湯姆歷險(xiǎn)記Chapter 29 哈克靜心守夜，寡婦幸免遭難

Chapter 29
      
      
        
            
      
   
    THE first thing Tom heard on Friday morning was a glad piece of news -- Judge
    Thatcher's family had come back to town the night before. Both Injun Joe and the treasure
    sunk into secondary importance for a moment, and Becky took the chief place in the boy's
    interest. He saw her and they had an exhausting good time playing "hi-spy" and
    "gully-keeper" with a crowd of their schoolmates. The day was completed and
    crowned in a peculiarly satisfactory way: Becky teased her mother to appoint the next day
    for the long-promised and long-delayed picnic, and she consented. The child's delight was
    boundless; and Tom's not more moderate. The invitations were sent out before sunset, and
    straightway the young folks of the village were thrown into a fever of preparation and
    pleasurable anticipation. Tom's excitement enabled him to keep awake until a pretty late
    hour, and he had good hopes of hearing Huck's "maow," and of having his treasure
    to astonish Becky and the picnickers with, next day; but he was disappointed. No signal
    came that night.

    Morning came, eventually, and by ten or eleven o'clock a giddy and rollicking company
    were gathered at Judge Thatcher's, and everything was ready for a start. It was not the
    custom for elderly people to mar the picnics with their presence. The children were
    considered safe enough under the wings of a few young ladies of eighteen and a few young
    gentlemen of twenty-three or thereabouts. The old steam ferry-boat was chartered for the
    occasion; presently the gay throng filed up the main street laden with provision-baskets.
    Sid was sick and had to miss the fun; Mary remained at home to entertain him. The last
    thing Mrs. Thatcher said to Becky, was:

    "You'll not get back till late. Perhaps you'd better stay all night with some of
    the girls that live near the ferry-landing, child."

    "Then I'll stay with Susy Harper, mamma."

    "Very well. And mind and behave yourself and don't be any trouble."

    Presently, as they tripped along, Tom said to Becky:

    "Say -- I'll tell you what we'll do. 'Stead of going to Joe Harper's we'll climb
    right up the hill and stop at the Widow Douglas'. She'll have ice-cream! She has it most
    every day -- dead loads of it. And she'll be awful glad to have us."

    "Oh, that will be fun!"

    Then Becky reflected a moment and said:

    "But what will mamma say?"

    "How'll she ever know?"

    The girl turned the idea over in her mind, and said reluctantly:

    "I reckon it's wrong -- but --"

    "But shucks! Your mother won't know, and so what's the harm? All she wants is that
    you'll be safe; and I bet you she'd 'a' said go there if she'd 'a' thought of it. I know
    she would!"

    The Widow Douglas' splendid hospitality was a tempting bait. It and Tom's persuasions
    presently carried the day. So it was decided to say nothing anybody about the night's
    programme. Presently it occurred to Tom that maybe Huck might come this very night and
    give the signal. The thought took a deal of the spirit out of his anticipations. Still he
    could not bear to give up the fun at Widow Douglas'. And why should he give it up, he
    reasoned -- the signal did not come the night before, so why should it be any more likely
    to come to-night? The sure fun of the evening outweighed the uncertain treasure; and,
    boy-like, he determined to yield to the stronger inclination and not allow himself to
    think of the box of money another time that day.

    Three miles below town the ferryboat stopped at the mouth of a woody hollow and tied
    up. The crowd swarmed ashore and soon the forest distances and craggy heights echoed far
    and near with shoutings and laughter. All the different ways of getting hot and tired were
    gone through with, and by-and-by the rovers straggled back to camp fortified with
    responsible appetites, and then the destruction of the good things began. After the feast
    there was a refreshing season of rest and chat in the shade of spreading oaks. By-and-by
    somebody shouted:

    "Who's ready for the cave?"

