow or the parson prays, but it don't work for me, and I
reckon it don't work for only just the right kind.

I lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on watching. The
ferryboat was floating with the current, and I allowed I'd have a
chance to see who was aboard when she come along, because she would
come in close, where the bread did. When she'd got pretty well along
down towards me, I put out my pipe and went to where I fished out the
bread, and laid down behind a log on the bank in a little open place.
Where the log forked I could peep through.

By and by she come along, and she drifted in so close that they could
'a' run out a plank and walked ashore. Most everybody was on the boat.
Pap, and Judge Thatcher, and Bessie Thatcher, and Joe Harper, and Tom
Sawyer, and his old Aunt Polly, and Sid and Mary, and plenty more.
Everybody was talking about the murder, but the captain broke in and
says:

"Look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest here, and maybe he's
washed ashore and got tangled amongst the brush at the water's edge. I
hope so, anyway."

I didn't hope so. They all crowded up and leaned over the rails,
nearly in my face, and kept still, watching with all their might. I
could see them first-rate, but they couldn't see me. Then the captain
sung out: "Stand away!" and the cannon let off such a blast right
before me that it made me deef with the noise and pretty near blind
with the smoke, and I judged I was gone. If they'd 'a' had some
bullets in, I reckon they'd 'a' got the corpse they was after. Well, I
see I warn't hurt, thanks to goodness. The boat floated on and went
out of sight around the shoulder of the island. I could hear the
booming now and then, further and further off, and by and by, after an
hour, I didn't hear it no more. The island was three mile long. I
judged they had got to the foot, and was giving it up. But they didn't
yet awhile. They turned around the foot of the island and started up
the channel on the Missouri side, under steam, and booming once in a
while as they went. I crossed over to that side and watched them. When
they got abreast the head of the island they quit shooting and dropped
over to the Missouri shore and went home to the town.

I knowed I was all right now. Nobody else would come a-hunting after
me. I got my traps out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the
thick woods. I made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my
things under so the rain couldn't get at them. I catched a catfish and
haggled him open with my saw, and towards sundown I started my
camp-fire and had supper. Then I set out a line to catch some fish for
breakfast.

When it was dark I set by my camp-fire smoking, and feeling pretty
well satisfied; but by and by it got sort of lonesome, and so I went
and set on the bank and listened to the current swashing along, and
counted the stars and drift-logs and rafts that come down, and then
went to bed; there ain't no better way to put in time when you are
lonesome; you can't stay so, you soon get over it.

And so for three days and nights. No difference--just the same thing.
But the next day I went exploring around down through the island. I
was boss of it; it all belonged to me, so to say, and I wanted to know
all about it; but mainly I wanted to put in the time. I found plenty
strawberries, ripe and prime; and green summer grapes, and green
razberries; and the green blackberries was just beginning to show.
They would all come handy by and by, I judged.

Well, I went fooling along in the deep woods till I judged I warn't
far from the foot of the island. I had my gun along, but I hadn't shot
nothing; it was for protection; thought I would kill some game nigh
home. About this time I mighty near stepped on a good-sized snake, and
it went sliding off through the grass and flowers, and I after it,
trying to get a shot at it. I clipped along, and all of a sudden I
bounded right on to the ashes of a camp-fire that was still smoking.

My heart jumped up amongst my lungs. I never waited for to look
further, but uncocked my gun and went sneaking back on my tiptoes as
fast as ever I could. Every now and then I stopped a second amongst
the thick leaves and listened, but my breath come so hard I couldn't
hear nothing else. I slunk along another piece further, then listened
again; and so on, and so on. If I see a stump, I took it for a man; if
I trod on a stick and broke it, it made me feel like a person had cut
one of my breaths in two and I only got half, and the short half, too.

When I got to camp I warn't feeling very brash, there warn't much sand
in my craw; but I says, this ain't no time to be fooling around. So I
got all my traps into my canoe again so as to have them out of sight,
and I put out the fire and scattered the ashes around to look like an
old last-year's camp, and then clumb a tree.

I reckon I was up in the tree two hours; but I didn't see nothing, I
didn't hear nothing--I only _thought_ I heard and seen as much as a
thousand things. Well, I couldn't stay up there forever; so at last I
got down, but I kept in the thick woods and on the lookout all the
time. All I could get to eat was berries and what was left over from
breakfast.

By the time it was night I was pretty hungry. So when it was good and
dark I slid out from shore before moonrise and paddled over to the
Illinois bank--about a quarter of a mile. I went out in the woods and
cooked a supper, and I had about made up my mind I would stay there
all night when I hear a _plunkety-plunk_, _plunkety-plunk_, and says
to myself, horses coming; and next I hear people's voices. I got
everything into the canoe as quick as I could, and then went creeping
through the woods to see what I could find out. I hadn't got far when
I hear a man say:

"We better camp here if we can find a good place; the horses is about
beat out. Let's look around."

