Page 45 of 65

“Do they hop?”

“Hop?—your granny! No!”

“Well, what did you say they did, for?”

“Shucks, I only meant you’d see ’em—not hopping, of course—what do they want to hop for?—but I mean you’d just see ’em—scattered around, you know, in a kind of a general way. Like that old humpbacked Richard.”

“Richard? What’s his other name?”

“He didn’t have any other name. Kings don’t have any but a given name.”

“No?”

“But they don’t.”

“Well, if they like it, Tom, all right; but I don’t want to be a king and have only just a given name, like a nigger. But say—where you going to dig first?”

“Well, I don’t know. S’pose we tackle that old dead-limb tree on the hill t’other side of Still-House branch?”

“I’m agreed.”

So they got a crippled pick and a shovel, and set out on their three-mile tramp. They arrived hot and panting, and threw themselves down in the shade of a neighboring elm to rest and have a smoke.

“I like this,” said Tom.

“So do I.”

“Say, Huck, if we find a treasure here, what you going to do with your share?”

“Well, I’ll have pie and a glass of soda every day, and I’ll go to every circus that comes along. I bet I’ll have a gay time.”

“Well, ain’t you going to save any of it?”

“Save it? What for?”

“Why, so as to have something to live on, by and by.”

“Oh, that ain’t any use. Pap would come back to thish-yer town some day and get his claws on it if I didn’t hurry up, and I tell you he’d clean it out pretty quick. What you going to do with yourn, Tom?”

“I’m going to buy a new drum, and a sure’nough sword, and a red necktie and a bull pup, and get married.”

“Married!”

“That’s it.”

“Tom, you—why, you ain’t in your right mind.”

“Wait—you’ll see.”

“Well, that’s the foolishest thing you could do. Look at pap and my mother. Fight! Why, they used to fight all the time. I remember, mighty well.”

“That ain’t anything. The girl I’m going to marry won’t fight.”

“Tom, I reckon they’re all alike. They’ll all comb a body. Now you better think ’bout this awhile. I tell you you better. What’s the name of the gal?”

“It ain’t a gal at all—it’s a girl.”

“It’s all the same, I reckon; some says gal, some says girl—both’s right, like enough. Anyway, what’s her name, Tom?”

“I’ll tell you some time—not now.”

“All right—that’ll do. Only if you get married I’ll be more lonesomer than ever.”

“No you won’t. You’ll come and live with me. Now stir out of this and we’ll go to digging.”

They worked and sweated for half an hour. No result. They toiled another halfhour. Still no result. Huck said:

“Do they always bury it as deep as this?”

“Sometimes—not always. Not generally. I reckon we haven’t got the right place.”

So they chose a new spot and began again. The labor dragged a little, but still they made progress. They pegged away in silence for some time. Finally Huck leaned on his shovel, swabbed the beaded drops from his brow with his sleeve, and said:

“Where you going to dig next, after we get this one?”

“I reckon maybe we’ll tackle the old tree that’s over yonder on Cardiff Hill back of the widow’s.”

“I reckon that’ll be a good one. But won’t the widow take it away from us, Tom? It’s on her land.”

“She take it away! Maybe she’d like to try it once. Whoever finds one of these hid treasures, it belongs to him. It don’t make any difference whose land it’s on.”

That was satisfactory. The work went on. By and by Huck said:

“Blame it, we must be in the wrong place again. What do you think?”

“It is mighty curious, Huck. I don’t understand it. Sometimes witches interfere. I reckon maybe that’s what’s the trouble now.”

“Shucks! Witches ain’t got no power in the daytime.”

“Well, that’s so. I didn’t think of that. Oh, I know what the matter is! What a blamed lot of fools we are! You got to find out where the shadow of the limb falls at midnight, and that’s where you dig!”

“Then consound it, we’ve fooled away all this work for nothing. Now hang it all, we got to come back in the night. It’s an awful long way. Can you get out?”

“I bet I will. We’ve got to do it tonight, too, because if somebody sees these holes they’ll know in a minute what’s here and they’ll go for it.”

“Well, I’ll come around and maow tonight.”

“All right. Let’s hide the tools in the bushes.”

The boys were there that night, about the appointed time. They sat in the shadow waiting. It was a lonely place, and an hour made solemn by old traditions. Spirits whispered in the rustling leaves, ghosts lurked in the murky nooks, the deep baying of a hound floated up out of the distance, an owl answered with his sepulchral note. The boys were subdued by these solemnities, and talked little. By and by they judged that twelve had come; they marked where the shadow fell, and began to dig. Their hopes commenced to rise. Their interest grew stronger, and their industry kept pace with it. The hole deepened and still deepened, but every time their hearts jumped to hear the pick strike upon something, they only suffered a new disappointment. It was only a stone or a chunk. At last Tom said: