Well, he had. I seen how it’s possible to take things and twist them into whatever shape you want and see them another way entirely that don’t have no resemblance to the truth. But there ain’t no real wickedness in McSween so I just nodded, then back we went to the wagons and pulled out of Trask’s field and onto the road again, heading west.
8
Suspicioned?—The Dead Return—The Arm of the Law—Unsatisfied Customers—Grace to the Rescue—The Plan Misfires
Four days we traveled, and I got more and more worried over Mordecai. Every time I turned around there he was, just staring. He must of suspicioned about me being a murderer and he’s just waiting to be sure on it, then he’ll turn me in. Jim says maybe we should light out and be rid of the McSweens, but we needed them for disguise at least until St. Joe, so we had to tolerate things only it warn’t easy.
There was good parts too, plenty to eat and a dry place to sleep but mainly Grace. She stuck to me on account of being the youngest, I reckon. Sometimes she rode on the tent wagon with Jim and me and mostly we had a grand time of it with plenty of laughing, but there’s times she went quiet and sad, which made me feel the same. She’s a puzzlement, Grace.
The next town was called Torrence, and it’s the same as Slocombe. Everywhere in Missouri is the same. This time we set up the tent in a clearing just off the road half a mile from town, and when it got done McSween sent me into town with posters and nails same as before with directions penciled on the bottoms. The meeting won’t be till tomorrow night so everyone in Torrence has got plenty of time to read them.
I hitched my mule in the main street and started papering the town, and whenever I come across a Huck Finn wanted poster I peeled it off the wall or else covered it with one of McSween’s. It was easy chores and I took my time on it.
Along toward dusk I seen another of them Huck Finn posters across the street but there’s someone stood in front of it reading, so I had to cool my heels till he left. I sat myself in an alley and waited. That man was an uncommon slow reader. He just stood and stood looking at it, and I sat and sat looking at his back. He’s thin and dirty looking from behind, and he pulled a bottle from his pocket and swigged every once in a while, which proberly never helped with the reading. Then he’s done with it and turns away, and if I warn’t already sat down I would of done, because it’s Pap!
He walked off along the sidewalk and turned a corner and I hared along after him and peeked around. There he is, wobbling some, and I followed him to a saloon which he went inside of. Now, some saloons will let a boy in and some won’t. I never wanted to bring notice on myself so I waited till I seen a boy younger than me go in with a bucket, then a minute later he come out again with it full of beer, proberly fetching it for someone that’s too drunk to fetch it for himself. In I went with my hat pulled down, sneaking peeks under the brim, and it never took long to pick out Pap. He’s over at the bar looking like he growed out of the floor, and he’s jawing with a big man dirty like himself and with a beard. It’s crowded in there so I snuck up close without they seen me, just a few foot away. I kept my eyes on a spittoon and listened hard. The beard says:
“You oughter be grateful. It means they ain’t looking for you.”
“He’s still my own boy,” says Pap. “It ain’t right that someone young as him is on the run.”
“Well, it’s happened now. There ain’t a thing you can do, not unless you want to turn us both in to take the blame, but I reckon you won’t do it,” he sneers.
Pap squirmed some then took a drink and says:
“They proberly won’t catch him anyway. He’s real smart for a young’un, just like his old Pap.”
It give me a thrill to hear Pap say that, even if he’s the reason I’m a wanted man. He never give me praise when we was together, not once. But then I figured he’s only saying it to cover up his guiltiness, and I’m back to normal. If I ever get catched, you can bet Pap won’t turn himself in and say he done the murders. He ain’t that kind. Now the beard is talking again and I leaned in close to hear it over the other talk and laughing going on around.
“He better be smarter than that,” he says. “You ain’t so all-fired clever. Who was it says there’s a thousand dollars and more in that safe, and it turns out there ain’t no safe at all? It warn’t me, so don’t give me no big talk about how smart you reckon you are.”
“Hell and damnation, Morg,” whines Pap. “It was just bad luck. The whole town always figured he had a safe in there.”
They’re talking about the judge’s office, and I see now that Pap warn’t alone when he done it, which I never suspicioned before. Morg just sneered some more and sunk his nose in his glass then says:
“Come on. I ain’t about to stand here all day listening to you make excuses.”
They downed their drinks and left, and I followed along behind but not too close. They went down the street, Pap walking hard to keep up with Morg who just strode along like he owned the world. They went around a corner and I turned it too and run smack into the belly of a man with a big mustache and a sheriff’s badge on his lapel. I jump back and say:
“Pardon me, sir, I never looked where I was going.”
He stared at me and I started backing away slow, then he seen the bag over my shoulder with posters sticking out and says:
“Are you the boy that’s been hanging them posters around town?”
“Posters, sir?”
“The McSween family. You work for them, don’t you.”
“McSween?”
“Let’s see that bag you got there,” he says, and before I can spring away he’s reached over and pulled it off my shoulder and hauled out a handful of sheets.
“Let’s you and me take a little ride together, boy. You mounted?”
“I got a mule up the street,” says I, and that’s where we headed, then to the livery stable where the sheriff got his horse, and we rode out to the camp, side by side. It’s the longest ride I ever took. I’m already shook on account of seeing Pap, and now the sheriff is going to see Jim and ask how long we been with the McSweens and figure who we are. He hardly ever spoke on the way, just puffed on a cigar.
“Nice evening,” he says, casual.
“Yessir,” says I, and that’s all till we got to the camp. McSween come across in a rush soon as we got unmounted.
“This is an unexpected pleasure, Sheriff,” he says, showing all his teeth.
“No it ain’t,” says the sheriff, and grinds his cigar butt out under his boot. “It ain’t a pleasure at all, it’s business. Like as not you expected to find the same sheriff that was in office last year. Well, there’s been a vote since then and I’m the new man. They brung me in on the Legal and Decent ticket. I reckon you know what I’m talking about.”
“Maybe you should explain, Sheriff. I just don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ll spell it out for you then. You can hold your meeting but the entertainment’s got to stop with the preaching and singing.”
He jerks his thumb at the virtues, all stood around listening, and says:
“You keep them whores under lock and key till you’re in the next county or I’ll run the whole shebang into court and impound your tent and wagons. Am I talking clear enough for you?”
“I believe you are, Sheriff,” says McSween, going all stiff and dignificated. Then the sheriff says:
“You should be ashamed having a boy this age working for you. Is he kin like the rest?”
“No,” says McSween.
The sheriff turns to me and says:
“Where are you from, boy?”
“Deer Falls, Ohio, Sheriff.”
“Did you run away from home?”
“No, sir, I’m an orphan. Mr. McSween had pity on me and took me in. He’s real kind.”
“You’re a fool, boy. This bunch is doing evil work. You take my advice and find yourself a respectable job and take up with decent folks. If you want to stay in Torrence and lead a useful life, I’ll he
lp you do it.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll give it some serious thinking.”
He turned back to McSween and says:
“You’ve had the one and only warning you’ll get, McSween. Preaching and hymns, nothing else.”
Then he turned and strolled back to his horse and rode away. Ma come over to McSween, and they argued some on what to do, then Mordecai joined in and all three went into a wagon to thrash it out while the virtues just stood around quiet-like, looking at each other. Jim come out of the shadows where he’s been hid all along, and we went away out of ear-reach. He says:
“What you reckon de McSweens fixin’ to do now, Huck?”
“I don’t know, and maybe I don’t care. Jim, I seen Pap in town.”
And I give him the whole story, which set him frowning.
“You goin’ to de sheriff an’ turn him in, Huck?”
“I can’t do it, Jim. There ain’t any proof he done it and he’d never say so to get me off the hook. He’s too cowardly, I reckon. Anyway, he’s my own Pap. I can’t do nothing to get him hanged. We’ll just have to keep on going the same as we are and hope the whole mess gets left behind after we pass St. Joseph.”
“You sure ’bout dis, Huck? Could be you ain’t ever goin’ to get a chance like this’n to get cleared.”
“I just can’t do it. Don’t ask me no more, Jim.”
“You made de choosin’, Huck. I ain’t about to argue on it.”
