Thinks I, that’s mighty curious; he said that yesterday.He oughter know a body don’t love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting for them. What is he up to, anyway?So I says:
“All right; trot ahead.”
I followed a half a mile;then he struck out over the swamp,and waded ankle deep as much as another half-mile.We come to a little flat piece of land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines, and he says:
“You shove right in dah jist a few steps, Mars Jawge;dah’s whah dey is. I’s seed ’m befo’;I don’t k’yer to see ’em no mo’.”
Then he slopped right along and went away,and pretty soon the trees hid him.I poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patch as big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man laying there asleep—and, by jings, it was my old Jim!
I waked him up, and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to him to see me again, but it warn’t. He nearly cried he was so glad, but he warn’t surprised. Said he swum along behind me that night, and heard me yell every time, but dasn’t answer, because he didn’t want nobody to pick _him_ up and take him into slavery again. Says he:
“I got hurt a little, en couldn’t swim fas’,so I wuz a considable ways behine you towards de las’;when you landed I reck’ned I could ketch up wid you on de lan’ ’dout havin’ to shout at you, but when I see dat house I begin to go slow. I ’uz off too fur to hear what dey say to you—I wuz ’fraid o’ de dogs; but when it ’uz all quiet agin, I knowed you’s in de house, so I struck out for de woods to wait for day. Early in de mawnin’ some er de niggers come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey tuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can’t track me on accounts o’ de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how you’s a-gitt’n along.”
“Why didn’t you tell my Jack to fetch me here sooner, Jim?”
“Well, ’twarn’t no use to ’sturb you, Huck,tell we could do sumfn—but we’s all right now.I ben a-buyin’ pots en pans en vittles,as I got a chanst, en a-patchin’ up de raf’ nights when—”
“_What_ raft, Jim?”
“Our ole raf’.”
“You mean to say our old raft warn’t smashed all to flinders?”
“No, she warn’t. She was tore up a good deal—one en’ of her was;but dey warn’t no great harm done,on’y our traps was mos’ all los’.Ef we hadn’ dive’ so deep en swum so fur under water,en de night hadn’ ben so dark, en we warn’t so sk’yerd,en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin’ is,we’d a seed de raf’. But it’s jis’ as well we didn’t,’kase now she’s all fixed up agin mos’ as good as new,en we’s got a new lot o’ stuff,in de place o’ what ’uz los’.”
“Why, how did you get hold of the raft again,Jim—did you catch her?”
“How I gwyne to ketch her en I out in de woods?No; some er de niggers foun’ her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben’,en dey hid her in a crick ’mongst de willows,en dey wuz so much jawin’ ’bout which un ’um she b’long to de mos’ dat I come to heah ’bout it pooty soon, so I ups en settles de trouble by tellin’ ’um she don’t b’long to none uv um, but to you en me; en I ast ’m if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman’s propaty, en git a hid’n for it?Den I gin ’m ten cents apiece,en dey ’uz mighty well satisfied,en wisht some mo’ raf’s ’ud come along en make ’m rich agin.Dey’s mighty good to me, dese niggers is,en whatever I wants ’m to do fur me,I doan’ have to ast ’m twice, honey.Dat Jack’s a good nigger, en pooty smart.”
“Yes, he is. He ain’t ever told me you was here;told me to come, and he’d show me a lot of water-moccasins.If anything happens _he_ ain’t mixed up in it.He can say he never seen us together,and it’ll be the truth.”
I don’t want to talk much about the next day.I reckon I’ll cut it pretty short.I waked up about dawn,and was a-going to turn over and go to sleep again,when I noticed how still it was—didn’t seem to be anybody stirring.That warn’t usual. Next I noticed that Buck was up and gone.Well, I gets up, a-wondering,and goes down stairs—nobody around;everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside.Thinks I, what does it mean?Down by the wood-pile I comes across my Jack, and says:
“What’s it all about?”
Says he:
“Don’t you know, Mars Jawge?”
“No,” says I, “I don’t.”
“Well, den, Miss Sophia’s run off!’deed she has. She run off in de night some time—nobody don’t know jis’ when;run off to get married to dat young Harney Shepherdson,you know—leastways, so dey ’spec.De fambly foun’ it out ’bout half an hour ago—maybe a little mo’—en’ I _tell_ you dey warn’t no time los’. Sich another hurryin’ up guns en hosses _you_ never see!De women folks has gone for to stir up de relations,en ole Mars Saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up de river road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him ’fo’ he kin git acrost de river wid Miss Sophia. I reck’n dey’s gwyne to be mighty rough times.”
“Buck went off ’thout waking me up.”
“Well, I reck’n he _did!_ Dey warn’t gwyne to mix you up in it.Mars Buck he loaded up his gun en ’lowed he’s gwyne to fetch home a Shepherdson or bust. Well, dey’ll be plenty un ’m dah, I reck’n, en you bet you he’ll fetch one ef he gits a chanst.”
I took up the river road as hard as I could put.By-and-by I begin to hear guns a good ways off.When I come in sight of the log store and the woodpile where the steamboats lands, I worked along under the trees and brush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into the forks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. There was a wood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first I was going to hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier I didn’t.
There was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the open place before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the steamboat landing; but they couldn’t come it. Every time one of them showed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. The two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch both ways.
By-and-by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling.They started riding towards the store;then up gets one of the boys,draws a steady bead over the wood-rank,and drops one of them out of his saddle.All the men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the run. They got half way to the tree I was in before the men noticed. Then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out after them. They gained on the boys, but it didn’t do no good, the boys had too good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree, and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again. One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young chap about nineteen years old.
The men ripped around awhile, and then rode away.As soon as they was out of sight I sung out to Buck and told him.He didn’t know what to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first.He was awful surprised.He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the men come in sight again; said they was up to some devilment or other—wouldn’t be gone long. I wished I was out of that tree, but I dasn’t come down. Buck begun to cry and rip, and ’lowed that him and his cousin Joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for this day yet. He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two or three of the enemy. Said the Shepherdsons laid for them in ambush. Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their relations—the Shepherdsons was too strong for them. I asked him what was become of young Harney and Miss Sophia. He said they’d got across the river and was safe. I was glad of that; but the way Buck did take on because he didn’t manage to kill Harney that day he shot at him—I hain’t ever heard anything like it.