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 wood-yards
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; but 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 halfpast 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.
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; I 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 axe, 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 axe 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 axe, 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 axe
good, and stuck it on the back
side, and slung the axe 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. Think's 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 aspinning 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
towards 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
up stream, 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. |