I didn't wait, but shoved out and paddled away easy. I tied up in the
old place, and reckoned I would sleep in the canoe.

I didn't sleep much. I couldn't, somehow, for thinking. And every time
I waked up I thought somebody had me by the neck. So the sleep didn't
do me no good. By and by I says to myself, I can't live this way; I'm
a-going to find out who it is that's here on the island with me; I'll
find it out or bust. Well, I felt better right off.

So I took my paddle and slid out from shore just a step or two, and
then let the canoe drop along down amongst the shadows. The moon was
shining, and outside of the shadows it made it most as light as day. I
poked along well on to an hour, everything still as rocks and sound
asleep. Well, by this time I was most down to the foot of the island.
A little ripply, cool breeze begun to blow, and that was as good as
saying the night was about done. I give her a turn with the paddle and
brung her nose to shore; then I got my gun and slipped out and into
the edge of the woods. I sat down there on a log, and looked out
through the leaves. I see the moon go off watch, and the darkness
begin to blanket the river. But in a little while I see a pale streak
over the treetops, and knowed the day was coming. So I took my gun and
slipped off towards where I had run across that camp-fire, stopping
every minute or two to listen. But I hadn't no luck somehow; I
couldn't seem to find the place. But by and by, sure enough, I catched
a glimpse of fire away through the trees. I went for it, cautious and
slow. By and by I was close enough to have a look, and there laid a
man on the ground. It most give me the fantods.  He had a blanket
around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire. I set there
behind a clump of bushes in about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on
him steady. It was getting gray daylight now. Pretty soon he gapped
and stretched himself and hove off the blanket, and it was Miss
Watson's Jim! I bet I was glad to see him. I says:

"Hello, Jim!" and skipped out.

He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he drops down on his knees,
and puts his hands together and says:

"Doan' hurt me--don't! I hain't ever done no harm to a ghos'. I alwuz
liked dead people, en done all I could for 'em. You go en git in de
river ag'in, whah you b'longs, en doan' do nuffn to Ole Jim, 'at 'uz
alwuz yo' fren'."

Well, I warn't long making him understand I warn't dead. I was ever so
glad to see Jim. I warn't lonesome now. I told him I warn't afraid of
_him_ telling the people where I was. I talked along, but he only set
there and looked at me; never said nothing. Then I says:

"It's good daylight. Le's get breakfast. Make up your camp-fire good."

"What's de use er makin' up de camp-fire to cook strawbries en sich
truck? But you got a gun, hain't you? Den we kin git sumfn better den
strawbries."

"Strawberries and such truck," I says. "Is that what you live on?"

"I couldn' git nuffn else," he says.

"Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?"

"I come heah de night arter you's killed."

"What, all that time?"

"Yes-indeedy."

"And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?"

"No, sah--nuffn  else."

"Well, you must be most starved, ain't you?"

"I reck'n I could eat a hoss. I think I could. How long you ben on de
islan'?"

"Since the night I got killed."

"No! W'y, what has you lived on? But you got a gun. Oh, yes, you got a
gun. Dat's good. Now you kill sumfn en I'll make up de fire."

So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in a
grassy open place amongst the trees, I fetched meal and bacon and
coffee, and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the
nigger was set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done
with witchcraft. I catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned
him with his knife, and fried him.

When breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking
hot. Jim laid it in with all his might, for he was most about starved.
Then when we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied.

By and by Jim says:

"But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat 'uz killed in dat shanty ef it
warn't you?"

Then I told him the whole thing, and he said it was smart. He said Tom
Sawyer couldn't get up no better plan than what I had. Then I says:

"How do you come to be here, Jim, and how'd you get here?"

He looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for a minute. Then he
says:

"Maybe I better not tell."

"Why, Jim?"

"Well, dey's reasons. But you wouldn' tell on me ef I 'uz to tell you,
would you, Huck?"

"Blamed if I would, Jim."

"Well, I b'lieve you, Huck. I--I _run off_."

"Jim!"

"But mind, you said you wouldn' tell--you know you said you wouldn'
tell, Huck."

"Well, I did. I said I wouldn't, and I'll stick to it. Honest _injun_,
I will. People would call me a low-down Abolitionist and despise me
for keeping mum--but that don't make no difference. I ain't a-going to
tell, and I ain't a-going back there, anyways. So, now, le's know all
about it."

