“He just better hope his paddles can walk her over them bars, the lamebrain.”
None of the passengers got off even for a minute, and when the cargo was all unloaded the gangplank was hauled in and the Nicobar got poled away from the bank so her wheels won’t hit the mud when they started. They finally got churning when she’s a healthy step from the shore and everyone raised a cheer.
I’m watching the passengers on the main deck as she backed off when I seen two faces I reckernized: big Morg with the beard and Pap! I never believed it momentarily, but when I blinked and looked again they’re still there, and it’s Pap and Morg for sure. I pulled my hat down low and they never seen me. The Nicobar backpaddled further out to midstream and I felt safe enough to lift my head, then she swung around and headed upriver with her paddles thrashing. The crowd broke up and drifted off, but I stayed right there rooted to the ground, hardly believing it even yet. Pap and Morg must of throwed in their hand as thieves and murderers and joined up with all the rest that’s after gold. Pap must of believed them stories about picking up nuggets off the ground easy and simple because he ain’t the kind to drain his strength digging holes.
It shook me down to my boots. Just when I figured the past is getting left behind here’s Pap gone and catched up with me, ahead of me even, if the Nicobar makes it safe all the way upriver. It was worrisome. There’s a fair to middling chance I’ll meet up with him someplace west, and that set the fan-tods loose inside of me. I would of rather met the widow in heaven than Pap on earth.
I went and told Jim and the news got him considerable edgy too. He says:
“We bes’ be hopin’ de trail dey takin’ don’ cross our’n, Huck. Dere’s a heaper space out dere an’ it ain’t so easy to go bumpin’ into folks jest like dat, I reckon. Ain’t no use worryin’ your head down to de bone on it.”
But I done just that, all day and into the evening too. I never had no appetite come mealtime and Mrs. Ambrose says:
“You’re looking poorly again, Jeff Trueblood. One minute you’re healthy as a pup, then you’re just the sickliest creature that ever was.”
“I ain’t sick, ma’am.”
“Well don’t do your moping around me. I can’t abide mopishness.”
So I went away to the edge of the camp and sat and smoked awhile. The air was heavy and still the way it is before a storm, which never helped me settle down at all. I was looking east, staring at nothing in particular, just the plains we come across, big and wide and empty-looking in the last light before dusk when I seen a rider coming. There’s just him and his horse and a pack horse, and I figured he’s another forty-niner that don’t want to travel slow with a train, but more foolish than most on account of not having a friend or two along for company and protection.
He seen the glow from my pipe and steered over to me. His horses was both good and his clothes cut like a regular citizen, all of it from the same cloth, and his hat looked like it come straight off the block in spite of being all over dust. He’s tall with a dark mustache that snuck around and joined in with his side levers so his face is in two halfs with a long chin poking out below and a nose that done likewise above. He says:
“Good evening.”
“I reckon it is.”
“I’m in search of the Naismith train. Is that it camped over yonder?”
“That’s her.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Jeff Trueblood, sir.”
“Well, Jeff Trueblood, I’d deem it a favor if you took me along to Colonel Naismith. I have business to discuss with him.”
I knocked out my pipe and led the way. Says I:
“Did you come all this way alone?”
“For the most part,” he says. “I did team up with some others for a short while but found their company undesirable.”
“Warn’t you afraid of Injuns?”
“Luckily, I met none. I shared the trail with gophers and buzzards. Is there disease among your train?”
“Not yet, but the colonel’s a mite worried it’ll catch up.”
“He has cause to worry. The trains behind yours are decimated.”
We twisted and turned through the camp and got to the little tent the colonel lives in at night, and there’s a lamp burning inside throwing the colonel’s shadow on the canvas. I shook the flap and say:
“Colonel, can I come in?”
“Certainly you may, Jeff,” he says, and in I go. He’s sat at a little table with folding legs writing in his journal, and he looks up and says:
“Do you have a problem?”
