There’s ringing inside my head and I wonder how long it’s been there, maybe hours, but I never took no heed till now. The desert kept leaning sideways and back again and the dead people got up and waved at me but never spoke. There’s the Widow Douglas with a little raggy handkerchief waving, and over there is Tom Sawyer and Becky with the judge stood behind them, all smiling, and sneaking behind a wagon is Pap, who don’t want me to catch sight of him. Then I seen Thaddeus and he give me a nod casual-like, and after him come two people arm in arm with the sun so bright I can’t see who, then they waved and it’s Andrew and Lydia. I waved back, only my arm never moved. Then all of them laid down and was dead again and I wished I was too, dead and buried under cold dirt where the sun can’t reach and the water trickles down cool when it rains and Frank can come along with his trumpet and listen to me tell how I ain’t guilty, only it ain’t Frank that’s listening, it’s the bulldog, and he shakes his head like he don’t believe me no matter how I holler and plead, and he drags me to the witness stand and tells all the dead people in the jury box he’s got the proof that says I done it. I looked at the judge and it’s Judge Thatcher, but he shook his head sorrowful and says he can’t give no evidence for me seeing as he’s dead, so they took me to the gallows and when the rope got put around my neck I turned and seen the hangman is Pap. He’s looking mighty guilty but he goes to the trip lever and pulls it anyway and down I fell off the mainmast of the Injun Princess onto the deck, only I ain’t hurt and the crew give me a cheer when I picked myself up. The sea wind is cool and the sails full and the deck going up and down with the waves, and Jim gives me a holler from the wheel and says to take over and keep her three points to starboard, which I done and sailed her across all the oceans of the world while the crew sung songs. We seen islands and reefs go by, dozens of them, then mermaids come up to join in the singing and it’s all the seven virtues. Grace is the prettiest one same as usual and she give me a smile and a wave and Chastity blowed bubbles like a fish, then along come a big fat face with puffed-out cheeks and streaming hair like I seen on the map in the judge’s office and blowed up a storm. We got lashed by the waves that come tumbling over the decks right up to the wheel and come near to drowning me, and Jim grabs me and says to drink. I try to tell him I ain’t about to drink no salt water, then I swallered some and it’s sweet, so I drunk some more and the waves died away to little ripples and Jim says in a croaky voice:
“Don’t take in so much, Huck. You get mighty sick dat way.…”
And he’s right. I puked up the water and rolled over. I’m on a riverbank down in the shallows with Jupiter’s head right beside me guzzling up buckets of cool water and blowing little ripples through his nose. Jim untied Frank and laid him on the bank and fetched water in his hat to trickle in his mouth a little at a time, and I drug myself up onto the bank next to them and passed out.
25
Taking Things Slow—A Golden Fable—A Helping Hand—No Longer Alone—Along the Carson—A Tight Corner
We stayed there a week, just resting up and getting fat on fish catched in a trap Jim made from twigs and rushes, the kind with a wide neck that narrows down and the fish ain’t got brains enough to back out. There was a fair number of trees and plenty of grass for Jupiter, and that stretch of water was like heaven must be after you come through the hot place, which is pretty much what we done. Lydia’s map says it’s the Carson River, and it come from the Sierra Nevada mountains over the other side of which is California. It was kind of like being back home, lazying the days away doing nothing but feed ourselfs from time to time and sleep in the shade peaceful, and I never give no time to thinking on the past and all the awful things I seen. Jim fixed up a little shelter from branches, but on the third day I done some walking and found a little dry cave a quarter mile east along the bank so we moved in there. We recollected the cave back on Jackson’s Island when we was both escaping that time, only we got Frank with us now. He looked like he was fixing to die for awhile, then he come around and was soon feeding himself regular and scribbling in his book and not talking to us like we was used to.
One morning I’m sat on a rock with my bare feet in the water when along come Jim and he’s looking fretsome.
“Huck,” he says, “we got some figurin’ to do.”
“About what?” says I.
“’Bout what we goin’ to do nex’. We cain’t jest sit aroun’ here de rester our lifes.”