"Well, you see, it 'uz dis way. Ole missus--dat's Miss Watson--she
pecks on me all de time, en treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said
she wouldn' sell me down to Orleans. But I noticed dey wuz a nigger
trader roun' de place considable lately, en I begin to git oneasy.
Well, one night I creeps to de do' pooty late, en de do' warn't quite
shet, en I hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne to sell me down to
Orleans, but she didn' want to, but she could git eight hund'd dollars
for me, en it 'uz sich a big stack o' money she couldn' resis'. De
widder she try to git her to say she wouldn't do it, but I never
waited to hear de res'. I lit out mighty quick, I tell you.

"I tuck out en shin down de hill, en 'spec to steal a skift 'long de
sho' som'ers 'bove de town, but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so I
hid in de ole tumbledown cooper shop on de bank to wait for everybody
to go 'way. Well, I wuz dah all night. Dey wuz somebody roun' all de
time. 'Long 'bout six in de mawnin' skifts begin to go by, en 'bout
eight er nine every skift dat went 'long wuz talkin' 'bout how yo' pap
come over to de town en say you's killed. Dese las' skifts wuz full o'
ladies en genlmen a-goin' over for to see de place. Sometimes dey'd
pull up at de sho' en take a res' b'fo' dey started acrost, so by de
talk I got to know all 'bout de killin'. I 'uz powerful sorry you's
killed, Huck, but I ain't no mo' now.

"I laid dah under de shavin's all day. I 'uz hungry, but I warn't
afeard; bekase I knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin' to start to
de camp-meet'n' right arter breakfas' en be gone all day, en dey knows
I goes off wid de cattle 'bout daylight, so dey wouldn' 'spec to see
me roun' de place, en so dey wouldn' miss me tell arter dark in de
evenin'. De yuther servants wouldn' miss me, kase dey'd shin out en
take holiday soon as de ole folks 'uz out'n de way.

"Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de river road, en went 'bout
two mile er more to whah dey warn't no houses. I'd made up my mine
'bout what I's a-gwyne to do. You see, ef I kep' on tryin' to git away
afoot, de dogs 'ud track me; ef I stole a skift to cross over, dey'd
miss dat skift, you see, en dey'd know 'bout whah I'd lan' on de
yuther side, en whah to pick up my track. So I says, a raff is what
I's arter; it doan' _make_ no track.

"I see a light a-comin' roun' de p'int bymeby, so I wade' in en shove'
a log ahead o' me en swum more'n half-way acrost de river, en got in
'mongst de drift-wood, en kep' my head down low, en kinder swum agin
de current tell de raff come along. Den I swum to de stern uv it en
tuck a-holt. It clouded up en 'uz pooty dark for a little while. So I
clumb up en laid down on de planks. De men 'uz all 'way yonder in de
middle, whah de lantern wuz. De river wuz a-risin', en dey wuz a good
current; so I reck'n'd 'at by fo' in de mawnin' I'd be twenty-five
mile down de river, en den I'd slip in jis b'fo' daylight en swim
asho', en take to de woods on de Illinois side.

"But I didn' have no luck. When we 'uz mos' down to de head er de
islan' a man begin to come aft wid de lantern. I see it warn't no use
fer to wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan'. Well, I
had a notion I could lan' mos' anywhers, but I couldn't--bank too
bluff. I uz mos' to de foot er de islan' b'fo' I foun' a good place. I
went into de woods en jedged I wouldn' fool wid raffs no mo', long as
dey move de lantern roun' so. I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg en
some matches in my cap, en dey warn't wet, so I 'uz all right."

"And so you ain't had no meat nor bread to eat all this time? Why
didn't you get mud-turkles?"

"How you gwyne to git 'm?  You can't slip up on um en grab um; en
how's a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock? How could a body do it in de
night? En I warn't gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime."

"Well, that's so. You've had to keep in the woods all the time, of
course. Did you hear 'em shooting the cannon?"

"Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see um go by heah--watched um
thoo de bushes."

Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and
lighting. Jim said it was a sign it was going to rain. He said it was
a sign when young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was
the same way when young birds done it. I was going to catch some of
them, but Jim wouldn't let me. He said it was death. He said his
father laid mighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his
old granny said his father would die, and he did.

And Jim said you mustn't count the things you are going to cook for
dinner, because that would bring bad luck. The same if you shook the
tablecloth after sundown. And he said if a man owned a beehive and
that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next
morning, or else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die.
Jim said bees wouldn't sting idiots; but I didn't believe that,
because I had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn't sting
me.

I had heard about some of these things before, but not all of them.
Jim knowed all kinds of signs. He said he knowed most everything. I
said it looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so I
asked him if there warn't any good-luck signs. He says:

"Mighty few--an' _dey_ ain't no use to a body. What you want to know
when good luck's a-comin' for? Want to keep it off?" And he said: "Ef
you's got hairy arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign dat you's a-gwyne
to be rich. Well, dey's some use in a sign like dat, 'kase it's so fur
ahead. You see, maybe you's got to be po' a long time fust, en so you
might git discourage' en kill yo'sef 'f you didn' know by de sign dat
you gwyne to be rich bymeby."

"Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?"

"What's de use to ax dat question? Don't you see I has?"

"Well, are you rich?"

"No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich ag'in. Wunst I had
foteen dollars, but I tuck to specalat'n', en got busted out."

"What did you speculate in, Jim?"

"Well, fust I tackled stock."

"What kind of stock?"

"Why, live stock--cattle, you know. I put ten dollars in a cow. But I
ain' gwyne to resk no mo' money in stock. De cow up 'n' died on my
han's."

"So you lost the ten dollars."

"No, I didn't lose it all. I on'y los' 'bout nine of it. I sole de
hide en taller for a dollar en ten cents."

"You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did you speculate any more?"

"Yes. You know that one-laigged nigger dat b'longs to old Misto
Bradish? Well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar
would git fo' dollars mo' at de en' er de year. Well, all de niggers
went in, but dey didn't have much. I wuz de on'y one dat had much. So
I stuck out for mo' dan fo' dollars, en I said 'f I didn' git it I'd
start a bank mysef. Well, o' course dat nigger want' to keep me out er
de business, bekase he says dey warn't business 'nough for two banks,
so he say I could put in my five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at
de en' er de year.

"So I done it. Den I reck'n'd I'd inves' de thirty-five dollars right
off en keep things a-movin'. Dey wuz a nigger name' Bob, dat had
ketched a wood-flat, en his marster didn' know it; en I bought it
off'n him en told him to take de thirty-five dollars when de en' er de
year come; but somebody stole de wood-flat dat night, en nex' day de
one-laigged nigger say de bank's busted. So dey didn' none uv us git
no money."

"What did you do with the ten cents, Jim?"

"Well, I 'uz gwyne to spen' it, but I had a dream, en de dream tole me
to give it to a nigger name' Balum--Balum's Ass dey call him for
short; he's one er dem chuckleheads, you know. But he's lucky, dey
say, en I see I warn't lucky. De dream say let Balum inves' de ten
cents en he'd make a raise for me. Well, Balum he tuck de money, en
when he wuz in church he hear de preacher say dat whoever give to de
po' len' to de Lord, en boun' to git his money back a hund'd times. So
Balum he tuck en give de ten cents to de po', en laid low to see what
wuz gwyne to come of it."

"Well, what did come of it, Jim?"

"Nuffn never come of it. I couldn' manage to k'leck dat money no way;
en Balum he couldn'. I ain' gwyne to len' no mo' money 'dout I see de
security. Boun' to git yo' money back a hund'd times, de preacher
says! Ef I could git de ten _cents_ back, I'd call it squah, en be
glad er de chanst."

"Well, it's all right anyway, Jim, long as you're going to be rich
again some time or other."

"Yes; en I's rich now, come to look at it. I owns mysef, en I's wuth
eight hund'd dollars. I wisht I had de money, I wouldn' want no mo'."

I wanted to go and look at a place right about the middle of the
island that I'd found when I was exploring; so we started and soon got
to it, because the island was only three miles long and a quarter of a
mile wide.

This place was a tolerable long, steep hill or ridge about forty foot
high. We had a rough time getting to the top, the sides was so steep
and the bushes so thick. We tramped and clumb around all over it, and
by and by found a good big cavern in the rock, most up to the top on
the side towards Illinois. The cavern was as big as two or three rooms
bunched together, and Jim could stand up straight in it. It was cool
in there. Jim was for putting our traps in there right away, but I
said we didn't want to be climbing up and down there all the time.

Jim said if we had the canoe hid in a good place, and had all the
traps in the cavern, we could rush there if anybody was to come to the
island, and they would never find us without dogs. And, besides, he
said them little birds had said it was going to rain, and did I want
the things to get wet?

So we went back and got the canoe, and paddled up abreast the cavern,
and lugged all the traps up there. Then we hunted up a place close by
to hide the canoe in, amongst the thick willows. We took some fish off
of the lines and set them again, and begun to get ready for dinner.

The door of the cavern was big enough to roll a hogshead in, and on
one side of the door the floor stuck out a little bit, and was flat
and a good place to build a fire on. So we built it there and cooked
dinner.

