It warn't more'n a day or two after this that my pa said that Old
Bender's house had burned down the night before, and he thought maybe
the old feller had set it afire. You see the story still clung about
Nancy Allen, and maybe he'd killed her, and my pa bein' the States
Attorney started to look into it.
Mitch and me and Little Billie were sittin' on the steps listenin' to
Mitch readin' "Tom Sawyer," and my sister was there too. She always
seemed in the way somehow, because she looked so steady with big eyes
and every now and then would ask questions that Mitch couldn't answer or
no one. While we was sittin' there my pa drove up in a rig, and said he
was drivin' out to Bender's house that was burned, and wanted ma to go.
She couldn't, and so I spoke up and asked him to take Mitch and me, and
he said get in. Then Little Billie began to cry to go--but pa said no,
and I did. But when we got on the way, I saw tears in Mitch's eyes, and
he said, "I'll never go again and leave Little Billie. It ain't fair and
I can't stand it." Mitch was the tenderest hearted boy you ever see.
By and by we got out there, and sure enough the house was burned down,
all fallen into the cellar. And Old Bender was pokin' around, and his
wife and the boy with the big mouth. Nigger Dick was there cleanin'
things away. My pa had sent him out to do it. We began to fuss around
too and pa was askin' Old Bender how the fire started and all that.
[Illustration: Nigger Dick]
Well, sir, what do you suppose? I got down in the cellar and began to
scrape around and kick ashes and sticks around; and all at once I struck
iron or something, and I scraped off the ashes and things and there was
a soap kettle turned upside down, and sunk like in the dirt floor of the
cellar. I leaned down and tugged and pulled it up and inside was a lot
of cans, four or five, and inside the cans the greatest lot of money you
ever see. Great big copper coins and silver dollars and paper dollars.
Well, I was just paralyzed. I couldn't believe my eyes. Struck it, I
says to myself--struck it without any more trouble or worry, and no need
to see Tom Sawyer and find out how to find treasure. Here it was before
my eyes. After a bit I called out, "O, Mitch"--but he was around sommers
and didn't come till I called again. Then he peeked over into the cellar
and I just pointed and couldn't speak. Mitch slid down into the cellar
and bent over lookin' at the money, and turned to me and said, "Well,
Skeeters, this is all right for you--but not for me. You found it, and I
didn't. You've won out, but I've got to go on and find some for my own
self."
[Illustration: Struck It, I Says]
"Not on your life," says I. "What's mine is yours. And besides we came
here together--we've been working together; if we hadn't, you wouldn't
have been here, and I wouldn't. It's all because we've been chums and
huntin' together--and half of this is yours, just the same as half of it
would be mine if you'd happened to get in the cellar first."
Just then Mitch found a piece of paper with Nancy Allen written on it,
and a little bundle which he unwrapped and found inside a breast pin
with the initials N. A. on it, which showed that the money was Nancy
Allen's, saved from sellin' rags and paper. For we remembered when she
used to go about with a gunny sack pickin' up old rags, bottles and
things.
I was just puttin' the cans into the kettle when pa came up and saw me,
and says, "What you got?" Then he saw what it was. And Nigger Dick came
up and says, "Bless my soul!" And pa took the kettle up on the ground
and began to count the money. "That's mine," I said to pa; but he didn't
notice me, just went on countin' till he found out there was about
$2000.00. Then he said, "This money goes to the county. Nancy Allen
didn't have any relatives, and it goes to the county." Well, I began to
perk up and I said, "Ain't Mrs. Bender her sister--and if it ain't mine
for findin' it, why don't it go to her sister?" Pa said: "No, Mrs.
Bender ain't her sister, and I know she didn't have any relatives.
Anyway, we'll advertise and if no relatives claim the money, it goes to
the county."
I began to sniffle. And Mitch says: "Tell me, then, how Tom Sawyer and
Huck Finn got to keep what they found. Injun Joe had no relatives, and
Judge Thatcher knew the law, or was supposed to; and why didn't that
money go to the county?"
"Why, Mitch," said pa, "don't you know that's just a story? You don't
take that for true. You mustn't let a yarn like that get into your head
and fix your ideas about things. And it's a good lesson to both of you.
