CHAPTER X



THE two boys flew on and on, toward the village,

speechless with horror. They glanced backward

over their shoulders from time to time, apprehensively,

as if they feared they might be followed. Every stump

that started up in their path seemed a man and an enemy,

and made them catch their breath; and as they sped by

some outlying cottages that lay near the village,

the barking of the aroused watch-dogs seemed to give

wings to their feet.



"If we can only get to the old tannery before we

break down!" whispered Tom, in short catches be-

tween breaths. "I can't stand it much longer."



Huckleberry's hard pantings were his only reply,

and the boys fixed their eyes on the goal of their hopes

and bent to their work to win it. They gained steadily

on it, and at last, breast to breast, they burst through

the open door and fell grateful and exhausted in the

sheltering shadows beyond. By and by their pulses

slowed down, and Tom whispered:



"Huckleberry, what do you reckon'll come of this?"



"If Doctor Robinson dies, I reckon hanging'll come of it."



"Do you though?"



"Why, I KNOW it, Tom."



Tom thought a while, then he said:



"Who'll tell? We?"



"What are you talking about? S'pose something

happened and Injun Joe DIDN'T hang? Why, he'd

kill us some time or other, just as dead sure as we're

a laying here."



"That's just what I was thinking to myself, Huck."



"If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it, if he's fool

enough. He's generally drunk enough."



Tom said nothing -- went on thinking. Presently he whispered:



"Huck, Muff Potter don't know it. How can he tell?"



"What's the reason he don't know it?"



"Because he'd just got that whack when Injun

Joe done it. D'you reckon he could see anything?

D'you reckon he knowed anything?"



"By hokey, that's so, Tom!"



"And besides, look-a-here -- maybe that whack done

for HIM!"



"No, 'taint likely, Tom. He had liquor in him;

I could see that; and besides, he always has. Well,

when pap's full, you might take and belt him over

the head with a church and you couldn't phase him.

He says so, his own self. So it's the same with Muff

Potter, of course. But if a man was dead sober,

I reckon maybe that whack might fetch him; I dono."



After another reflective silence, Tom said:



"Hucky, you sure you can keep mum?"



"Tom, we GOT to keep mum. You know that.

That Injun devil wouldn't make any more of drownd-

ing us than a couple of cats, if we was to squeak 'bout

this and they didn't hang him. Now, look-a-here,

Tom, less take and swear to one another -- that's what

we got to do -- swear to keep mum."



"I'm agreed. It's the best thing. Would you

just hold hands and swear that we --"



"Oh no, that wouldn't do for this. That's good

enough for little rubbishy common things -- specially

with gals, cuz THEY go back on you anyway, and blab

if they get in a huff -- but there orter be writing 'bout

a big thing like this. And blood."



Tom's whole being applauded this idea. It was

deep, and dark, and awful; the hour, the circum-

stances, the surroundings, were in keeping with it.

He picked up a clean pine shingle that lay in the moon-

light, took a little fragment of "red keel" out of his

pocket, got the moon on his work, and painfully scrawl-

ed these lines, emphasizing each slow down-stroke by

clamping his tongue between his teeth, and letting up

the pressure on the up-strokes. [See next page.]



"Huck Finn and

Tom Sawyer swears

they will keep mum

about This and They

wish They may Drop

down dead in Their

Tracks if They ever

Tell and Rot.



Huckleberry was filled with admiration of Tom's

facility in writing, and the sublimity of his language.

He at once took a pin from his lapel and was going

to prick his flesh, but Tom said:



"Hold on! Don't do that. A pin's brass. It

might have verdigrease on it."



"What's verdigrease?"



"It's p'ison. That's what it is. You just swaller

some of it once -- you'll see."



So Tom unwound the thread from one of his needles,

and each boy pricked the ball of his thumb and squeezed

out a drop of blood. In time, after many squeezes,

Tom managed to sign his initials, using the ball of his

little finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry

how to make an H and an F, and the oath was com-

plete. They buried the shingle close to the wall, with

some dismal ceremonies and incantations, and the

fetters that bound their tongues were considered to be

locked and the key thrown away.



A figure crept stealthily through a break in the

other end of the ruined building, now, but they did

not notice it.



"Tom," whispered Huckleberry, "does this keep

us from EVER telling -- ALWAYS?"



"Of course it does. It don't make any difference

WHAT happens, we got to keep mum. We'd drop

down dead -- don't YOU know that?"



"Yes, I reckon that's so."



They continued to whisper for some little time.

Presently a dog set up a long, lugubrious howl just

outside -- within ten feet of them. The boys clasped

each other suddenly, in an agony of fright.



"Which of us does he mean?" gasped Huckleberry.



"I dono -- peep through the crack. Quick!"



"No, YOU, Tom!"



"I can't -- I can't DO it, Huck!"



"Please, Tom. There 'tis again!"



"Oh, lordy, I'm thankful!" whispered Tom. "I

know his voice. It's Bull Harbison." *



[* If Mr. Harbison owned a slave named Bull, Tom

would have spoken of him as "Harbison's Bull," but

a son or a dog of that name was "Bull Harbison."]



"Oh, that's good -- I tell you, Tom, I was most

scared to death; I'd a bet anything it was a STRAY dog."



The dog howled again. The boys' hearts sank once more.



"Oh, my! that ain't no Bull Harbison!" whispered

Huckleberry. "DO, Tom!"



