Mitch and I had dug under pretty near every dead limb in Montgomery's
woods and hadn't found a trace of any treasure. We began in April when
the winds sang as they did in March. There were blackbirds around then
and that bird that sings "spring day." Mitch's father knew the names of
all the birds; but outside of crows, robins, jay-birds and things like
that we didn't know 'em--neither Mitch nor I. We didn't care, for what's
the use of knowing names of things? You can't pronounce 'em anyway, and
I've noticed people get queer studying such things, like Homer Jones who
gathered weeds and flowers and pinned long names on 'em.
When we began to dig, the sap was flowing out of the maple trees. And
once George Montgomery saw us digging. He had come over to empty his
buckets of sap to make some maple sugar. And he said, "What are you boys
doing?" and laughed and said--"Don't bother my buckets. If you want a
taste of sap take it, but don't get the buckets askew so they will
spill."
Mitch called back to him, "What do you say, George, if we find a
tea-kettle of money buried here sommers, buried by old Nancy Allen?" And
George said, "Take it along--but you'll dig the whole world up before
you do."
You see Mitch was foolin' because we didn't think Nancy Allen had left
her money there, if she had any. But Mitch didn't want to say that we
was followin' the direction of Tom Sawyer for treasure. We kept the book
hid under a log, and every now and then would take it out and read it to
see if we missed any of the points. If we had told George Montgomery
what we was doin', he would have laughed at us and told everybody, and
had the whole town laughin' at us. Because we knew nobody but us had any
faith in such things. But Mitch had faith and so had I. We agreed that
there was treasure to be found, and if we worked we believed we could
get it.
[Illustration: George Montgomery]
It was a good thing that Nancy Allen died that winter and that Mitch
said that, because it threw George off. Nobody believed in Tom Sawyer as
a real person but us--we did. We knew he was real. Mitch was going to
write a letter to him and send it to Hannibal, Missouri, for Mitch's dad
said there was no town of St. Petersburg in Missouri--and that Mark
Twain had used that name as a blind.
And just about then this here Nancy Allen disappeared. She was a funny
little woman about as big as a 'leven year old girl, and wore a shawl
around her head, and carried a cane and smoked a pipe. She allus came to
town with Old Bender and his wife which was a friend or somethin' of
Nancy, and a boy with a mouth as big as a colt's and as trembly, which
was Old Bender's boy. They all lived together near town, and used to
come in, first Old Bender, then his wife, then Nancy, then this boy
walkin' in file, and they'd go to the grocery store and set around all
day, and go home with bacon, tobacco and things.
[Illustration: The Bender Family]
I said Nancy disappeared in the winter. But there was snow and they
didn't come to town--so just when she died nobody knows. But as I said,
Mitch and I found her body right near a creek in Montgomery's woods in
April. The snow was gone, and there she lay, what was left of her,
wrapped up in her shawl. And no one knew how she got there or anything
about it.
Mitch was the most curious boy you ever saw. He had read sommers about
a singing bone--that if you take the bone of a person that has died like
this, and hollow it out so as to make it into kind of a horn, and blow
through it, a voice will come out of it and tell you how the person died
and where the money is that's left and everything. So when we found her,
Mitch was just about to take her arm bone which was stickin' through her
shawl to make a horn of when I says, "Don't, Mitch, you'll get into
trouble. That body must lie right there 'till the Corner comes." You see
my father was States Attorney and I'd heard him say that. So we left
Nancy just as she was and ran into town. I told my father, and the
Corner went out and took us along, and we told what we knew. Then they
took her body into town and got a jury and Mitch and I told about it,
and our names were printed in the paper.
There was a story around that Nancy Allen was a miser, and of course
they wondered how she died. And my pa got Old Bender in and
cross-questioned him a whole day, with Mitch and me hid on top of a
closet in the room. But Old Bender stuck to his story, that Nancy had
started out to visit one of the Watkinses near Montgomery's woods, and
probably got cold, or fainted or somethin'. Anyway, they let Old Bender
go, and after that he came into town walkin' first, then his wife, then
their boy, and Nancy gone.