You'll find when you grow up that there'll be lots of prizes that are
just about to fall in your hands when some superior right takes 'em
away. And you'll find that everything that happens in boyhood and on the
school yard happens when you grow up, only on a bigger scale, and hurts
more. And you'll see that everything in life when you're grown is just a
repetition of what happens on the school yard--friendship, games,
battles, politics, everything."
By this time Nigger Dick had come up again and he said he'd found some
footprints coming to and going away from the house. It had rained the
night before and the marks had staid. So pa got Old Bender and made him
walk and compared the prints, but they wasn't the same. And pa said that
was a clew. For Old Bender claimed he woke up and found the house on
fire. So they took a box and turned it upside down over some of the
prints and then pa took the kettle and put it in the rig, and Old Bender
came up and said that he knew Nancy Allen had some money, but he didn't
know where she kept it. Then we drove away.
Pa was quiet, like he was thinkin'. But I could see Mitch was mad, not
that he expected any of the money, but because he wanted me to have it
and thought I deserved it.
We drove past the Old Salem mill comin' home. We'd fished there lots of
times, Mitch and I--not this summer yet, but other summers. We used to
sit on the dam and fish. And pa hadn't hardly said a word till we came
to the mill. Then he said, "If you boys are lookin' for treasure, why
don't you come here?" He knew we'd been diggin' in Montgomery's woods,
but didn't say nothin'. Then Mitch says, "Where would you dig--along
the shore or where? Or is there a cave around here?" Pa said "whoa" and
stopped the horses. He said, "Look up there. Don't that look like
Cardiff's hill in 'Tom Sawyer'?" "Well, it does," said Mitch.
Here was a high hill hanging right over the road and about twict as high
as the mill, or maybe more, with a road winding up to the top. And pa
says: "More treasure was found on the top of that hill than anywhere in
the world, and who knows, maybe some is left there yet. Now I'm going to
take Nancy Allen's money and put it in my vault in the court house. You
boys can't have it. It's against the law. But I promise you that any
treasure you find here, I'll let you keep."
I felt better now, and Mitch's eyes were standin' out of his head. Then
pa said, "Get up" to the horse, and we drove into Petersburg about a
mile. Mitch tried to get pa to say where it was best to dig; but pa
said: "You boys go out there--see what you can find, dig around too, if
you want to, and tell me what you find."
We got into town after a while and pa took the kettle with all the cans
out of the rig and we followed him into his office and saw him put 'em
into the vault and close the door and turn the knob. It was worse than
buryin' a pet dog to see this. It took away our hopes. But there was no
help for it. So we walked out and Mitch said, "If you'll come up to
supper, I'll come back to your house and stay all night." "That's a go,"
I said, "And besides to-morrow is Saturday, and you promised to help me
make garden, if I'd help you." And Mitch said all right, and so we went
to his house.
The Miller family was awful big, five girls and Mitch, and all the
healthiest children you ever saw, fat and rosy and full of fun; and we
had the best times there you ever knew of. And Mr. Miller was always
reading to Mrs. Miller, with all the children racin' through the house
and laughin'. It made no difference--he read right on; but sometimes
Mrs. Miller would look up from her sewin' and say, "Read that over,
Robert, I lost that," and that would be when the children made such a
noise you couldn't hear nothin'. So when we got to the house, there was
Mr. Miller, readin' English history to Mrs. Miller, and the children
already playin' blind man's buff, and makin' a terrible noise, though it
was before supper. Zueline Hasson had come over and was goin' to stay to
supper too. She was Angela Miller's friend besides bein' Mitch's
sweetheart. You ought to have seen Mitch look when he saw Zueline. He
just stood a minute like he was lookin' at an angel he was afraid of.
Pretty soon Mrs. Miller said she had to have a bucket of water, and
Mitch went to pump it, and Zueline went with him. The sun was down now,
but it was bright day, and the robins were singin' their heads off, and
the air smelt of grass and flowers. I stood at the kitchen window and
watched Mitch pump a cup of water for Zueline and hand it to her. And I
knew what it meant; for Mitch had told me that he couldn't be near her
without a lump comin' into his throat. He said it was like religion, for
Mitch had got religion too, and he'd seen lots of people get it, and he
knew what it was. And as for Zueline, she thought Mitch was the finest
boy in town, which he was.