I had a heap, but they ain’t for telling, so I say:
“No, sir. There’s a man wanting to see you. He’s fresh off the trail so I reckon it’s got to be important.”
“Send him in, please.”
The stranger was easing down from the saddle and I told him to go right in, then I offered to hold his horse, the reason being so’s I can maybe overhear what the important business is.
“No thank you,” he says. “He’s trained to stay where he is when the reins are dropped.”
He went into the tent and I went off to do some more moping. The stars was coming out now, littering the sky and winking. I figure there must be a heap of wind way up high where they are to make them flicker so. The Injuns still kept away so the camp was quiet, with most of the men checking their harness and wagons, getting ready to pull out in the morning. I never wanted conversation with no one so I took myself down to the Platte and looked at the spot where the Nicobar pulled in, and all that’s left to show she was there is the bank all churned with boot-marks and the anchoring pegs. I smoked another pipe and tried to ease up on the worrying. Jim says worry only makes a body old before his time, so I just smoked my pipe and tried to stay young. All the while the air got thicker and clouds come sliding across the sky, hiding the stars and looking threatsome. Thinks I, there’s a storm brewing for sure.
I must of been there some considerable time, because Thaddeus come along and says he’s been looking all over for me.
“Why?” I ask.
“The colonel wants to see you.”
“What about?”
“He never told.”
I bet the stranger’s horse wandered off and he figures I done it. Some folks has got real suspicious minds. I went along with Thaddeus to the colonel’s tent, but the horse was still outside same as before and the pack horse too, so that ain’t the reason. We went inside and the colonel is looking mighty discomforted. He says to Thaddeus:
“Fetch the nigger too.”
“What’s all this fetching about?” says Thaddeus.
“That will become apparent shortly. Just find him and bring him here if you please, Mr. Winterbough.”
“I warn’t hired for no fetching, Colonel. If it’s all the same I’d prefer to get told now.”
“Kindly do not question my authority, Mr. Winterbough. You are in my employ and will carry out any orders I care to give you.”
“I reckon not,” says Thaddeus. “No disrespect, Colonel, but the folks in the train hired me with their money and Jeff’s among ’em, so I’ll get told the reason directly, if you don’t mind.”
The colonel bristled some, not being used to people talking back that way, and for a moment him and Thaddeus just glared, then the stranger says:
“Pardon me, Colonel, but Mr. Winterbough does have a right to know what we are about.”
“Very well,” says the colonel, keeping his voice under tight rein. “Explain the situation if you wish.”
“Thank you,” says the stranger, and turns to Thaddeus. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Chauncey Thermopylae Barrett. I am a detective contracted to pursue a criminal by the name of Huckleberry Finn.”
“Never heard of you nor him,” says Thaddeus.
My knees buckled some but to hide it I say:
“You must of heard of Finn, Thaddeus. He’s the famous judge-killer from Missouri. Don’t you read the wanted posters and new
spapers?”
“Not generally.”
“Well, I do,” says I, acting all excited. “I read all about it back in St. Joe. Mr. Barrett, sir, it’s a mighty big pleasure to meet you personal like this and the biggest thing that ever happened in my short life so far.”
“That will be quite enough,” snaps the colonel. “Mr. Barrett has been in pursuit of you for some time now and has traced your path to Fort Kearney. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Me, Colonel? Why, nothing I reckon. I guess I ain’t following the conversation too good.”
“Are you or are you not Huckleberry Finn, and is or is not the nigger whom you call Goliath in actual fact named Jim?”
“Me and Goliath? I reckon you’ve left me way behind, Colonel. I just can’t figure none of this at all.”
“Now you see what I mean,” says Barrett. “The boy has a reputation as an accomplished liar.”
“I swear I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Barrett, sir. I’m Jeff Trueblood from Illinois.”
“Can you name the capital city of that state?” says Barrett.
“Well … uh … it’s … on the end of my tongue. I never had much schooling, but I do know Paris is the main town in France.”