They didn't find any money or anything. But George Montgomery was threw
clean off when Mitch said we're diggin' for Nancy's treasure. For Mitch
went on and said: "What was she doin' here in the woods? Goin' to see
the Watkinses? That's pretty thin. She was here to get her money, that's
what it was. And she fainted and froze to death. It's as plain as day.
My pa thinks so, and that ain't all, the States Attorney thinks so too,
doesn't he, Skeeters?" Of course I had to say yes, though I'd never
heard my pa say any such thing. George left us and went about his
buckets, and we went on diggin'. We saw George walk away and climb the
rail fence and disappear. Then Mitch flung down his spade and sat on the
log where we had "Tom Sawyer" hid and began to talk.
"Skeeters," he said, "just look how everything tallies. Tom's town was
St. Petersburg, and ours here is Petersburg. His town was on a river. So
is this town. We ain't got no Injun Joe, but how about Doc Lyon? Ain't
he just as mysterious and dangerous as Injun Joe? Then if these woods
don't look just like the woods Tom and Huck dug in, I'll eat my hat.
Look here!" Mitch pulled the book out and showed me, and sure enough
they were alike. "Then look at Old Taylor, the school teacher--ain't he
the livin' image of Tom's teacher? And our schoolhouses look alike. And
we ain't got any Aunt Polly, but look at your grandmother--she's the
livin' image of Aunt Polly and just like her. Things can't be just
alike, if they was, they wouldn't be two things, but only one. And I can
go through this town and pick out every character. I've thought it over.
The Welshman--that's George Montgomery's father. Nigger Jim--how about
Nigger Dick? He's older and drinks, but you must expect some
differences. And Mary--my sister Anne is just the same. Muff Potter--how
about Joe Pink?--allus in trouble and in jail and looks like Muff. And
the Sunday School's just the same, superintendent and all. And the
circus comes to town just as it did in Tom's town. And the County
Judge--no difference."
"Yes, but," I said, "your girl ain't the daughter of the County Judge
like Becky Thatcher was. And her name is Zueline and that sounds like
something beautiful not belonging to any town--but to some place I keep
dreaming about."
"Skeeters," said Mitch, "you make me mad sometimes. As I told you, it
can't be all alike. Now there's you--you ain't any more like Huckleberry
Finn than the Sunday School superintendent is, not sayin' that you're
him, for you're not. But it can't be all alike. I only say when it goes
this far that it means something. And while I think I'm just like Tom
Sawyer, for I can do everything he did, swim, fight, fish and hook
sugar, and read detective stories, you're not Huck, and because you're
not, it will be different in the end. We'll go along up to a certain
point, and then it will be you, maybe, that'll give it a different turn.
Maybe we'll get bigger treasure or somethin' better."
"I don't want no better luck than Tom and Huck had," said I. "But I
believe it will be different, for you're different from Tom, Mitch. For
one thing, you've read different things: The Arabian Nights, and Grimm's
Stories, and there's your father who's a preacher and all your sisters
and your mother who's so good natured and fat. These things will count
too. So I say, if I'm not Huck, you're not Tom, though we can go on for
treasure, and I see your argument mostly and believe in it."
Mitch grew awful serious and was still for a long while. Finally he
said: "Skeeters, I just live Tom Sawyer and dream about him. I don't
seem to think of anything else--and somehow I act him, and before I die,
I mean to see him. Yes, sir, this very summer you and I, if you're
game, will look on Tom Sawyer's face and take him by the hand."
"Why, Mitch," I said, "how can you do it? It must be more'n a hundred
miles from here to where Tom lives."
"You bet it is," said Mitch. "It's near two hundred miles. I looked it
up. But it's as easy as pie to get there. Look here--we can bum our way
or walk to Havaner--then we can get a job on a steamboat and go to St.
Louis--then we can bum or walk our way to Hannibal--and some fine
mornin' you and I will be standin' on the shore of the Mississippi--and
there'll be Tom and Huck, and you and me. And I'll say, 'Tom Sawyer, I'm
Mitch Miller, and this here is Skeeters Kirby.' How's that for fun? Just
think of it. I dream about this every night. And we'll strip and go
swimmin', and fish and all go up to McDougal's Cave. And what would you
say if we persuaded them to come back with us for a visit? Tom and Huck,
you and me all walkin' arm in arm down the streets here? Why, the town'd
go wild. And we'd go out to your grandmother's and stay all summer and
just roll in pie and cake and good things--and ride horses, and fly
kites. My--I just can't wait!"
