Huckleberry Finn by Dave Mckay, Mark Twain (recommended books to read TXT) 📕

could. Every now and then I stopped a second there in the thick leaves and listened, but my breathing come so hard I couldn’t hear nothing else. I went along another piece farther, then listened again; and by and by, if I seen a cut off tree, I took it for a man; if I stepped on a stick and broke it, it made me feel like a person had taken away half of the air from my breathing, and the bigger half, too.

 

When I got to camp I wasn’t feeling very confident. There weren’t much I could do; but I says, this ain’t no time to be playing games. So I got all my traps into my canoe again so no one could see them, and I put out the fire and threw the ashes around to make it look like an old last year’s camp, and then climbed a tree.

 

I must a been 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 stayed deep in the trees and looking out 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 pushed off from the island before the moon come up and went by canoe over to the Illinois side of the river -- about four hundred yards. I went into the trees there and cooked a meal, and I was just planning to stay there all night when I heard a plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, and says to myself, horses coming; and next I hear people’s voices. I put everything into the canoe as quickly as I could, and then moved quietly through the trees by the side of the river, to see what I could find out. I hadn’t got far when I heard a man say: “We better camp here if we can find a good place; the horses is about tired out. Let’s look around.”

 

I didn’t wait, but pushed off and used my oar softly to get away. I tied up in the old place, and ended up sleeping in the canoe.

 

I didn’t sleep much. I couldn’t, for thinking. And every time I waked up I thought someone 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 die trying. Well, I felt better right off.

 

So I took my oar and moved quietly along, just a step or two out from the land, letting the canoe stay in the darkness from the trees. The moon was out, and outside where I was, behind the trees, it was almost as light as day. I moved slowly along well on to an hour, everything quiet as sleeping rocks. Well, by this time I was most down to the foot of the island. A little cool wind started to blow, and that was as good as saying the night was about done. I give her a turn with the oar and brought her nose to the beach; then I got my gun and climbed out and into the trees. I sat down there on a log, and looked out through the willows. I seen the moon go off watch, and the darkness start to blanket the river. But in a little while I seen a grey line over the tops of the trees, and knowed the day was coming. So I took my rifle and walked off toward where I had run across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two to listen. But I hadn’t no luck; I couldn’t seem to find the place.

 

But by and by, sure enough, I caught a little sign of fire away through the trees. I went for it, careful and slow. After a while I was close enough to have a look, and there was a man on the ground. It most give me the shakes. He had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire. I sat there behind some bushes about six foot away from him, and kept my eyes on him without moving. It was getting grey morning light now. Pretty soon he moved and took off the blanket, and it was Miss Watson’s Jim!

 

I know I was glad to see him. I says: “Hello, Jim!” and danced out.

 

He jumped up and looked at me wild. Then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says: “Don’t hurt me -- don’t! I ain’t never done no bad to a ghost. I always liked dead people, and done all I could for ‘em. You go and get in de river again, where you belongs, and don’t do nuffin to Old Jim, that was always your friend.”

 

Well, I wasn’t long making him understand I wasn’t dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I wasn’t bored from being alone now. I told him I knew he wouldn’t tell people where I was. Anyway, I talked along, but he only sat there and looked at me; never said nothing.

 

Then I says: “It’s good light now. Let’s get breakfast. Make up your camp fire good.”

 

“What’s de use of making up de camp fire to cook strawberries and such? But you got a rifle, ain’t you? We can get sumfin better den strawberries.”

 

“Strawberries and such,” I says. “Is that what you live on?”

 

“I couldn’t get nuffin else,” he says.

 

“Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?”

 

“I come here de night after you was killed.”

 

“What, all that time?”

 

“Yes -- that’s true.”

 

“And ain’t you had nothing but that kind of food to eat?”

 

“No, sir -- nuffin else.”

 

“Well, you must be most dead from hunger, ain’t you?”

 

“I think I could eat a horse. I think I could. How long you been on de island?”

 

“Since the night I got killed.”

 

“No! Why, what has you lived on? But you got a gun. Oh, yes, you got a rifle. Dat’s good. Now you kill sumfin and I’ll make up de fire.”

 

So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in an open place under the trees, I got some corn meal and pig meat and coffee, and a kettle and a pan, and sugar and tin cups, and Jim was surprised more than a little, because he believed it was all done with magic. I caught a good big fish, too, and Jim cleaned him with his knife, and cooked him.