There’s a silence, then Thaddeus says:
“You want the nigger now, Colonel?”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Winterbough.”
He went out and there’s just me to face them.
“I admire your spirit, Finn,” says Barrett. “You’ve come a long way from St. Petersburg, but not far enough.”
“I wish you’d quit calling me Finn, Mr. Barrett, sir. It feels awful to have that name tagged onto me. It’s plain you got the wrong man for once. If you’ll excuse me now I got to feed a mule.”
I got as far as the tent flap before Barrett grabbed me by the collar and hauled me back.
“He’ll deny it till kingdom come,” he says to the colonel. “It’s the measure of his cunning that he never gives a thing away. No doubt he’ll insist he’s Jeff Trueblood on the gallows itself.”
“Gallows?” says I, looking terrified, only half acting. “You wouldn’t go and hang an innocent boy, would you?”
“Hanging is not my profession, apprehending criminals and escapees is. Miss Becky Thatcher will be pleased to identify you for certain.”
“Becky Thatcher? Why, who’s she if she ain’t the cat’s mother?”
“You’re denying too much now, Finn. If you read about me in St. Joseph as you say then you’ll be aware that Miss Thatcher is the daughter of the murdered man. Even such cunning as you have thus far displayed must have its limits. You’re only a boy after all.”
“I’m Jeff Trueblood, and if my Pap was here he’d punch you on the nose for saying I ain’t!”
“Your father is dead, Finn, you know that as well as I.”
Thinks I to myself, if only you knowed he’s just half a day’s steaming away. But he never would of believed it, so I put a lock on my lip and never spoke another word till Thaddeus come back. He’s alone and he says:
“The nigger’s gone.”
“Gone?” says the colonel.
“Flew the coop. I reckon he must of seen the boy get brung in here and figured the rest. He’s likely miles away by now. Colonel, I’d like to check out the teams and see if he stole a horse.”
“Excellent thinking, Mr. Winterbough. Please do so.”
“As for this murdering little snot,” says Thaddeus, turning to me, “I reckon he oughter be hanged from the nearest tree, only they’re in short supply hereabouts.”
His face was away from them while he spoke, and even when them hurtful words was coming from his mouth he give me a slow wink, so I knowed Jim is safe, and if there ain’t no horses missing from the team enclosure there surely will be by the time Thaddeus gets through investigatering there.
“That will do, Mr. Winterbough,” says the colonel. “Bringing Finn to justice will be Mr. Barrett’s job.”
“And a darned good one too,” says Thaddeus and shook Barrett’s hand, then slipped me another wink before he went out. The colonel give a sigh and rubbed his brow and says:
“I’m sorely disappointed in you, my boy. I had you pegged as the kind of youth this nation needs to build itself in the eyes of the world, yet now you stand before me revealed in your true colors. I will not forgive myself for having allowed your air of worldly innocence to dupe me. I see now that your bravery is mere recklessness and your seemingly friendly nature just a cunning ploy, the better to insinuate yourself into decent human society.”
“Any hunted animal will do the same, Colonel,” says Barrett. “The smart ones blend into the scenery so well the hunter passes them by.”
I never expected any different from Barrett, but the colonel’s words hit hard. I liked him up till now, but I seen he’s like all the rest, ready and eager to believe the worst. If he’s disappointed in me I reckon I’m double disappointed in him. It’s only because I knowed Thaddeus is still on my side I never give them the satisfaction of owning up and saying I’m Huck Finn, and even Thaddeus had me wondering which way he’d jump before I got that wink. With him I had a card up my sleeve, but it’ll have to turn into a handful of aces if I aim to get out of the tight corner I’m in.