So Mitch went on this way for quite a spell and then he switched and
said: "Skeeters, what do you dream about?" "Flyin'," says I. "No!" said
Mitch. "Do you really?" "As sure as you're livin'," I says. "Well, ain't
that funny," said Mitch, "so do I. But how do you do it, with wings or
how?" "No," I says, "I seem to reach up my hands and pull myself up, by
rounds on a ladder, ropes or somethin'; and I'm always trying to get
away from somethin'--like bears or sometimes it's a lion. But pa says
it means I'm an aspirin' nature and born to pull up in the world. But,"
says I to Mitch, "do you ever dream of the Judgment Day?"
[Illustration: The Judgment Day]
"Do I?" says Mitch. "You can better believe I do--and that's where my
flyin' comes in, only I drift like one of these here prairie chickens
about to light--I seem to be goin' down. And it was just last night I
dreamed of the Judgment Day. First everything was mixed: here was Injun
Joe and Doc Lyon, Joe Pink and Muff Potter, Aunt Polly and your
grandma--everybody in these two towns all together. And Tom Sawyer, Huck
Finn, Joe Harper, Becky, Zueline, and your folks and mine--all of us was
together. And then suddenly we seemed to be close to Bucky Gum's
pasture; the well became a kind of pipe stuck up out of the ground and
began to spout fire; and there was a great light in the sky and I saw
Jesus coming down out of the sky, and there was thunder. Then I began to
fly--drift down, and all of a sudden, kerplunk, I fell out of bed. And
pa says--'Hey, Mitch, what's the matter?' 'It's the Judgment Day,' I
says. 'Judgment nothin', says pa--'You've fallen out of bed. Get back in
bed and go to sleep--you were hollerin' like an Indian.' Then I heard
ma say to pa after a bit, 'Pa, you oughtn't to read so much of the Bible
before the children. It makes 'em nervous.' Now, Skeeters, what do you
dream about the Judgment Day?"
[Illustration: Whipping Kit O'Brien]
I was just about to tell him when I heard some one comin'. I looked up.
It was Kit O'Brien and Mike Kelly comin' from the slaughter house. They
had some liver and a bladder; and before we could square around Kit
O'Brien came up and knocked "Tom Sawyer" out of Mitch's hand. And then
it began. These boys belonged to a gang over the hill back of where, old
Moody lived, and we was always fightin'. Mitch and Kit had fit
before--and so had Mike and me. Mike licked me once and I licked him
once. But Mitch had given Kit an awful lickin' with no come back. So now
he thought his chance had come with Mike to help after disposin' of me.
So what did they do, both of 'em, but go quick for Mitch, thinkin', I
guess, to get rid of him and then lick me.
"No, you don't," says I; and I grabbed both of Mike's arms with my arms
and held him out for to wrestle. I was awful strong in the back and arms
and rangy, and nobody could trip me, and I could back up until I got a
feller comin' good and then give a swing and land him. So there we was
at it--I holdin' Mike, and Mitch and Kit squared off boxin' like mad. I
gave Mike the swing and tumbled him, and then lay on him and held him
down. But it was awful hard and he was gradually gettin' away from me,
and strikin' me in the chest and sometimes in the face. He had big fists
and an awful punch. Meantime I was watchin' Mitch and Kit as much as I
could and neither of 'em seemed to have much the best of it, when all of
a sudden I heard a voice say, "Stop that," and there was Henry Hill, the
town marshal, drivin' a lot of kids ahead of him. Well, we all stopped
fightin'. And what do you suppose? Jerry Sharp who had a garden near
Fillmore Creek had complained about the boys goin' in swimmin' where his
girls settin' out tomato plants could see. So the marshal had come down
and arrested 'em and was drivin' 'em into town.
He just added Mitch and me and Kit and Mike to the crowd and took us all
in. When we got to the calaboose, he unlocked the door and started to
put us in. Then he laughed and said, "Now go home." And so we hustled
away.