At mealtime Ma and McSween give me dirty looks, like I’m to blame for the sheriff saying what he did. Mordecai just give me the usual stare and I got to wondering if he’ll turn me in to the sheriff as a trade-off so’s they can do the meeting the way they want. That night I played with the notion of saddling the mules and leaving, but we’re still forty mile from St. Joe so it ain’t worth it.
Next day it was like a black cloud hung over the camp. No one spoke a word. Chastity picked up the mood like a dog does and scampered about whimpering and whining and munching on her biscuits to give herself distraction from it. Jim and me was mighty uneasy and stayed out of the way. I kept an eye on where the horses was tethered to see if Mordecai don’t take one and go for the sheriff to tell all, but he never did, and I figure he’s biding his time for now, just playing with me like a cat and mouse. I can’t hardly keep my food down, my belly crawled so, and Jim warn’t no better off.
Then it’s sundown and pretty soon people started coming in from the town and farms roundabout. It’s a big turnout, maybe three hundred, and they paid their money and crammed theirselfs into the tent. Jim stoked the calliope like before and the meeting got started. They done it the exact same way as in Slocombe, but it warn’t the same kind of success. McSween never had the fire in his playing nor Mordecai in his preaching, and the virtues sung off-key. The congregation got restless and fidgety and only a half dozen wanted to get saved. McSween says the next hymn is the last and all the men joined in louder than before, figuring pretty soon they can slip away and visit the virtues. The girls left on schedule, then McSween messed everyone’s plans by saying goodnight and God bless them all, and it’s clear there ain’t going to be no calliope playing to keep the women inside the tent while the men go visiting. For a minute the congregation was all confused, then angry, and started hollering for more music till McSween got scared and sat down at the calliope again and started playing. That settled them some and the men trickled away and headed for the wagons, but Ma stood there in front of them with her arms folded, big and stony-faced. She says:
“You men get away. There ain’t nothing to stay for. We ain’t allowed by the sheriff.”
That got them riled and they shouted and jeered, but Ma stood firm. Then they started ripping up clods and heaving them at the wagons, and Ma stooped and picked up a length of two-by-two that’s lying hid at her feet and swung it casual in her hands, where it looks about as big as a walking cane. That set them back on their heels some, but then they got courage from bottles and swarmed in again, shouting and throwing clods. Ma fetched one or two a crack over the head before she went down, and then they’re trampling over her to get to the wagons. They tried the doors but they’re locked. It got them madder than ever and they started rocking the wagons back and forth on their wheels till the virtues started screaming inside, but that only made them laugh and rock even harder.
I run into the tent and whispered into McSween’s ear but he just went all tight-lipped and kept on playing so I told it to Mordecai, but he’s peeved about there being hardly no one that wanted Satan slapped out of them and turned his back on me. It won’t do no good to ask Jim for help; they would of killed a nigger that stood up to them. The women knowed something is wrong and stopped singing and went outside, and when they seen what their men was doing some of the bravest ones waded right in and hauled their husbands out by the ear and give them such a tonguewhipping for it. Ma was stood off to one side, breathing heavy and dabbing a cut on her jaw. She seen me and says:
“Go fetch the sheriff!”
But there ain’t a need for it, because here he comes with his cigar glowing hot in the dark. He took one look at the mob and hauled out his pistol and fired three times in the air. That brung things to a halt right quick and every face turned to him. He just sat on his horse and puffed smoke awhile then says:
“You people are the most misbegotten I ever saw. Go on home out of my sight.”
That’s all he spoke, but it done the trick. All the men got to looking sheepish and the women drug them away and there’s a heap of activity for ten minutes or so while they got in their rigs and went off. Then it’s quiet again, and the sheriff looked at the McSweens gathered around and shook his head.
“I hope this is some kind of lesson for you,” he says. “Religion and whoring are separate things. You’ve had a fair run at it these past few years and I bet you made a pile. You can try it again somewhere else, I reckon I can’t stop you, but you better do it outside of my county. I want you packed up and out of here by noon.”
“We intend doing just that, Sheriff,” says McSween.
Then the sheriff seen Jim and his eyes narrowed down.
“Who owns the nigger?”
No one owned up. I’m too scared to breathe, waiting for the axe to fall.