Tom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put his eye

to the crack. His whisper was hardly audible when he said:



"Oh, Huck, IT S A STRAY DOG!"



"Quick, Tom, quick! Who does he mean?"



"Huck, he must mean us both -- we're right together."



"Oh, Tom, I reckon we're goners. I reckon there

ain't no mistake 'bout where I'LL go to. I been so wicked."



"Dad fetch it! This comes of playing hookey and

doing everything a feller's told NOT to do. I might a

been good, like Sid, if I'd a tried -- but no, I wouldn't,

of course. But if ever I get off this time, I lay I'll just

WALLER in Sunday-schools!" And Tom began to snuffle

a little.



"YOU bad!" and Huckleberry began to snuffle too.

"Consound it, Tom Sawyer, you're just old pie, 'long-

side o' what I am. Oh, LORDY, lordy, lordy, I wisht I

only had half your chance."



Tom choked off and whispered:



"Look, Hucky, look! He's got his BACK to us!"



Hucky looked, with joy in his heart.



"Well, he has, by jingoes! Did he before?"



"Yes, he did. But I, like a fool, never thought.

Oh, this is bully, you know. NOW who can he mean?"



The howling stopped. Tom pricked up his ears.



"Sh! What's that?" he whispered.



"Sounds like -- like hogs grunting. No -- it's some-

body snoring, Tom."



"That IS it! Where 'bouts is it, Huck?"



"I bleeve it's down at 'tother end. Sounds so,

anyway. Pap used to sleep there, sometimes, 'long

with the hogs, but laws bless you, he just lifts things

when HE snores. Besides, I reckon he ain't ever com-

ing back to this town any more."



The spirit of adventure rose in the boys' souls once more.



"Hucky, do you das't to go if I lead?"



"I don't like to, much. Tom, s'pose it's Injun Joe!"



Tom quailed. But presently the temptation rose

up strong again and the boys agreed to try, with the

understanding that they would take to their heels if

the snoring stopped. So they went tiptoeing stealth-

ily down, the one behind the other. When they had

got to within five steps of the snorer, Tom stepped on

a stick, and it broke with a sharp snap. The man

moaned, writhed a little, and his face came into the

moonlight. It was Muff Potter. The boys' hearts

had stood still, and their hopes too, when the man

moved, but their fears passed away now. They tip-

toed out, through the broken weather-boarding, and

stopped at a little distance to exchange a parting word.

That long, lugubrious howl rose on the night air again!

They turned and saw the strange dog standing within

a few feet of where Potter was lying, and FACING Potter,

with his nose pointing heavenward.



"Oh, geeminy, it's HIM!" exclaimed both boys, in a breath.



"Say, Tom -- they say a stray dog come howling

around Johnny Miller's house, 'bout midnight, as

much as two weeks ago; and a whippoorwill come

in and lit on the banisters and sung, the very same

evening; and there ain't anybody dead there yet."



"Well, I know that. And suppose there ain't.

Didn't Gracie Miller fall in the kitchen fire and burn

herself terrible the very next Saturday?"



"Yes, but she ain't DEAD. And what's more, she's

getting better, too."



"All right, you wait and see. She's a goner, just

as dead sure as Muff Potter's a goner. That's what

the niggers say, and they know all about these kind

of things, Huck."



Then they separated, cogitating. When Tom crept

in at his bedroom window the night was almost spent.

He undressed with excessive caution, and fell asleep

congratulating himself that nobody knew of his esca-

pade. He was not aware that the gently-snoring Sid

was awake, and had been so for an hour.



When Tom awoke, Sid was dressed and gone.

There was a late look in the light, a late sense in the

atmosphere. He was startled. Why had he not been

called -- persecuted till he was up, as usual? The

thought filled him with bodings. Within five minutes

he was dressed and down-stairs, feeling sore and

drowsy. The family were still at table, but they had

finished breakfast. There was no voice of rebuke;

but there were averted eyes; there was a silence and an

air of solemnity that struck a chill to the culprit's heart.

He sat down and tried to seem gay, but it was up-hill

work; it roused no smile, no response, and he lapsed

into silence and let his heart sink down to the depths.



After breakfast his aunt took him aside, and Tom

almost brightened in the hope that he was going to

be flogged; but it was not so. His aunt wept over

him and asked him how he could go and break her

old heart so; and finally told him to go on, and ruin

himself and bring her gray hairs with sorrow to the

grave, for it was no use for her to try any more. This

was worse than a thousand whippings, and Tom's

heart was sorer now than his body. He cried, he

pleaded for forgiveness, promised to reform over and

over again, and then received his dismissal, feeling that

he had won but an imperfect forgiveness and established

but a feeble confidence.



He left the presence too miserable to even feel re-

vengeful toward Sid; and so the latter's prompt retreat

through the back gate was unnecessary. He moped

to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging, along

with Joe Harper, for playing hookey the day before,

with the air of one whose heart was busy with heavier

woes and wholly dead to trifles. Then he betook him-

self to his seat, rested his elbows on his desk and his

jaws in his hands, and stared at the wall with the stony

stare of suffering that has reached the limit and can

no further go. His elbow was pressing against some

hard substance. After a long time he slowly and

sadly changed his position, and took up this object

with a sigh. It was in a paper. He unrolled it. A

long, lingering, colossal sigh followed, and his heart

broke. It was his brass andiron knob!



This final feather broke the camel's back.

****

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