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- 7273
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-28T17:35:34.223Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 7214
- text
- the day. Then they were astonished to find that they had been taking
no note of time and that night was about at hand. The clanging bell had
been calling for half an hour. However, this sort of close to the day’s
adventures was romantic and therefore satisfactory. When the ferryboat
with her wild freight pushed into the stream, nobody cared sixpence for
the wasted time but the captain of the craft.
Huck was already upon his watch when the ferryboat’s lights went
glinting past the wharf. He heard no noise on board, for the young
people were as subdued and still as people usually are who are nearly
tired to death. He wondered what boat it was, and why she did not
stop at the wharf—and then he dropped her out of his mind and put his
attention upon his business. The night was growing cloudy and dark. Ten
o’clock came, and the noise of vehicles ceased, scattered lights began
to wink out, all straggling foot-passengers disappeared, the village
betook itself to its slumbers and left the small watcher alone with the
silence and the ghosts. Eleven o’clock came, and the tavern lights were
put out; darkness everywhere, now. Huck waited what seemed a weary long
time, but nothing happened. His faith was weakening. Was there any use?
Was there really any use? Why not give it up and turn in?
A noise fell upon his ear. He was all attention in an instant. The alley
door closed softly. He sprang to the corner of the brick store. The next
moment two men brushed by him, and one seemed to have something under
his arm. It must be that box! So they were going to remove the treasure.
Why call Tom now? It would be absurd—the men would get away with the box
and never be found again. No, he would stick to their wake and follow
them; he would trust to the darkness for security from discovery. So
communing with himself, Huck stepped out and glided along behind the
men, cat-like, with bare feet, allowing them to keep just far enough
ahead not to be invisible.
They moved up the river street three blocks, then turned to the left up
a crossstreet. They went straight ahead, then, until they came to the
path that led up Cardiff Hill; this they took. They passed by the old
Welshman’s house, halfway up the hill, without hesitating, and still
climbed upward. Good, thought Huck, they will bury it in the old quarry.
But they never stopped at the quarry. They passed on, up the summit.
They plunged into the narrow path between the tall sumach bushes, and
were at once hidden in the gloom. Huck closed up and shortened his
distance, now, for they would never be able to see him. He trotted along
awhile; then slackened his pace, fearing he was gaining too fast; moved
on a piece, then stopped altogether; listened; no sound; none, save that
he seemed to hear the beating of his own heart. The hooting of an
owl came over the hill—ominous sound! But no footsteps. Heavens, was
everything lost! He was about to spring with winged feet, when a man
cleared his throat not four feet from him! Huck’s heart shot into his
throat, but he swallowed it again; and then he stood there shaking as
if a dozen agues had taken charge of him at once, and so weak that he
thought he must surely fall to the ground. He knew where he was. He
knew he was within five steps of the stile leading into Widow Douglas’
grounds. Very well, he thought, let them bury it there; it won’t be hard
to find.
Now there was a voice—a very low voice—Injun Joe’s:
“Damn her, maybe she’s got company—there’s lights, late as it is.”
“I can’t see any.”
- title
- Chunk 3