<p>CHAPTER XXXIV.</p>
<p>We stopped talking, and got to thinking. By and by Tom says:</p>
<p>“Looky here, Huck, what fools we are to not think of it before!
I bet I know where Jim is.”</p>
<p>“No! Where?”</p>
<p>“In that hut down by the ash-hopper. Why, looky here. When
we was at dinner, didn’t you see a nigger man go in there with some
vittles?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“What did you think the vittles was for?”</p>
<p>“For a dog.”</p>
<p>“So ’d I. Well, it wasn’t for a dog.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“Because part of it was watermelon.”</p>
<p>“So it was—I noticed it. Well, it does beat all that I
never thought about a dog not eating watermelon. It shows how a body
can see and don’t see at the same time.”</p>
<p>“Well, the nigger unlocked the padlock when he went in, and he
locked it again when he came out. He fetched uncle a key about the
time we got up from table—same key, I bet. Watermelon shows
man, lock shows prisoner; and it ain’t likely there’s two
prisoners on such a little plantation, and where the people’s all so
kind and good. Jim’s the prisoner. All right—I’m
glad we found it out detective fashion; I wouldn’t give shucks for
any other way. Now you work your mind, and study out a plan to steal
Jim, and I will study out one, too; and we’ll take the one we like
the best.”</p>
<p>What a head for just a boy to have! If I had Tom Sawyer’s head
I wouldn’t trade it off to be a duke, nor mate of a steamboat, nor
clown in a circus, nor nothing I can think of. I went to thinking
out a plan, but only just to be doing something; I knowed very well where
the right plan was going to come from. Pretty soon Tom says:</p>
<p>“Ready?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” I says.</p>
<p>“All right—bring it out.”</p>
<p>“My plan is this,” I says. “We can easy find out if it’s
Jim in there. Then get up my canoe to-morrow night, and fetch my raft over
from the island. Then the first dark night that comes steal the key
out of the old man’s britches after he goes to bed, and shove off
down the river on the raft with Jim, hiding daytimes and running nights,
the way me and Jim used to do before. Wouldn’t that plan work?”</p>
<p>“<i>Work</i>? Why, cert’nly it would work, like rats
a-fighting. But it’s too blame’ simple; there ain’t
nothing <i>to</i> it. What’s the good of a plan that ain’t
no more trouble than that? It’s as mild as goose-milk. Why,
Huck, it wouldn’t make no more talk than breaking into a soap
factory.”</p>
<p>I never said nothing, because I warn’t expecting nothing different;
but I knowed mighty well that whenever he got <i>his</i> plan ready it
wouldn’t have none of them objections to it.</p>
<p>And it didn’t. He told me what it was, and I see in a minute
it was worth fifteen of mine for style, and would make Jim just as free a
man as mine would, and maybe get us all killed besides. So I was
satisfied, and said we would waltz in on it. I needn’t tell
what it was here, because I knowed it wouldn’t stay the way, it was.
I knowed he would be changing it around every which way as we went
along, and heaving in new bullinesses wherever he got a chance. And
that is what he done.</p>
<p>Well, one thing was dead sure, and that was that Tom Sawyer was in
earnest, and was actuly going to help steal that nigger out of slavery.
That was the thing that was too many for me. Here was a boy that was
respectable and well brung up; and had a character to lose; and folks at
home that had characters; and he was bright and not leather-headed; and
knowing and not ignorant; and not mean, but kind; and yet here he was,
without any more pride, or rightness, or feeling, than to stoop to this
business, and make himself a shame, and his family a shame, before
everybody. I <i>couldn’t</i> understand it no way at all.
It was outrageous, and I knowed I ought to just up and tell him so;
and so be his true friend, and let him quit the thing right where he was
and save himself. And I <i>did</i> start to tell him; but he shut me up,
and says:</p>
<p>“Don’t you reckon I know what I’m about? Don’t
I generly know what I’m about?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t I <i>say</i> I was going to help steal the nigger?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“<i>Well</i>, then.”</p>
<p>That’s all he said, and that’s all I said. It warn’t
no use to say any more; because when he said he’d do a thing, he
always done it. But I couldn’t make out how he was willing to
go into this thing; so I just let it go, and never bothered no more about
it. If he was bound to have it so, I couldn’t help it.</p>
<p>When we got home the house was all dark and still; so we went on down to
the hut by the ash-hopper for to examine it. We went through the
yard so as to see what the hounds would do. They knowed us, and didn’t
make no more noise than country dogs is always doing when anything comes
by in the night. When we got to the cabin we took a look at the
front and the two sides; and on the side I warn’t acquainted with—which
was the north side—we found a square window-hole, up tolerable high,
with just one stout board nailed across it. I says:</p>
<p>“Here’s the ticket. This hole’s big enough for Jim
to get through if we wrench off the board.”</p>
<p>Tom says:</p>
<p>“It’s as simple as tit-tat-toe, three-in-a-row, and as easy as
playing hooky. I should <i>hope</i> we can find a way that’s a
little more complicated than <i>that</i>, Huck Finn.”</p>
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<p>“Well, then,” I says, “how ’ll it do to saw him
out, the way I done before I was murdered that time?”</p>
<p>“That’s more <i>like</i>,” he says. “It’s
real mysterious, and troublesome, and good,” he says; “but I
bet we can find a way that’s twice as long. There ain’t
no hurry; le’s keep on looking around.”</p>
<p>Betwixt the hut and the fence, on the back side, was a lean-to that joined
the hut at the eaves, and was made out of plank. It was as long as
the hut, but narrow—only about six foot wide. The door to it
was at the south end, and was padlocked. Tom he went to the
soap-kettle and searched around, and fetched back the iron thing they lift
the lid with; so he took it and prized out one of the staples. The
chain fell down, and we opened the door and went in, and shut it, and
struck a match, and see the shed was only built against a cabin and hadn’t
no connection with it; and there warn’t no floor to the shed, nor
nothing in it but some old rusty played-out hoes and spades and picks and
a crippled plow. The match went out, and so did we, and shoved in
the staple again, and the door was locked as good as ever. Tom was joyful.