By and by we set down to supper. There was nine of us, and the awfullest
gigglin' and talkin' you ever heard, even before Mr. Miller had hardly
finished sayin' grace. We had oatmeal and eggs and biscuits and jam and
milk; and Mr. Miller was talkin' English history to Mrs. Miller, no more
disturbed by us children than if we wasn't there. After that we played
blind man's buff. And every time Mitch could find Zueline, and trace her
about the room, though she didn't make any noise at all, and I knew he
couldn't see. It was almost spooky.
[Illustration: Mitch Pumps a Cup of Water]
Before we started to go Mitch said he had to feed Fanny, which was his
dog that he loved most to death.
Fanny was about to have some puppies, and he kept her in the barn. So we
made up a dish of things and went out to the barn, Mitch whistlin' all
the way and callin' to her. "That's funny," said Mitch. "She doesn't
answer. I wonder why." We got to the barn and opened the door and he
called again, but no Fanny. Then he went in and tramped around the
stalls but couldn't find her. So Mitch went back to the house for a
lantern and we looked all through the barn and finally all around the
barn. And pretty soon he saw her lyin' by the barn. She was dead--all
over blood. Somebody had run a great knife like a scythe or a
corn-cutter through her. And I never see a boy cry like Mitch did. He
ran back and told Zueline and she and all the children came out and most
of us cried. Then Mr. Miller came out, and Mrs. Miller, and Mr. Miller
said he believed Doc Lyon had done it--that he had seen him in the alley
in the afternoon. And Mitch said he'd kill Doc Lyon. And that scared
Mrs. Miller, and she said, "Keep away from him, Mitchie, he's gone crazy
over religion and he'll kill you." "It's a good day," said Mitch, "Skeet
loses his treasure, and my dog's killed--it's a good day." Then Zueline
took Mitch's hand and said, "Never mind, my pa's goin' to get me an
Ayrdale and I'll make him get two, one for you." So we threw a blanket
over Fanny and Mitch took Zueline home, and I went home and waited for
Mitch to come.
[Illustration: Crying for Fanny]
When he did come he was in better spirits. Zueline had cheered him up.
He said he worshiped her--that he'd kill any one who spoke a bad word
about her, and that he intended to protect her as long as he lived.
Then Mitch and me went to my house. It was now about ten o'clock, and pa
hadn't come home. There seemed to be a lot stirrin' someway, and ma
said, "Your father is very busy, and we'll all go to bed and not wait
for him. He has a key of his own." So pretty soon we were all in bed
with the lights out. And in about a minute we heard the latch in the
stairway door begin to rattle, and ma says, "What's that?" and called
down and said, "Is that you, pa?" No answer, just the rattlin'. Well, ma
had bolted the door on the inside, and whoever it was couldn't open the
door at once, but kept up the rattlin'. Then ma turned white and said,
"One of you boys must go for George Montgomery. I'll let one of you out
of the window and the other must stay here and help to fight." Mitch
said, "You go, Skeet, you're a faster runner than me, and maybe he'll
hop after you, whoever he is. I'll stay here and take a bed-slat and
brain him as he comes up the stairway." "No," says I, "I think it's more
dangerous to stay than to go--let's draw straws to see who goes."
Meantime ma took a sheet off the bed. We drew straws and the lot fell to
me to go. So ma let me down by the sheet. No sooner did I reach the
ground than bang went the dining room window and the man was after me.
I went over the first fence like a deer, the man after me. I ran up the
road, took the back fence of Montgomery's place, and ran up the arbor
way. I knew the land, the feller after me didn't. I lost him somewhere.
In a minute I was under George's window, calling. He was still up and he
came right down with his walking stick and a pistol, just as good
natured and comfortin' as he could be.
[Illustration: Catching Doc Lyon]
George went all through the house, but found no one. Then we went to the
barn, but found nothing. As we were coming back, I saw some one drop
down behind the raspberry bushes. George saw it too, and made for the
fellow. He fired at us. The bullet whizzed past Mitch's head, and we
dropped in the grass. But George went on, shooting as he went, and
finally got up to the fellow and struck his arm down as he was about to
fire. Then he grabbed him and took away his pistol. And there was Doc
Lyon!