“Well? Does he belong here or don’t he?”
Still nothing from no one.
“Come here, boy,” he says to Jim, and Jim slowfooted till he’s by the sheriff’s horse.
“Who owns you, boy? Are you a runaway?”
“Nossir,” says Jim. “I’se free.”
“No you are not,” says Grace, stepping forward. “I told you before, Samson, if I hear you spouting that freedom trash again I’ll whip you for it!” Then she turns to the sheriff and says:
“He’s my nigger, but awful proud and contrary. Pa gave him to me for a present. He thinks he’s free just because I’m easy on him and don’t give him the thrashing he deserves. Well, all that stops right now,” she says to Jim. “There’ll be no more coddling till you mend your ways, you idle nigger you. Now go clean this place up.”
Jim shuffled off acting browbeat and ashamed, and I could of kissed Grace for what she done. It was brave and quick thinking and saved Jim and me both. Then the sheriff’s looking at me again.
“Son, is it your intention to stay with these hypocrites? They’re bad company for a boy your age.”
“I reckon I’ll stay on,” says I, wishing he’d just ride off.
“You ain’t kin to them, boy. You ain’t beholden to them just because they fed you.”
“I know it, Sheriff. I’d just rather stay.”
“It’s your choice,” he says, but I can see he’s disgusted. Then Mordecai chimes in and my heart missed a parcel of beats.
“Sheriff,” he says, “this unfortunate child has a terrible secret.”
All eyes turned on him and my legs got set to run.
“What secret?” says the sheriff.
“He is the bastard offs
pring of my second cousin who died giving birth. I feel I have a responsibility for his upbringing.”
“Well I can tell you right now you’ve failed, preacher. With you and the rest of this bunch for examples he’ll end up hanged for sure. You McSweens are the lowest kind of degenerate and if there was a law I could use against you I’d do it. Noon tomorrow,” he says, and reined his horse around and ambled away just as relaxed as when he come.
McSween jumped right in and says we ain’t going to wait, but get the tent down right now and be gone by sunup. We worked like demons, the virtues too, and got everything packed away and the teams hitched while it’s still dark. I reckon McSween is worried some of them unsatisfied customers will come back and burn everything down. Soon as we was ready he took the lead, and the McSween Traveling Church of Christ the Lamb went rumbling down the road with its holy tail tucked firm between its legs.
Jim and me talked things over in the hour or so till daylight. We’re both mystified by the way Grace and Mordecai lied to save us. Grace, I could see why she done it being a friend, but not the Reverend. Maybe he’s still playing cat and mouse, only he’s a smarter cat than I judged and he wants to keep me out of jail till the reward money goes up.
One thing I felt good about; we’re leaving Pap behind. Him and Morg are thieves both, by what I heard in the saloon, and I never wanted to get tied up with that kind. Pap’s steaming full speed ahead to the hanging tree. He’s a pitiful man that never had things go right for him, not even in the beginning. When I was little Pap had work cutting cordwood for the steamers. We lived right there in the yard, just a step away from the water, and morning till night he chopped wood and piled it up at the end of the wharf so’s the river boats can nose up to it and the deckhands would sling it one to the next and stack it around the boiler, then they’d back off in a flurry of foam and keep on going upriver or down.
I only recollect one memory of my Ma, and it must of been when I’m mighty small on account of she’s so big, and she’s pointing up the river and saying, “Here comes the Andrew Jackson.” She must of died pretty soon after that, Pap never told me what of, just got sick and died. Then it’s just me and Pap, and he started in to drink regular. He cut less wood and the steamboat captains complained there was never enough waiting for them, so the man that owned the yard give Pap and me marching orders. Pap set himself up as a trapper in the old cabin on the Illinois shore but he never catched nothing worth real money and kept right on drinking. Them were the days I spent considerable time in town, sleeping in a hogshead and getting acquainted with Tom Sawyer and Jo Harper and such. I warn’t unhappy except when I’m with Pap, and even that warn’t so bad when he’s sober, but that warn’t often. It was all downhill for Pap long as I can recall, and it’s only natural he’s a thief and murderer nowadays.
The Further Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Page 12
