Huckleberry Finn by Dave Mckay, Mark Twain (dark books to read TXT) đ
- Author: Dave Mckay, Mark Twain
Book online «Huckleberry Finn by Dave Mckay, Mark Twain (dark books to read TXT) đ». Author Dave Mckay, Mark Twain
I didnât know her face; she was a stranger, for you couldnât show a face in that town that I didnât know. Now this was lucky, because I had been starting to fear; I was getting afraid that people might know my voice and find me out. But if this woman had been in such a little town even two days she could probably tell me all I wanted to know; so I knocked at the door, and promised myself I wouldnât forget I was a girl.
Chapter 11
âCome in,â she says, and I did. She says: âTake a chair.â
I done it. She looked me over with her little dark eyes, and says: âWhat might your name be?â
âSarah Williams.â
âWhere about do you live? Near here?â
âNo, ma'am. In Hookerville, seven mile below. Iâve walked all the way and Iâm all tired out.â
âHungry, too, I think. Iâll find you something.â
âNo, ma'am, I ainât hungry. I was so hungry I had to stop two miles below here at a farm; so I ainât hungry no more. Itâs what makes me so late. My motherâs down sick, and out of money and everything, and I come to tell my Uncle Abner Moore. He lives at the top end of the town, she says. I ainât ever been here before. Do you know him?â
âNo; but I donât know everybody yet. I havenât lived here quite two weeks. Itâs a long way to the top end of the town. You better stay here all night. Take off your hat.â
âNo,â I says; âIâll rest up, and go on. I ainât afraid of the dark.â
She said she wouldnât let me go by myself, but her husband would be in by and by, maybe in an hour and a half, and sheâd send him along with me. Then she got to talking about her husband, and about her family up the river, and her family down the river, and about how much better off they was before, and how they didnât know but theyâd done the wrong thing coming to our town, instead of letting good enough alone -- and so on and so on, until I was afraid I done the wrong thing coming to her to find out what was going on in the town; but by and by she dropped on to pap and the killing, and then I was pretty happy to let her go right on talking. She told about me and Tom Sawyer finding the six thousand dollars (only she got it ten) and all about pap and what a hard lot he was, and what a hard lot I was, and at last she got down to where I was killed.
I says: âWho done it? Weâve heard about this down in Hookerville, but we donât know who it was that killed Huck Finn.â
âWell, as I see it, thereâs a lot of people here thatâd like to know who killed him too. Some think old Finn done it himself.â
âNo -- is that so?â
âMost everybody thought it at first. Heâll never know how close he come to being hanged. But that night they changed around and judged it was done by a runaway slave named Jim.â
âWhy he -- â
I stopped. I thought I better keep quiet. She run on, and never saw I had put in at all:
âThat slave run off the very night Huck Finn was killed. So thereâs a reward out for him -- three hundred dollars. And thereâs a reward out for old Finn, too -- two hundred dollars. You see, he come to town the morning after the killing, and told about it, and was out with âem on the ferry hunt, and right away after he up and left. Before night they wanted to hang him, but he was gone, you see. Well, next day they found out the slave was gone; they found out he hadnât been seen since ten oâclock the night the killing was done. So then they put it on him, you see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old Finn, and went crying to Judge Thatcher to get money to hunt for the slave all over Illinois with. The judge gave him some, and that night he got drunk, and was around until after midnight with two very hard-looking strangers, and then went off with them. Well, he ainât come back since, and they ainât looking for him back until this thing blows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and fixed things so people would think robbers done it, and then heâd get Huckâs money without having to wait a long time for the court. People do say he werenât any too good to do it. Oh, heâs smart, I say. If he donât come back for a year heâll be all right. You canât prove anything on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and heâll walk in and take Huckâs money as easy as nothing.â
âYes, I think so, maâam. I donât see nothing in the way of it. Has everybody quit thinking the slave done it?â
âOh, no, not everybody. A good many thinks he done it. But theyâll get the Black pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare it out of him.â
âWhy? Are they after him yet?â