“I warn’t planning on it. We’ll leave just as soon as we’re fit to travel.”
“What you aimin’ to do wid Frank’n’Obadiah?”
“Take ’em along too, I reckon.”
“We takin’ on a heaper trouble totin’ a crazy man, Huck.”
“We ain’t got no choice, Jim. Frank can’t look after himself, nor Obadiah neither. I reckon we’ll have to let the both of them string along with us till they ain’t crazy no more. They ain’t harmful to no one. Obadiah’s preferable for company but he don’t put in no appearances without whiskey to get him primed so we’re likely stuck with Frank till we get to California. They got to have whiskey for sale there, and maybe a doctor that’ll set him straight.”
“Maybe so, but we ain’t got de cash for no whiskey an’ doctorin’. We ain’t got two cents, Huck.”
“There’s still a piece or three of Lydia’s jewels left.”
“Dey ain’t worth beans, Huck, you knows it. We got to buy us a pick an’ shovel an’ such if’n we plans on diggin’ for gold.”
“First things first, Jim. We ain’t even in California yet.”
“An’ how we goin’ to get dere wid jest one horse ’tween all?”
“We’ll take turns riding. It ain’t so far now to walk part of the way. How come you’re so restless and fidgetsome, Jim?”
“I cain’t figure it myself, Huck. I jest cain’t come to rest on nothin’ but I’se up again an’ movin’ like a bee wid sore feets.”
“It’s gold fever for sure. Maybe you can smell them nuggets from here.”
“I cain’t smell nothin’, I jest wants to move on an’ start diggin’ dat yeller stuff outer de groun’.”
“You’ve got it bad I reckon, but listen, Jim, don’t you know that gold never made no one happy on its own?”
“How dat be, Huck? Wid a heaper gold in your han’ you got to be jumpin’ wid joy. It ain’t natural not to.”
“It ain’t so, Jim, and history proves it. Did you ever hear of King Midas?”
“I reckon not.”
“Well he’s another of them ancient kings I read about, and he was rich as rich on account of everything he touched turned to gold.”
“How come he kin do dat?”
“I disremember, but that’s how things was. He touched his palace and it turned to gold, and he touched all the trees in the garden and they done the same, and he petted his tame monkey and it turned into a gold statue, and that’s when he knowed he’s got a problem.”
“What kinder problem?”
“Well, he touched one of his wives and she turned into gold too, and he touched another and she done likewise. A gold wife looks mighty grand stood in the hall for visitors to gawp at but she ain’t no good for nothing else in the way of wifely comforts, and King Midas went through the entire harem touching left and right to find a wife that never turned to gold so’s he could get some comfort, but all he got was a harem full of gold statues. Then he went to lunch, but soon as he put his hand on a chicken leg or piece of pie it turned straightaway to gold, so he can’t even get fed, which is worse yet than not getting comfort from his wives, and he got mad and hit one of the servants and then another, and pretty soon the king was all alone in his gold palace with nothing but gold statues for company. He was the miserablest man alive, but his problem got fixed that same day.”
“How dat happen?”
“He went for a leak and soon as he touched his pecker he turned to gold himself.”
Jim warn’t satisfied with the story and reckons it won’t
stop him trying to dig up a mess of gold. I give some pondering to the situation and it’s true, I ain’t truly considered the gold-digging part since we left Missouri, just counted on California being so far away I won’t get stretched for the judge’s murder. But now we’re practickly there it’s discomforting to figure on how we aim to get tools and supplies when we ain’t got no cash like Jim says. We could sell Jupiter for a good price on account of he’s a horse and a half, but I never wanted to do it. He’s all I got left apart from Lydia’s rings and ear-rings to remember the lovebirds by, and I’m powerful fond of Jupiter anyway. I never come up with no answers and reckoned I’d give my brain another squeezing on it later on. There ain’t no particular rush.
Next day I seen Frank prowling around the trees with my Hawken. I ask him if he’s hunting, talking gentle so he never got the jumps and drilled me with my own gun.