    Everybody was. Bundles of candles were procured, and straightway there was a general
    scamper up the hill. The mouth of the cave was up the hillside -- an opening shaped like a
    letter A. Its massive oaken door stood unbarred. Within was a small chamber, chilly as an
    ice-house, and walled by Nature with solid limestone that was dewy with a cold sweat. It
    was romantic and mysterious to stand here in the deep gloom and look out upon the green
    valley shining in the sun. But the impressiveness of the situation quickly wore off, and
    the romping began again. The moment a candle was lighted there was a general rush upon the
    owner of it; a struggle and a gallant defence followed, but the candle was soon knocked
    down or blown out, and then there was a glad clamor of laughter and a new chase. But all
    things have an end. By-and-by the procession went filing down the steep descent of the
    main avenue, the flickering rank of lights dimly revealing the lofty walls of rock almost
    to their point of junction sixty feet overhead. This main avenue was not more than eight
    or ten feet wide. Every few steps other lofty and still narrower crevices branched from it
    on either hand -- for McDougal's cave was but a vast labyrinth of crooked aisles that ran
    into each other and out again and led nowhere. It was said that one might wander days and
    nights together through its intricate tangle of rifts and chasms, and never find the end
    of the cave; and that he might go down, and down, and still down, into the earth, and it
    was just the same -- labyrinth under labyrinth, and no end to any of them. No man
    "knew" the cave. That was an impossible thing. Most of the young men knew a
    portion of it, and it was not customary to venture much beyond this known portion. Tom
    Sawyer knew as much of the cave as any one.

    The procession moved along the main avenue some three-quarters of a mile, and then
    groups and couples began to slip aside into branch avenues, fly along the dismal
    corridors, and take each other by surprise at points where the corridors joined again.
    Parties were able to elude each other for the space of half an hour without going beyond
    the "known" ground.

    By-and-by, one group after another came straggling back to the mouth of the cave,
    panting, hilarious, smeared from head to foot with tallow drippings, daubed with clay, and
    entirely delighted with the success of the day. Then they were astonished to find that
    they had been taking no note of time and that night was about at hand. The clanging bell
    had been calling for half an hour. However, this sort of close to the day's adventures was
    romantic and therefore satisfactory. When the ferryboat with her wild freight pushed into
    the stream, nobody cared sixpence for the wasted time but the captain of the craft.

    Huck was already upon his watch when the ferry-boat's lights went glinting past the
    wharf. He heard no noise on board, for the young people were as subdued and still as
    people usually are who are nearly tired to death. He wondered what boat it was, and why
    she did not stop at the wharf -- and then he dropped her out of his mind and put his
    attention upon his business. The night was growing cloudy and dark. Ten o'clock came, and
    the noise of vehicles ceased, scattered lights began to wink out, all straggling
    foot-passengers disappeared, the village betook itself to its slumbers and left the small
    watcher alone with the silence and the ghosts. Eleven o'clock came, and the tavern lights
    were put out; darkness everywhere, now. Huck waited what seemed a weary long time, but
    nothing happened. His faith was weakening. Was there any use? Was there really any use?
    Why not give it up and turn in?

    A noise fell upon his ear. He was all attention in an instant. The alley door closed
    softly. He sprang to the corner of the brick store. The next moment two men brushed by
    him, and one seemed to have something under his arm. It must be that box! So they were
    going to remove the treasure. Why call Tom now? It would be absurd -- the men would get
    away with the box and never be found again. No, he would stick to their wake and follow
    them; he would trust to the darkness for security from discovery. So communing with
    himself, Huck stepped out and glided along behind the men, cat-like, with bare feet,
    allowing them to keep just far enough ahead not to be invisible.

    They moved up the river street three blocks, then turned to the left up a cross-street.
    They went straight ahead, then, until they came to the path that led up Cardiff Hill; this
    they took. They passed by the old Welshman's house, half-way up the hill, without
    hesitating, and still climbed upward. Good, thought Huck, they will bury it in the old
    quarry. But they never stopped at the quarry. They passed on, up the summit. They plunged
    into the narrow path between the tall sumach bushes, and were at once hidden in the gloom.
    Huck closed up and shortened his distance, now, for they would never be able to see him.
    He trotted along awhile; then slackened his pace, fearing he was gaining too fast; moved
    on a piece, then stopped altogether; listened; no sound; none, save that he seemed to hear
    the beating of his own heart. The hooting of an owl came over the hill -- ominous sound!
    But no footsteps. Heavens, was everything lost! He was about to spring with winged feet,
    when a man cleared his throat not four feet from him! Huck's heart shot into his throat,
    but he swallowed it again; and then he stood there shaking as if a dozen agues had taken
    charge of him at once, and so weak that he thought he must surely fall to the ground. He
    knew where he was. He knew he was within five steps of the stile leading into Widow
    Douglas' grounds. Very well, he thought, let them bury it there; it won't be hard to find.