âWell, youâre such a sweet thing, ainât you! Does three hundred dollars lay around every day for people to pick up? Some people think the slave ainât far from here. Iâm one of them -- but I ainât talked it around. A few days ago I was talking with an old man and woman that lives next door in the log cabin, and they happened to say nobody don't ever go to that island over there that they call Jacksonâs Island. âDonât anyone live there?â says I. âNo, nobody,â says they. I didnât say any more, but I done some thinking. I was pretty near sure Iâd seen smoke over there, about the head of the island, a day or two before that, so I says to myself, like as not that slaveâs hiding over there; anyway, says I, itâs worth the trouble to give the place a hunt. I ainât seen any smoke since, so I think maybe heâs gone, if it was him; but my husbandâs going over to see -- him and another man. He was gone up the river; but he got back today, and I told him as soon as he got here two hours ago.â
I had got so worried I couldnât sit in one place. I had to do something with my hands; so I took up a needle off of the table and went to threading it. My hands shook, and I was making a bad job of it. When the woman stopped talking I looked up, and she was looking at me pretty strange and smiling a little. I put down the needle and thread, and let on to be interested -- and I was, too -- and says: âThree hundred dollars is a lot of money. I wish my mother could get it. Is your husband going over there tonight?â
âOh, yes. He went up to town with the man I was telling you of, to get a boat and see if they could find another gun. Theyâll go over after midnight.â
âCouldnât they see better if they was to wait until morning?â
âYes. And couldnât the black man see better, too? After midnight heâll probably be asleep, and they can move around through the trees and hunt up his camp fire all the better for the dark, if heâs got one.â
âI didnât think of that.â
The woman kept looking at me pretty strangely, and I didnât feel at all comfortable. Pretty soon she says: âWhat did you say your name was, honey?â
âM -- Mary Williams.â
It didnât seem to me that I said it was Mary before, so I didnât lookupâseemed to me I said it was Sarah; so I felt kind of in a corner, and was afraid maybe I was looking it, too. I wished the woman would say something more; the longer she did nothing the more worried I was.
But now she says: âHoney, I thought you said it was Sarah when you first come in?â
âOh, yes maâam, I did. Sarah Mary Williams. Sarahâs my first name. Some calls me Sarah, some calls me Mary.â
âOh, thatâs the way of it?â
âYes maâam.â
I was feeling better then, but I wished I was out of there, anyway. I couldnât look up yet.
Well, the woman fell to talking about how hard times was, and how poor they had to live, and how the rats was as free as if they owned the place, and on and on, and then I got re- laxed again. She was right about the rats. Youâd see one put his nose out of a hole in the corner every little while. She said she had to have things close by to throw at them when she was alone, or they wouldnât give her no rest. She showed me a bar of soft metal turned around itself into a ball, and said she was good at throwing it most times, but sheâd pulled her arm a day or two ago, and didnât know if she could throw true now. But she watched for them, and soon banged away at a rat; but she missed him wide, and said âOw!â it hurt her arm so. Then she told me to try for the next one. I wanted to be getting away before the old man got back, but I werenât stupid enough to let on. I got the thing, and the first rat that showed his nose I let go, and if heâd a stayed where he was heâd a been a very sick rat. She said that was very good, and she believed I would kill the next one. She went and got the ball of metal and brought it back, and brought along knitting thread which she wanted me to help her with. I held up my two hands and she put the circles of thread over them, and went on talking about her and her husbandâs business. But she cut herself off to say: âKeep your eye on the rats. You better have the ball on your lap, where you can get it.â
So she dropped the ball into my lap just that same second, and I squeezed my legs together on it and she went on talking. But only about a minute. Then she took off the thread and looked me straight in the face, and very nicely she says: âCome, now, whatâs your real name?â
âWh -- what, maâam?â
âWhatâs your real name? Is it Bill? Tom? Bob? What is it?â
I think I was shaking like a leaf, and I didnât know what to do. But I says: âPlease donât make fun of a poor girl like me, maâam. If Iâm in the way here, Iâll just...â
"No, you wonât. Sit down and stay where you are. I ainât going to hurt you, and I ainât going to tell on you, either. You just tell me your secret, and trust me. Iâll keep it; and, whatâs more, Iâll help you. So will my old man if you want him to. You see, youâve done run away thatâs all. It ainât anything. There ainât nothing wrong with it. Youâve been hurt, and you made up your mind to cut. Bless you, child, I wouldnât tell on you. Tell me all about it now, thatâs a good boy.â
So I said it wouldnât be no use to try to play it any longer, and I would tell her everything, but she mustnât go back on her promise. Then I told her my father and mother was dead, and the law had given me to a cruel old farmer in the country thirty mile back from the river, and he was so cruel I couldnât take it no more; he went away
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