We spread the blankets inside for a carpet, and eat our dinner in
there. We put all the other things handy at the back of the cavern.
Pretty soon it darkened up, and begun to thunder and lighten; so the
birds was right about it. Directly it begun to rain, and it rained
like all fury, too, and I never see the wind blow so. It was one of
these regular summer storms. It would get so dark that it looked all
blue-black outside, and lovely; and the rain would thrash along by so
thick that the trees off a little ways looked dim and spider-webby;
and here would come a blast of wind that would bend the trees down and
turn up the pale underside of the leaves; and then a perfect ripper of
a gust would follow along and set the branches to tossing their arms
as if they was just wild; and next, when it was just about the bluest
and blackest--_fst!_ it was as bright as glory, and you'd have a
little glimpse of tree-tops a-plunging about away off yonder in the
storm, hundreds of yards further than you could see before; dark as
sin again in a second, and now you'd hear the thunder let go with an
awful crash, and then go rumbling, grumbling, tumbling, down the sky
towards the under side of the world, like rolling empty barrels
down-stairs--where it's long stairs and they bounce a good deal, you
know.

"Jim, this is nice," I says. "I wouldn't want to be nowhere else but
here. Pass me along another hunk of fish and some hot corn-bread."

"Well, you wouldn't 'a' ben here 'f it hadn't 'a' ben for Jim. You'd
'a' ben down dah in de woods widout any dinner, en gittin' mos'
drownded, too; dat you would, honey. Chickens knows when it's gwyne to
rain, en so do de birds, chile."

The river went on raising and raising for ten or twelve days, till at
last it was over the banks. The water was three or four foot deep on
the island in the low places and on the Illinois bottom. On that side
it was a good many miles wide, but on the Missouri side it was the
same old distance across--a half a mile--because the Missouri shore
was just a wall of high bluffs.

Daytimes we paddled all over the island in the canoe. It was mighty
cool and shady in the deep woods, even if the sun was blazing outside.
We went winding in and out amongst the trees, and sometimes the vines
hung so thick we had to back away and go some other way. Well, on
every old broken-down tree you could see rabbits and snakes and such
things; and when the island had been overflowed a day or two they got
so tame, on account of being hungry, that you could paddle right up
and put your hand on them if you wanted to; but not the snakes and
turtles--they would slide off in the water. The ridge our cavern was
in was full of them. We could 'a' had pets enough if we'd wanted them.

One night we catched a little section of a lumber-raft--nice pine
planks. It was twelve foot wide and about fifteen or sixteen foot
long, and the top stood above water six or seven inches--a solid,
level floor. We could see saw-logs go by in the daylight sometimes,
but we let them go; we didn't show ourselves in daylight.

Another night when we was up at the head of the island, just before
daylight, here comes a frame-house down, on the west side. She was a
two-story, and tilted over considerable. We paddled out and got
aboard--clumb in at an up-stairs window. But it was too dark to see
yet, so we made the canoe fast and set in her to wait for daylight.

The light begun to come before we got to the foot of the island. Then
we looked in at the window. We could make out a bed, and a table, and
two old chairs, and lots of things around about on the floor, and
there was clothes hanging against the wall. There was something laying
on the floor in the far corner that looked like a man. So Jim says:

"Hello, you!"

But it didn't budge. So I hollered again, and then Jim says:

"De man ain't asleep--he's dead. You hold still--I'll go en see."

He went, and bent down and looked, and says:

"It's a dead man. Yes, indeedy; naked, too. He's ben shot in de back.
I reck'n he's ben dead two er three days. Come in, Huck, but doan'
look at his face--it's too gashly."

I didn't look at him at all. Jim throwed some old rags over him, but
he needn't done it; I didn't want to see him. There was heaps of old
greasy cards scattered around over the floor, and old whisky-bottles,
and a couple of masks made out of black cloth; and all over the walls
was the ignorantest kind of words and pictures made with charcoal.
There was two old dirty calico dresses, and a sun-bonnet, and some
women's underclothes hanging against the wall, and some men's
clothing, too. We put the lot into the canoe--it might come good.
There was a boy's old speckled straw hat on the floor; I took that,
too. And there was a bottle that had had milk in it, and it had a rag
stopper for a baby to suck. We would 'a' took the bottle, but it was
broke. There was a seedy old chest, and an old hair trunk with the
hinges broke. They stood open, but there warn't nothing left in them
that was any account. The way things was scattered about we reckoned
the people left in a hurry, and warn't fixed so as to carry off most
of their stuff.

We got an old tin lantern, and a butcher-knife without any handle, and
a bran-new Barlow knife worth two bits in any store, and a lot of
tallow candles, and a tin candlestick, and a gourd, and a tin cup, and
a ratty old bedquilt off the bed, and a reticule with needles and pins
and beeswax and buttons and thread and all such truck in it, and a
hatchet and some nails, and a fish-line as thick as my little finger
with some monstrous hooks on it, and a roll of buckskin, and a leather
dog-collar, and a horseshoe, and some vials of medicine that didn't
have no label on them; and just as we was leaving I found a tolerable
good currycomb, and Jim he found a ratty old fiddle-bow, and a wooden
leg. The straps was broke off of it, but, barring that, it was a good
enough leg, though it was too long for me and not long enough for Jim,
and we couldn't find the other one, though we hunted all around.