“Yes,” he says. “I am hunting Obadiah. I feel his presence nearby and am determined to rid myself of his odious influence once and for all. Have you seen him?”
“Why, Frank,” says I, “don’t you recollect how Obadiah died back in the desert? He just got weaker and weaker and give up the ghost. You warn’t so dandy yourself at the time so I guess you disremember us burying him.”
“Is it true?… Is he genuinely deceased?…”
He looked real happy about it, his own brother. Lunatics got no sense of kinship.
“Dead as a wedge,” says I. “You ain’t ever going to see him again, now how about you and me go hunting for some red meat? Fish is fine for awhile, but I got a hankering for real game.”
“Very well,” he says, and give me back the Hawken and we went tramping off. It’s just as well I never truly had a notion to hunt because Frank would of scared away any game with his jabbering, and what he’s jawing about is my Hawken.
“A fine weapon in its day,” he says, “but now somewhat antiquated. Why did you not avail yourself of a more recent model?”
“This’n was a darn sight cheaper, that’s why, and it’s a good gun anyhow,” says I, feeling mighty put out by his tone. Then he stops all of a sudden with his hand on his head and says:
“Of course!… Why not combine the ball, the powder and the percussion cap all in one projectile?… Think how much faster one could reload! Why, it’s the next obvious step in firearms manufacture! Why has no one thought of this before? Why have I not thought of it before? I must set to work without delay.… Which way is the cave?”
“Back yonder. Don’t burn up the page with scribbling.”
And off he run to do some more inventing. It ain’t such a bad idea at that, much more practical than a trumpet for listening to corpses. I figured I may as well do some serious hunting now that I started and worked my way west along the river past the point where we first come across it after the desert crossing. I went on a mile or two further and finally seen two deer and shot one, then slung it over my shoulders and headed back to the cave. When I’m still a ways upstream of it I heard whips cracking and voices, and snuck along through the brush till I seen three wagons aiming for the river. The men was trying to keep the oxen from rushing down the bank and into the water and was cracking whips to turn them off before they hauled everything into the drink. There was maybe twenty people staggering along behind, and mighty poorly they looked too, limping dogtired and falling down in the rush to water. The oxen got let loose from their harness while the wagons was still moving and waded straight in and sunk their muzzles deep, and the people walked and crawled in after them and flopped in the shallows and drunk and puked and thanked the Lord for delivering them out of the desert at last. I reckon they should of thanked them oxen for smelling it at a distance and leading the way straight to it, but then I ain’t got religion.
I stayed hid and watched all of them suck up water like a blotting paper sucks up ink. They was raggedy and thin and pitiful, and when I seen two women lifted down from the wagons half dead I knowed I got to show myself and give them food. I never wanted to on account of they might suspicion who I am, but they was so poorly I reckoned they won’t be doing no hunting for theirselfs a few days yet at least. So I come out of hiding and a couple seen me and give me a look like I got two heads or something, which is worrisome, then I figured it’s because they never expected to find no one else around, and with a fresh-killed deer too. I dumped it on the ground and says:
“Afternoon to you. I reckon you’ll be needing this.”
“God bless you, boy,” croaks one. “We have nothing left but moldering flour.”
“Well, if you get a fire started I’ll skin her and cook her for you.”
Others come over when they seen me and they was so weak they never showed no curiosity with questions on who I am or nothing, just stared at the deer while I gutted and skinned it. When the fire was ready I cut up chunks of meat and skewered them on sticks over the flames and their mouths just watered. They would of et it half raw if I never warned them against it, and while they drooled and waited for the deer to cook I went off and emptied two big trout from out of Jim’s fish traps and brung them back and got them ready for eating too.
Them folks et like they was starving, which they was. There warn’t a morsel left but bones by the time sundown come, and once their bellies was full they got curious like I figured they would, so I told them I come across the desert same as them and me and Uncle Frank is camped down the river a little way and my name is Walt Purnell. A tall man with a beard says:
“We’re beholden to you, Walt Purnell. I’m Matthew Berringer, and was wagonmaster when we had thirty-three wagons. You can see we’ve had a peck of trouble along the way.”