He says;</p>
<p>“Now we’re all right. We’ll <i>dig</i> him out.
It ’ll take about a week!”</p>
<p>Then we started for the house, and I went in the back door—you only
have to pull a buckskin latch-string, they don’t fasten the doors—but
that warn’t romantical enough for Tom Sawyer; no way would do him
but he must climb up the lightning-rod. But after he got up half way
about three times, and missed fire and fell every time, and the last time
most busted his brains out, he thought he’d got to give it up; but
after he was rested he allowed he would give her one more turn for luck,
and this time he made the trip.</p>
<p>In the morning we was up at break of day, and down to the nigger cabins to
pet the dogs and make friends with the nigger that fed Jim—if it <i>was</i>
Jim that was being fed. The niggers was just getting through
breakfast and starting for the fields; and Jim’s nigger was piling
up a tin pan with bread and meat and things; and whilst the others was
leaving, the key come from the house.</p>
<p>This nigger had a good-natured, chuckle-headed face, and his wool was all
tied up in little bunches with thread. That was to keep witches off.
He said the witches was pestering him awful these nights, and making
him see all kinds of strange things, and hear all kinds of strange words
and noises, and he didn’t believe he was ever witched so long before
in his life. He got so worked up, and got to running on so about his
troubles, he forgot all about what he’d been a-going to do. So
Tom says:</p>
<p>“What’s the vittles for? Going to feed the dogs?”</p>
<p>The nigger kind of smiled around gradually over his face, like when you
heave a brickbat in a mud-puddle, and he says:</p>
<p>“Yes, Mars Sid, A dog. Cur’us dog, too. Does you
want to go en look at ’im?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>I hunched Tom, and whispers:</p>
<p>“You going, right here in the daybreak? <i>that</i> warn’t
the plan.”</p>
<p>“No, it warn’t; but it’s the plan <i>now</i>.”</p>
<p>So, drat him, we went along, but I didn’t like it much. When
we got in we couldn’t hardly see anything, it was so dark; but Jim
was there, sure enough, and could see us; and he sings out:</p>
<p>“Why, <i>Huck</i>! En good <i>lan</i>’! ain’ dat
Misto Tom?”</p>
<p>I just knowed how it would be; I just expected it. I didn’t
know nothing to do; and if I had I couldn’t a done it, because that
nigger busted in and says:</p>
<p>“Why, de gracious sakes! do he know you genlmen?”</p>
<p>We could see pretty well now. Tom he looked at the nigger, steady
and kind of wondering, and says:</p>
<p>“Does <i>who</i> know us?”</p>
<p>“Why, dis-yer runaway nigger.”</p>
<p>“I don’t reckon he does; but what put that into your head?”</p>
<p>“What <i>put</i> it dar? Didn’ he jis’ dis minute
sing out like he knowed you?”</p>
<p>Tom says, in a puzzled-up kind of way:</p>
<p>“Well, that’s mighty curious. <i>Who</i> sung out? <i>when</i>
did he sing out? <i>what</i> did he sing out?” And turns to
me, perfectly ca’m, and says, “Did <i>you</i> hear anybody
sing out?”</p>
<p>Of course there warn’t nothing to be said but the one thing; so I
says:</p>
<p>“No; I ain’t heard nobody say nothing.”</p>
<p>Then he turns to Jim, and looks him over like he never see him before, and
says:</p>
<p>“Did you sing out?”</p>
<p>“No, sah,” says Jim; “I hain’t said nothing, sah.”</p>
<p>“Not a word?”</p>
<p>“No, sah, I hain’t said a word.”</p>
<p>“Did you ever see us before?”</p>
<p>“No, sah; not as I knows on.”</p>
<p>So Tom turns to the nigger, which was looking wild and distressed, and
says, kind of severe:</p>
<p>“What do you reckon’s the matter with you, anyway? What
made you think somebody sung out?”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s de dad-blame’ witches, sah, en I wisht I was
dead, I do. Dey’s awluz at it, sah, en dey do mos’ kill
me, dey sk’yers me so. Please to don’t tell nobody
’bout it sah, er ole Mars Silas he’ll scole me; ’kase he
say dey <i>ain’t</i> no witches. I jis’ wish to goodness
he was heah now—<i>den</i> what would he say! I jis’ bet
he couldn’ fine no way to git aroun’ it <i>dis</i> time.
But it’s awluz jis’ so; people dat’s <i>sot</i>,
stays sot; dey won’t look into noth’n’en fine it out f’r
deyselves, en when <i>you</i> fine it out en tell um ’bout it, dey
doan’ b’lieve you.”</p>
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<p>Tom give him a dime, and said we wouldn’t tell nobody; and told him
to buy some more thread to tie up his wool with; and then looks at Jim,
and says:</p>
<p>“I wonder if Uncle Silas is going to hang this nigger. If I
was to catch a nigger that was ungrateful enough to run away, I wouldn’t
give him up, I’d hang him.” And whilst the nigger
stepped to the door to look at the dime and bite it to see if it was good,
he whispers to Jim and says:</p>
<p>“Don’t ever let on to know us. And if you hear any
digging going on nights, it’s us; we’re going to set you free.”</p>
<p>Jim only had time to grab us by the hand and squeeze it; then the nigger
come back, and we said we’d come again some time if the nigger
wanted us to; and he said he would, more particular if it was dark,
because the witches went for him mostly in the dark, and it was good to
have folks around then.</p>
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