 

When breakfast was ready we lay back on the grass and eat it smoking hot. Jim jumped into it for all he was worth, as he was almost dead from hunger. Then when we had got pretty well filled, we just laid down and rested.

 

By and by Jim says: “But look here, Huck, who was it dat was killed in dat cabin if it weren’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 did you get here?”

 

He looked pretty worried, 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’t tell on me if I was to tell you, would you, Huck?”

 

“Punish me if I would, Jim.”

 

“Well, I believe you, Huck. I -- run off.”

 

“Jim!”

 

“But remember, you said you wouldn’t tell -- you know you said you wouldn’t tell, Huck?”

 

“Well, I did. I said I wouldn’t, and I’ll stick to it. Honest Indian, I will. People would call me a low-down Abolitionist and hate me for not talking -- but that don’t make no difference. I ain’t a-going to tell, and I ain’t a-going back there, anyway. So, now, let’s know all about it.”

 

“Well, you see, it was dis way. Old Mrs. -- dat’s Miss Watson -- she is at me all de time, and she can be pretty rough, but she always said she wouldn’t sell me down to New Orleans. But I saw dey was a slave buyer around de place a lot dese days, and I started to get worried. Well, one night I goes secretly to de door pretty late, and de door weren’t quite shut, and I hear old Mrs. tell de widow she gwyne to sell me down to Orleans, and she didn’t want to, but she could get eight hundred dollars for me, and it was such a big hill of money she couldn’t say no. De widow she tried to get her to say she wouldn’t do it, but I never waited to hear de rest. I took off pretty fast after dat, I tell you. “I took out and run down de hill, planning to rob a boat along de river somewhere above town, but dey was people moving around yet, so I went into de old broken-down barrel shop on de side of the river to hide and wait for everybody to go away. Well, I was dere all night. Dey was someone around all de time. Along about six in de morning boats started to go by, and about eight or nine, every boat dat went along was talking about how your pa come over to de town and say you was killed. Dese last boats was full of men and women a-going over for to see de place. Sometimes dey’d pull up at de beach and take a rest before dey started across, so by de talk I got to know all about de killing. I was powerful sorry you was killed, Huck, but I ain’t no more now.

 

“I stayed dere under de timber all day. I was hungry, but I weren’t afraid of anyone looking for me; because I knowed old Mrs. and de widow was going to start to de church camp-meeting right after breakfast and be gone all day, and dey knows I goes off wid de cows about daylight, so dey wouldn’t be looking for me round de place, and so dey wouldn’t miss me until after dark dat night. De other servants wouldn’t miss me, because dey’d go off and have a rest soon as de old ones was out of de way.

 

“Well, when it come dark again I took out up de river road, and went about two miles or more to where dey weren’t no houses. I’d made up my mind about what I was a-gwyne to do. You see, if I kept on trying to get away on foot, de dogs would find me; if I robbed a boat to cross over, dey’d miss dat boat, you see, and dey’d know about where I’d land on de other side, and where to pick up my smell wid de dogs. So I says, a raft is what I’s after; it don’t make no smell.

 

“I see a light a-coming round de point by and by, so I jumped in and pushed a log ahead of me and started swimming more than half way across de river, and got in behind de timber that was coming down the river, and kept my head down low, and kind of worked against the movement of the water until de raft come along. Den I moved to de back of it and took a hold. It clouded up and was pretty dark for a little while. So I climbed up and lay myself down on de boards. De men was all away up in de middle, where de lantern was. De river was a-coming up, and dey was a good fast movement; so I worked out dat by four in de morning I’d be twenty-five mile down de river, and den I’d go back in the water just before the sun come up and swim to the beach, and take to de trees on de Illinois side.

 

“But I didn’t have no luck. When we was almost down to de head of de island a man started to come toward de back wid de lantern. I see it weren’t no good for to wait, so I dropped quietly into the water and headed for the island. Well, I thought I could land almost anywhere, but I couldn’t -- the land on the side of the river was too steep. I was almost to de foot of de island before I found a good place. I went into de trees and judged I wouldn’t play with rafts no more, long as dey move de lantern around so. I had my pipe and some tobacco and some matches in my hat, and dey weren’t wet, so I was all right.”

 

“And so