    Now there was a voice -- a very low voice -- Injun Joe's:

    "Damn her, maybe she's got company -- there's lights, late as it is."

    "I can't see any."

    This was that stranger's voice -- the stranger of the haunted house. A deadly chill
    went to Huck's heart -- this, then, was the "revenge" job! His thought was, to
    fly. Then he remembered that the Widow Douglas had been kind to him more than once, and
    maybe these men were going to murder her. He wished he dared venture to warn her; but he
    knew he didn't dare -- they might come and catch him. He thought all this and more in the
    moment that elapsed between the stranger's remark and Injun Joe's next -- which was --

    "Because the bush is in your way. Now -- this way -- now you see, don't you?"

    "Yes. Well, there IS company there, I reckon. Better give it up."

    "Give it up, and I just leaving this country forever! Give it up and maybe never
    have another chance. I tell you again, as I've told you before, I don't care for her swag
    -- you may have it. But her husband was rough on me -- many times he was rough on me --
    and mainly he was the justice of the peace that jugged me for a vagrant. And that ain't
    all. It ain't a millionth part of it! He had me horsewhipped! -- horsewhipped in front of
    the jail, like a nigger! -- with all the town looking on! horsewhipped! -- do you
    understand? He took advantage of me and died. But I'll take it out of her."

    "Oh, don't kill her! Don't do that!"

    "Kill? Who said anything about killing? I would kill him if he was here; but not
    her. When you want to get revenge on a woman you don't kill her -- bosh! you go for her
    looks. You slit her nostrils -- you notch her ears like a sow!"

    "By God, that's --"

    "Keep your opinion to yourself! It will be safest for you. I'll tie her to the
    bed. If she bleeds to death, is that my fault? I'll not cry, if she does. My friend,
    you'll help me in this thing -- for my sake -- that's why you're here -- I mightn't be
    able alone. If you flinch, I'll kill you. Do you understand that? And if I have to kill
    you, I'll kill her -- and then I reckon nobody'll ever know much about who done this
    business."

    "Well, if it's got to be done, let's get at it. The quicker the better -- I'm all
    in a shiver."

    "Do it now? And company there? Look here -- I'll get suspicious of you, first
    thing you know. No -- we'll wait till the lights are out -- there's no hurry."

    Huck felt that a silence was going to ensue -- a thing still more awful than any amount
    of murderous talk; so he held his breath and stepped gingerly back; planted his foot
    carefully and firmly, after balancing, one-legged, in a precarious way and almost toppling
    over, first on one side and then on the other. He took another step back, with the same
    elaboration and the same risks; then another and another, and -- a twig snapped under his
    foot! His breath stopped and he listened. There was no sound -- the stillness was perfect.
    His gratitude was measureless. Now he turned in his tracks, between the walls of sumach
    bushes -- turned himself as carefully as if he were a ship -- and then stepped quickly but
    cautiously along. When he emerged at the quarry he felt secure, and so he picked up his
    nimble heels and flew. Down, down he sped, till he reached the Welshman's. He banged at
    the door, and presently the heads of the old man and his two stalwart sons were thrust
    from windows.

    "What's the row there? Who's banging? What do you want?"

    "Let me in -- quick! I'll tell everything."

    "Why, who are you?"

    "Huckleberry Finn -- quick, let me in!"

    "Huckleberry Finn, indeed! It ain't a name to open many doors, I judge! But let
    him in, lads, and let's see what's the trouble."

    "Please don't ever tell I told you," were Huck's first words when he got in.
    "Please don't -- I'd be killed, sure -- but the widow's been good friends to me
    sometimes, and I want to tell -- I will tell if you'll promise you won't ever say it was
    me."

    "By George, he has got something to tell, or he wouldn't act so!" exclaimed
    the old man; "out with it and nobody here'll ever tell, lad."

    Three minutes later the old man and his sons, well armed, were up the hill, and just
    entering the sumach path on tiptoe, their weapons in their hands. Huck accompanied them no
    further. He hid behind a great bowlder and fell to listening. There was a lagging, anxious
    silence, and then all of a sudden there was an explosion of firearms and a cry.

    Huck waited for no particulars. He sprang away and sped down the hill as fast as his
    legs could carry him.