And he goes on to say how most of them died of cholera, and them that was left got sick later on past Salt Lake City when their food and water got low and their teams got stole or butchered by Injuns, which accounted for three human killings by arrows too. While he talked I recollected his name from that time I squatted under Colonel Beckwith’s window when Mr. Berringer was telling him about finding Rufus and Eben with no scalps and Sioux arrows in them. It’s a fair bet he’s heard tell of Huck Finn along the trail so I can’t let him and the rest see Jim or they’ll likely connect it all up and figure who we are. It’s a real shame. There ain’t nothing like being an outlaw to give you a need for human company that ain’t part of your desperate band, and even if I was never what you might call the sociable kind, nowadays I’d give a barrel of gold eagles to tell them I’m Huckleberry Finn, who they ain’t ever heard of on account of he ain’t no one special. Well, I can’t do it, not with famousness and a reward tied onto my name, so I says to Mr. Berringer I’ll come back and see them tomorrow, and heeled it for the cave.
Jim had got mighty anxious while I was gone, and his mood never showed improvement when I give him the news about the Berringer party. He says:
“You reckon dey suspicion you, Huck?”
“I reckon not, but we got to go careful and make sure they never set eyes on you, Jim. Just me alone’ll fool them easy. We best sneak past them one night pretty soon and get ahead again. They’ll be laid up here a week at least.”
We was talking low so Frank won’t hear. He’s curled up by the fire with his head under the blanket, so I reckon he never catched none of it.
“Dat Frank a consid’able burden to us, Huck. If’n he goes talkin’ wid dem folks dey goin’ to fin’ out he livin’ here wid a nigger, not jest you, den dey suspicion us for sure.”
“It’s a problem, Jim, but there’s always an answer. All we got to do is figure a way to keep him away from them wagons.”
“How we goin’ to do it?”
“I reckon the best way is to tell him they’re crawling with cholera. That’ll scare him off for sure when he hears. He’s a lunatic but he ain’t no fool.”
Jim says it’s a good plan and we turned in feeling safe.
They say honest men and idiots sleep safe, and Jim and me cussed ourselfs for idiots next morning when we seen Frank is up and gone
before we got the chance to tell him the cholera lie. Jim stayed in the cave and I hunted around for Frank to catch him before he come across the wagons. He warn’t nowhere nearby and I run along the bank cussing still, but when I reached the wagons it’s too late, because there’s Frank already jawing with Mr. Berringer. I slowed up and was about to turn tail when Mr. Berringer seen me and calls me over. There warn’t no way out now, and I just hope Frank never spilled no beans. Well, he spilled a whole parcel. First thing Mr. Berringer says is:
“Good morning to you, Walt.”
“His name is not Walt,” says Frank. “I have already told you his name is Jeff Wilson and the darkie is called Goliath.”
Mr. Berringer give us both a queer look and says:
“I reckon I’ll take the name a man gives me himself, so it’s Walt Purnell far as I’m concerned.”
“The boy is lying to you for some reason,” says Frank, “but I will not concern myself with it further. There is none lower than a person who pretends to be another. There is a distinct odor of mendacity here.”
And off he walked with his nose in the air, proberly scooping up all the mendacity. Says I:
“Mr. Berringer, you maybe figured it already, but Uncle Frank ain’t exactly the normalest man you could meet. He gets things awful mixed up. Why, sometimes he even forgets his own name and says he’s his brother Obadiah, who’s my Pap that died, but he mostly does it when he’s liquored up. He’s been kind of strange ever since he fell out of a pear tree when he was just eleven years old and landed directly on his head. He’s real clever now and then but stuff like names kind of leaks out of his brain. He don’t ever admit to it, so it’s best to agree with the things he says or he gets terrible upset and cries like a baby. Except for that he’s a real nice man that I’m proud to have for an uncle, but it ain’t easy explaining him to strangers.”
The Further Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Page 39
