Tom Sawyer, Detective

Chapter 7

A NIGHT'S VIGIL

BENNY she was looking pretty sober, and she sighed some, now and then;

but pretty soon she got to asking about Mary, and Sid, and Tom's aunt

Polly, and then Aunt Sally's clouds cleared off and she got in a good

humor and joined in on the questions and was her lovingest best self, and

so the rest of the supper went along gay and pleasant. But the old man he

didn't take any hand hardly, and was absent-minded and restless, and done

a considerable amount of sighing; and it was kind of heart-breaking to

see him so sad and troubled and worried.

By and by, a spell after supper, come a n****r and knocked on the door

and put his head in with his old straw hat in his hand bowing and

scraping, and said his Marse Brace was out at the stile and wanted his

brother, and was getting tired waiting supper for him, and would Marse

Silas please tell him where he was? I never see Uncle Silas speak up so

sharp and fractious before. He says:

"Am I his brother's keeper?" And then he kind of wilted together, and

looked like he wished he hadn't spoken so, and then he says, very gentle:

"But you needn't say that, Billy; I was took sudden and irritable, and I

ain't very well these days, and not hardly responsible. Tell him he ain't

here."

And when the n****r was gone he got up and walked the floor, backwards

and forwards, mumbling and muttering to himself and plowing his hands

through his hair. It was real pitiful to see him. Aunt Sally she

whispered to us and told us not to take notice of him, it embarrassed

him. She said he was always thinking and thinking, since these troubles

come on, and she allowed he didn't more'n about half know what he was

about when the thinking spells was on him; and she said he walked in his

sleep considerable more now than he used to, and sometimes wandered

around over the house and even outdoors in his sleep, and if we catched

him at it we must let him alone and not disturb him. She said she

reckoned it didn't do him no harm, and may be it done him good. She said

Benny was the only one that was much help to him these days. Said Benny

appeared to know just when to try to soothe him and when to leave him

alone.

So he kept on tramping up and down the floor and muttering, till by and

by he begun to look pretty tired; then Benny she went and snuggled up to

his side and put one hand in his and one arm around his waist and walked

with him; and he smiled down on her, and reached down and kissed her; and

so, little by little the trouble went out of his face and she persuaded

him off to his room. They had very petting ways together, and it was

uncommon pretty to see.

Aunt Sally she was busy getting the children ready for bed; so by and by

it got dull and tedious, and me and Tom took a turn in the moonlight, and

fetched up in the watermelon-patch and et one, and had a good deal of

talk. And Tom said he'd bet the quarreling was all Jubiter's fault, and

he was going to be on hand the first time he got a chance, and see; and

if it was so, he was going to do his level best to get Uncle Silas to

turn him off.

And so we talked and smoked and stuffed watermelons much as two hours,

and then it was pretty late, and when we got back the house was quiet and

dark, and everybody gone to bed.

Tom he always seen everything, and now he see that the old green baize

work-gown was gone, and said it wasn't gone when he went out; so he

allowed it was curious, and then we went up to bed.

We could hear Benny stirring around in her room, which was next to ourn,

and judged she was worried a good deal about her father and couldn't

sleep. We found we couldn't, neither. So we set up a long time, and

smoked and talked in a low voice, and felt pretty dull and down-hearted.

We talked the murder and the ghost over and over again, and got so creepy

and crawly we couldn't get sleepy nohow and noway.

By and by, when it was away late in the night and all the sounds was late

sounds and solemn, Tom nudged me and whispers to me to look, and I done

it, and there we see a man poking around in the yard like he didn't know

just what he wanted to do, but it was pretty dim and we couldn't see him

good. Then he started for the stile, and as he went over it the moon

came out strong, and he had a long-handled shovel over his shoulder, and

we see the white patch on the old work-gown. So Tom says:

"He's a-walking in his sleep. I wish we was allowed to follow him and

see where he's going to. There, he's turned down by the tobacker-field.

Out of sight now. It's a dreadful pity he can't rest no better."

We waited a long time, but he didn't come back any more, or if he did he

come around the other way; so at last we was tuckered out and went to

sleep and had nightmares, a million of them. But before dawn we was

awake again, because meantime a storm had come up and been raging, and

the thunder and lightning was awful, and the wind was a-thrashing the

trees around, and the rain was driving down in slanting sheets, and the

gullies was running rivers. Tom says:

"Looky here, Huck, I'll tell you one thing that's mighty curious. Up to

the time we went out last night the family hadn't heard about Jake Dunlap

being murdered. Now the men that chased Hal Clayton and Bud Dixon away

would spread the thing around in a half an hour, and every neighbor that

heard it would shin out and fly around from one farm to t'other and try

to be the first to tell the news. Land, they don't have such a big thing

as that to tell twice in thirty year! Huck, it's mighty strange; I don't

understand it."

So then he was in a fidget for the rain to let up, so we could turn out

and run across some of the people and see if they would say anything

about it to us. And he said if they did we must be horribly surprised and

shocked.

We was out and gone the minute the rain stopped. It was just broad day

then. We loafed along up the road, and now and then met a person and

stopped and said howdy, and told them when we come, and how we left the

folks at home, and how long we was going to stay, and all that, but none

of them said a word about that thing; which was just astonishing, and no

mistake. Tom said he believed if we went to the sycamores we would find

that body laying there solitary and alone, and not a soul around. Said

he believed the men chased the thieves so far into the woods that the

thieves prob'ly seen a good chance and turned on them at last, and maybe

they all killed each other, and so there wasn't anybody left to tell.

First we knowed, gabbling along that away, we was right at the sycamores.

The cold chills trickled down my back and I wouldn't budge another step,

for all Tom's persuading. But he couldn't hold in; he'd GOT to see if the

boots was safe on that body yet. So he crope in--and the next minute out

he come again with his eyes bulging he was so excited, and says:

"Huck, it's gone!"

I WAS astonished! I says:

"Tom, you don't mean it."

"It's gone, sure. There ain't a sign of it. The ground is trampled

some, but if there was any blood it's all washed away by the storm, for

it's all puddles and slush in there."

At last I give in, and went and took a look myself; and it was just as

Tom said--there wasn't a sign of a corpse.

"Dern it," I says, "the di'monds is gone. Don't you reckon the thieves

slunk back and lugged him off, Tom?"

"Looks like it. It just does. Now where'd they hide him, do you

reckon?"

"I don't know," I says, disgusted, "and what's more I don't care.

They've got the boots, and that's all I cared about. He'll lay around

these woods a long time before I hunt him up."

Tom didn't feel no more intrust in him neither, only curiosity to know

what come of him; but he said we'd lay low and keep dark and it wouldn't

be long till the dogs or somebody rousted him out.

We went back home to breakfast ever so bothered and put out and

disappointed and swindled. I warn't ever so down on a corpse before.