And so, take it all around, we made a good haul. When we was ready to
shove off we was a quarter of a mile below the island, and it was
pretty broad day; so I made Jim lay down in the canoe and cover up
with the quilt, because if he set up people could tell he was a nigger
a good ways off. I paddled over to the Illinois shore, and drifted
down most a half a mile doing it. I crept up the dead water under the
bank, and hadn't no accidents and didn't see nobody. We got home all
safe.

After breakfast I wanted to talk about the dead man and guess out how
he come to be killed, but Jim didn't want to. He said it would fetch
bad luck; and besides, he said, he might come and ha'nt us; he said a
man that warn't buried was more likely to go a-ha'nting around than
one that was planted and comfortable. That sounded pretty reasonable,
so I didn't say no more; but I couldn't keep from studying over it and
wishing I knowed who shot the man, and what they done it for.

We rummaged the clothes we'd got, and found eight dollars in silver
sewed up in the lining of an old blanket overcoat. Jim said he
reckoned the people in that house stole the coat, because if they'd
'a' knowed the money was there they wouldn't 'a' left it. I said I
reckoned they killed him, too; but Jim didn't want to talk about that.
I says:

"Now you think it's bad luck; but what did you say when I fetched in
the snake-skin that I found on the top of the ridge day before
yesterday? You said it was the worst bad luck in the world to touch a
snake-skin with my hands. Well, here's your bad luck! We've raked in
all this truck and eight dollars besides. I wish we could have some
bad luck like this every day, Jim."

"Never you mind, honey, never you mind. Don't you git too peart. It's
a-comin'. Mind I tell you, it's a-comin'."

It did come, too. It was a Tuesday that we had that talk. Well, after
dinner Friday we was laying around in the grass at the upper end of
the ridge, and got out of tobacco. I went to the cavern to get some,
and found a rattlesnake in there. I killed him, and curled him up on
the foot of Jim's blanket, ever so natural, thinking there'd be some
fun when Jim found him there. Well, by night I forgot all about the
snake, and when Jim flung himself down on the blanket while I struck a
light the snake's mate was there, and bit him.

He jumped up yelling, and the first thing the light showed was the
varmint curled up and ready for another spring. I laid him out in a
second with a stick, and Jim grabbed pap's whisky-jug and begun to
pour it down.

He was barefooted, and the snake bit him right on the heel. That all
comes of my being such a fool as to not remember that wherever you
leave a dead snake its mate always comes there and curls around it.
Jim told me to chop off the snake's head and throw it away, and then
skin the body and roast a piece of it. I done it, and he eat it and
said it would help cure him. He made me take off the rattles and tie
them around his wrist, too. He said that that would help. Then I slid
out quiet and throwed the snakes clear away amongst the bushes; for I
warn't going to let Jim find out it was all my fault, not if I could
help it.

Jim sucked and sucked at the jug, and now and then he got out of his
head and pitched around and yelled; but every time he come to himself
he went to sucking at the jug again. His foot swelled up pretty big,
and so did his leg; but by and by the drunk begun to come, and so I
judged he was all right; but I'd druther been bit with a snake than
pap's whisky.

Jim was laid up for four days and nights. Then the swelling was all
gone and he was around again. I made up my mind I wouldn't ever take
a-holt of a snake-skin again with my hands, now that I see what had
come of it. Jim said he reckoned I would believe him next time. And he
said that handling a snake-skin was such awful bad luck that maybe we
hadn't got to the end of it yet. He said he druther see the new moon
over his left shoulder as much as a thousand times than take up a
snake-skin in his hand. Well, I was getting to feel that way myself,
though I've always reckoned that looking at the new moon over your
left shoulder is one of the carelessest and foolishest things a body
can do. Old Hank Bunker done it once, and bragged about it; and in
less than two years he got drunk and fell off of the shot-tower, and
spread himself out so that he was just a kind of a layer, as you may
say; and they slid him edgeways between two barn doors for a coffin,
and buried him so, so they say, but I didn't see it. Pap told me. But
anyway it all come of looking at the moon that way, like a fool.

Well, the days went along, and the river went down between its banks
again; and about the first thing we done was to bait one of the big
hooks with a skinned rabbit and set it and catch a catfish that was as
big as a man, being six foot two inches long, and weighed over two
hundred pounds. We couldn't handle him, of course; he would 'a' flung
us into Illinois. We just set there and watched him rip and tear
around till he drownded. We found a brass button in his stomach and a
round ball, and lots of rubbage. We split the ball open with the
hatchet, and there was a spool in it. Jim said he'd had it there a
long time, to coat it over so and make a ball of it. It was as big a
fish as was ever catched in the Mississippi, I reckon. Jim said he
hadn't ever seen a bigger one. He would 'a' been worth a good deal
over at the village. They peddle out such a fish as that by the pound
in the market-house there; everybody buys some of him; his meat's as
white as snow and makes a good fry.