Barrett looked at me the same way I seen people look at a dead baby with two heads in a bottle at a circus, like I ain’t the same as ordinary folk, just some kind of bug he’s looked hard for and finally got ahold of and now it’s got to be stomped on for the sake of the entire world. I never should of fooled myself I’m safe after we passed St. Joe. He’s a bulldog all right, even if he looks more like a fox with that snout. When I come to consider it, this must be the baddest luck day in my life. First it’s Pap, then it’s Chauncey Barrett, both men I counted on leaving behind, and the first one’ll kill me if he gets the chance and the second one is trying to hang me, and the first one is the one the second one truly wants if only he knowed it, but he don’t, so like I say it’s a bad luck day for yours truly, and there’s worse to come. Says Barrett:
“Finn is also wanted for forgery. He obtained two thousand dollars by fraud from a bank in St. Petersburg. It’s likely the money is on him yet. May I search the prisoner, Colonel?”
“Of course.”
It took him two seconds to find the money belt and he whipped it out and laid it on the colonel’s table then counted the cash.
“He has spent a considerable sum already, but Miss Thatcher will be delighted to receive the balance.”
I could of told him it’s my own money, not the judge’s, but he proberly knowed that already and was just trying to make me say something that’ll prove I’m Huck Finn, so I say:
“That’s the profits from Pap’s farm getting sold.”
“See how he persists with his pathetic fantasy no matter how the evidence mounts? Many criminals have just such a stubborn streak.”
He come over and starts feeling my head with his fingers.
“I’m a student of phrenology,” he says to the colonel. “There is a school of thought which postulates the existence of a basic shape to the cranium which houses the criminal mind. Ah, yes, the occipital ridge is heavily pronounced and the obligata definitely conforms to the standard degenerate pattern. The boy is a perfect example, in fact. I have a friend at Harvard who would be extremely interested in this skull.”
Well, the Widow Douglas always wanted me to go to Harvard, but I bet she never figured on it happening like that.
“Tell me,” says the bulldog, “were you ever dropped upon your head when very young?”
“I disremember. Is it important?”
“Yes indeed. I detect an unusual bone formation at the apex of the crown.”
Likely it’s where the widow used to crack me over the head with her thimble when I never learned my schooling to suit her.
“Are you quite sure you have never suffered a cranial accident?”
“Not as I recall. But wait on.… Th
ere was the time Pap Trueblood built a new outhouse and he never had a hammer, so he made me drive the nails in with my nose.”
“The boy’s an idiot,” he says. “This is unusual in one who has demonstrated ample cunning in eluding the law.”
I squeezed my brain for a way out, but nothing come of it, just a feeling of desperateness that wound me up tighter than a watch spring even if I never showed it. Then the bulldog starts bragging how he followed my trail from the Aintree farm. It’s all that mare’s fault, the one we took with us that broke her halter and got away. She went straight back home and Mr. Aintree seen her coming along the road from the west. It never took Barrett much figuring to see me and Jim was hoping to join in with the crowd heading for California, so he just followed along asking in different towns if anyone seen a boy and a nigger, and when he got to Torrence the sheriff there recollected us being with the McSweens, so then he was hot on the trail that brung him direct to St. Joe, and there he checked out all the different wagonmasters’ listings until he come across wagon sixty-seven in the Naismith train; Mrs. Hortense Ambrose plus one boy plus one nigger. After that he just followed on till he catched us up here at the fort. I got to give him credit, he done the job good. He knows it too, and that’s why he don’t take no notice when I say I’m Jeff Trueblood.
After awhile Thaddeus come back and says there’s two horses gone along with the saddles me and Jim had in Mrs. Ambrose’s wagon. He says.
“Looks like he took along a spare so’s to ride hard and fast. I found tracks leading away south, two horses, one with a rider, both shod so it warn’t Injun ponies. I reckon he’s hightailed it for Texas.”
“Mr. Barrett,” says the colonel, “what are your plans?”
“My main task is to return Finn to St. Petersburg. Miss Thatcher’s terms of contract do not mention this Jim, but he is wanted by the state as an accessory to jailbreak, therefore I consider it my duty as a citizen to bring him back also.”
The Further Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Page 21