Next morning I said it was getting slow and dull, and I wanted to get
a stirring-up some way. I said I reckoned I would slip over the river
and find out what was going on. Jim liked that notion; but he said I
must go in the dark and look sharp. Then he studied it over and said,
couldn't I put on some of them old things and dress up like a girl?
That was a good notion, too. So we shortened up one of the calico
gowns, and I turned up my trouser-legs to my knees and got into it.
Jim hitched it behind with the hooks, and it was a fair fit. I put on
the sun-bonnet and tied it under my chin, and then for a body to look
in and see my face was like looking down a joint of stove-pipe. Jim
said nobody would know me, even in the daytime, hardly. I practised
around all day to get the hang of the things, and by and by I could do
pretty well in them, only Jim said I didn't walk like a girl; and he
said I must quit pulling up my gown to get at my britches-pocket. I
took notice, and done better.

I started up the Illinois shore in the canoe just after dark.

I started across to the town from a little below the ferry-landing,
and the drift of the current fetched me in at the bottom of the town.
I tied up and started along the bank. There was a light burning in a
little shanty that hadn't been lived in for a long time, and I
wondered who had took up quarters there. I slipped up and peeped in at
the window. There was a woman about forty year old in there knitting
by a candle that was on a pine table. I didn't know her face; she was
a stranger, for you couldn't start a face in that town that I didn't
know. Now this was lucky, because I was weakening; I was getting
afraid I had come; people might know my voice and find me out. But if
this woman had been in such a little town two days she could tell me
all I wanted to know; so I knocked at the door, and made up my mind I
wouldn't forget I was a girl.

Pap begins hanging out around the town and demands Huck give him money every few days. When the widow tells Pap to get away from her property, he kidnaps Huck and takes him three miles upriver to a log cabin. Pap carefully locks the door and never leaves Huck's side without making sure that Huck cannot escape. Huck enjoys being free from school but soon gets upset that he is being beaten so much. Searching for a way to escape, Huck discovers part of a saw that is missing its handle and starts to saw off a log in the rear corner of the cabin, but is forced to stop when Pap returns. Pap is drunk and makes Huck go outside and bring in all the supplies he has brought from town. Pap proceeds to drunkenly curse everyone he has ever met and spends a significant part of his tirade criticizing the government. Huck hopes to escape after Pap falls asleep, but Pap has a fitful night, and Huck is afraid he might wake up and catch him trying to get out of the cabin. At one point Pap jumps up thinking he is covered with snakes. Later, he dreams that the angel of death is after him and he starts to chase Huck around the cabin with a knife. Huck runs for his life and manages to survive after Pap falls asleep again. Huck then takes down the gun and holds it for protection. Chapter 7 Pap and Huck go out into the woods to hunt for game. While there, Huck sees an abandoned canoe on the river and jumps in to get it. When he realizes that Pap did not see him snare the canoe, he hides it in a little stream for future use and returns to Pap. Next, Huck fetches a wooden raft from the river with timber that is worth about ten dollars. Pap locks Huck into the cabin and takes the raft to town in order to sell it. Taking advantage of Pap's absence, Huck quickly finishes his sawing and climbs out of the cabin, taking everything worth any money to his canoe. He axes down the front door and goes hunting for game. Huck shoots a wild pig, butchers it inside the cabin, and spreads the blood on his shirt and the floor. He also carefully lays some of his hairs on the now bloody ax to make it appear as if he has been killed. Huck cuts open a sack of flour and marks a trail indicating that the killer left via a lake that does not connect to the river. Thus, he prevents anyone from searching along the river for anything more than his dead body. As Huck is finishing, a man appears nearby in a skiff. Huck recognizes that it is Pap returning early and that he is sober. Immediately, Huck jumps into the canoe and pushes off. He floats downstream until he reaches Jackson's Island, a deserted stretch of land in the middle of the river. Huck ties up the canoe and satisfied with his work, settles down to get some sleep. Chapter 8 Huck wakes up on Jackson's Island late the next day and hears a cannon being fired. A ferryboat filled with his friends comes down the river firing a cannon in hopes of bringing his dead body to the surface. The search parties have also set loaves of bread filled with mercury afloat, believing the mercury and bread will be attracted to his body. Knowing the loaves will be floating around the area, Huck searches for one and enjoys eating it for lunch. After a few days, Huck begins exploring the island. While following and hunting a large snake, he accidentally stumbles into a clearing with a still smoking campfire. Out of fear, he retreats to his campsite and paddles over to the Illinois side of the river. However, he soon returns for the night and sleeps poorly as he is overwhelmed with fear for who else might be inhabiting the island. The next morning Huck decides to find out who else is on the island with him. He paddles his canoe down to the other campsite and hides in the brush. Soon he sees Jim, the slave Tom Sawyer played tricks on. Out of joy for finding a friend on the island, Huck rushes out and greets him. Jim nearly dies of fright when he sees Huck, whom he believes to be dead. Huck tells him the story about how he faked his murder. Jim relates that he overhead Miss Watson telling the widow that she was going to sell him down the river for a good sum of money. To avoid being sold, Jim ran away, and has been hiding out on Jackson's island. Jim starts to tell Huck about various superstitious signs which the slaves watch out for. When some birds go hopping along the ground, stopping every few feet, Jim comments that means it will rain soon. He also tells Huck a story about how he lost a large sum of money, fourteen dollars at the time, by speculating. First, Jim bought a cow that died, and then invested with another slave who was setting up a "bank." Unfortunately, the bank lost all its money and poor Jim had nothing left. Chapter 9 Jim and Huck explore the island together and discover a cavern atop a hill in the middle of the island. They paddle their canoe to the base of the hill and then haul their equipment into the cave in order to keep it dry. The storm Jim predicted arrives that night, and the river rises for more than twelve days straight. Huck and Jim go out on the river at night to pick up drifting logs and other objects that happen to float downstream. One night, they capture a large raft which they will later use to navigate the river after they leave the island. Later on, they see a whole house floating downstream and climb into it to salvage some of the goods. Jim finds Huck's Pap lying dead on the floor of the house, but refuses to let Huck see the man's face and does not reveal that it is Pap. Jim sees Pap was shot in the back while obviously attempting to rob the house. Chapter 10 Huck is thrilled with all the things they managed to get from the house and tells Jim that he wishes they could have fun like that more often. Huck is also still curious about the man in the house but Jim refuses to talk about him. Huck mentions that he thought they would have bad luck after he brought a snakeskin into the cave, not great luck like what they were having. Always superstitious, Jim warns Huck that the bad luck is still coming. Three days later, Huck tries to play a trick on Jim by leaving a curled up dead rattlesnake under Jim's blanket. But when Jim crawls into the bed he gets bitten in the ankle by the snake's mate. Huck kills the mate and sheepishly carries both snakes far away from the cave, embarrassed by the results of his behavior. Jim takes the jug of Pap's whiskey and drinks himself into a drunken stupor to avoid feeling the pain of his swollen leg. It takes Jim four entire days to recover from the bite and Huck vows to never touch a snakeskin with his hands again. In order to catch up on what is happening in the town, Huck dresses up as a girl and goes to the village. He stops at a house where he sees a woman knitting. Since she is new to the town, Huck figures he can talk to her without being recognized.

These five chapters reveal a great deal about Huck as a person. Huck emerges as a vibrant character who fights powerfully for his life. Huck's capture and escape from Pap demonstrate his genius for innovation, as does his ability to live alone on Jackson's Island. Huck does not need anyone's help to survive, and the only indication that he is not completely happy is his comment that he sometimes gets lonely. Huck's personality is quite uniquely established throughout these chapters. He exhibits humility in that he constantly underplays his brilliant ideas. Thus, when he fakes his death, he says that even Tom Sawyer would have been proud of the charade, indicating that Tom would have been able to fake it better but that it was a good enough to earn some praise. The innocent side of Huck is also revealed in his encounter with Jim. Jim swears him to secrecy before revealing that he has run away from Miss Watson. Huck is immediately faced with the responsibility of protecting Jim or telling the town the truth. He chooses to stay with Jim because, as a young boy who has lived outside of main stream society for quite some time, he still lacks the prejudices of the older folks in his town. This youthfulness is reinforced by the image of Huck dressing up as a girl at the end of Chapter 10. The strength of character that leads Huck to refuse to reveal Jim at this juncture of the novel is tested many times during the course of their travels. In a sense, it is Huck's desperate need to not be alone anymore that overcomes his fear of damnation for not turning in a runaway slave. While Tom Sawyer may be his best friend as a playmate, Huck seeks someone who will care about him as a person rather than as a simple play friend. While it is not at all clear that Jim will be able to assume this role, early indications lean towards the development of this relationship as Jim works to get Huck safely inside the cave and out of the rain. Jim's motive for keeping Pap's death from Huck is unclear. Jim could simply be trying to protect Huck's feelings, but there is also very likely a selfish motive. Jim has just revealed to Huck that he ran away from the widow. Were he to tell Huck that Pap died, there would be no reason for Huck to remain with Jim on the island. Jim fears that Huck might at some point return to town and tell people where he is hiding. Thus, for Jim, it is a life and death decision whether or not to inform Huck of Pap's death.