Chapter 18

22 min

Col. Grangerford was a gentleman, you see. He was a gentleman all over; and so was his family. He was well born, as the saying is, and that’s worth as much in a man as it is in a horse, so the Widow Douglas said, and nobody ever denied that she was of the first aristocracy in our town; and pap he always said it, too, though he warn’t no more quality than a mudcat himself. Col. Grangerford was very tall and very slim, and had a darkish-paly complexion, not a sign of red in it anywheres; he was clean shaved every morning all over his thin face, and he had the thinnest kind of lips, and the thinnest kind of nostrils, and a high nose, and heavy eyebrows, and the blackest kind of eyes, sunk so deep back that they seemed like they was looking out of caverns at you, as you may say. His forehead was high, and his hair was black and straight and hung to his shoulders. His hands was long and thin, and every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head to foot made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it; and on Sundays he wore a blue tail-coat with brass buttons on it. He carried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it. There warn’t no frivolishness about him, not a bit, and he warn’t ever loud. He was as kind as he could be—you could feel that, you know, and so you had confidence. Sometimes he smiled, and it was good to see; but when he straightened himself up like a liberty-pole, and the lightning begun to flicker out from under his eyebrows, you wanted to climb a tree first, and find out what the matter was afterwards. He didn’t ever have to tell anybody to mind their manners—everybody was always good-mannered where he was. Everybody loved to have him around, too; he was sunshine most always—I mean he made it seem like good weather. When he turned into a cloudbank it was awful dark for half a minute, and that was enough; there wouldn’t nothing go wrong again for a week.

Col. Grangerford was a gentleman, you see. He was a gentleman all over, and so was his family. He was well born, as the saying is, and that’s worth as much in a man as it is in a horse. So the Widow Douglas said, and nobody ever denied that she was of the first aristocracy in our town. And pap he always said it, too, though he wasn’t no more quality than a mudcat himself. Col. Grangerford was very tall and very slim, and had a darkish-paly complexion, not a sign of red in it anywheres. He was clean shaved every morning all over his thin face. He had the thinnest kind of lips, and the thinnest kind of nostrils, and a high nose, and heavy eyebrows, and the blackest kind of eyes, sunk so deep back that they seemed like they was looking out of caverns at you, as you may say. His forehead was high, and his hair was black and straight and hung to his shoulders. His hands was long and thin. Every day of his life he put on a clean shirt and a full suit from head to foot made out of linen so white it hurt your eyes to look at it. On Sundays he wore a blue tailcoat with brass buttons on it. He carried a mahogany cane with a silver head to it. There wasn’t no frivolishness about him, not a bit, and he wasn’t ever loud. He was as kind as he could be. You could feel that, you know, and so you had confidence. Sometimes he smiled, and it was good to see. But when he straightened himself up like a liberty-pole, and the lightning begun to flicker out from under his eyebrows, you wanted to climb a tree first, and find out what the matter was afterwards. He didn’t ever have to tell anybody to mind their manners. Everybody was always good-mannered where he was. Everybody loved to have him around, too. He was sunshine most always. I mean he made it seem like good weather. When he turned into a cloudbank it was awful dark for half a minute, and that was enough. There wouldn’t nothing go wrong again for a week.

When him and the old lady come down in the morning all the family got up out of their chairs and give them good-day, and didn’t set down again till they had set down. Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboard where the decanter was, and mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him, and he held it in his hand and waited till Tom’s and Bob’s was mixed, and then they bowed and said, “Our duty to you, sir, and madam;” and they bowed the least bit in the world and said thank you, and so they drank, all three, and Bob and Tom poured a spoonful of water on the sugar and the mite of whisky or apple brandy in the bottom of their tumblers, and give it to me and Buck, and we drank to the old people too.

When him and the old lady come downstairs in the morning, all the family got up from their chairs. They wished them good morning and didn’t set down again till the old couple had set down. Then Tom and Bob went to the sideboard where the decanter was. They mixed a glass of bitters and handed it to him. He held it and waited till Tom’s and Bob’s drinks was mixed. Then Tom and Bob bowed and said, “Our respects to you, sir, and madam.” And they gave the slightest little bow and said thank you. So all three drank. Then Bob and Tom poured a spoonful of water over the sugar and the tiny bit of whisky or apple brandy left in the bottom of their glasses. They give the glasses to me and Buck, and we drank to the old people too.

Bob was the oldest and Tom next—tall, beautiful men with very broad shoulders and brown faces, and long black hair and black eyes. They dressed in white linen from head to foot, like the old gentleman, and wore broad Panama hats.

Bob was the oldest, and Tom was next. They were tall, handsome men with very broad shoulders and brown faces, long black hair and black eyes. They wore white linen from head to foot, like the old gentleman, and broad Panama hats.

Then there was Miss Charlotte; she was twenty-five, and tall and proud and grand, but as good as she could be when she warn’t stirred up; but when she was, she had a look that would make you wilt in your tracks, like her father. She was beautiful.

Then there was Miss Charlotte. She was twenty-five, tall and proud and grand. But she was as good as she could be when she wasn't stirred up. When she was, though, she could give you a look that would make you wilt on the spot. She was like her father that way. She was beautiful.

So was her sister, Miss Sophia, but it was a different kind. She was gentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty.

So was her sister, Miss Sophia, but in a different way. She was gentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty.

Each person had their own to wait on them—Buck too. My had a monstrous easy time, because I warn’t used to having anybody do anything for me, but Buck’s was on the jump most of the time.

Each person had their own to wait on them. Buck did too. My had a very easy time because I wasn't used to having anybody do anything for me. But Buck's was kept busy most of the time.

This was all there was of the family now, but there used to be more—three sons; they got killed; and Emmeline that died.

This was all that was left of the family now, but there used to be more. Three sons got killed, and Emmeline died.

The old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred . Sometimes a stack of people would come there, horseback, from ten or fifteen mile around, and stay five or six days, and have such junketings round about and on the river, and dances and picnics in the woods daytimes, and balls at the house nights. These people was mostly kinfolks of the family. The men brought their guns with them. It was a handsome lot of quality, I tell you.

The old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred . Sometimes a whole crowd would come there on horseback from ten or fifteen mile around. They would stay five or six days and have such outings around the place and on the river. They had dances and picnics in the woods during the day, and fancy dances at the house at night. These people was mostly relatives of the family. The men brought their guns with them. It was a fine-looking bunch of upper-class folks, I tell you.

There was another clan of aristocracy around there—five or six families—mostly of the name of Shepherdson. They was as high-toned and well born and rich and grand as the tribe of Grangerfords. The Shepherdsons and Grangerfords used the same steamboat landing, which was about two mile above our house; so sometimes when I went up there with a lot of our folks I used to see a lot of the Shepherdsons there on their fine horses.

There was another upper-class clan around there, five or six families, mostly named Shepherdson. They was just as fancy and well born and rich and grand as the Grangerford clan. The Shepherdsons and Grangerfords used the same steamboat landing, about two mile above our house. So sometimes when I went up there with a lot of our folks, I saw plenty of Shepherdsons. They would be there on their fine horses.

One day Buck and me was away out in the woods hunting, and heard a horse coming. We was crossing the road. Buck says:

One day Buck and me was way out in the woods hunting, and we heard a horse coming. We was crossing the road. Buck says:

“Quick! Jump for the woods!”

“Quick! Run for the woods!”

We done it, and then peeped down the woods through the leaves. Pretty soon a splendid young man come galloping down the road, setting his horse easy and looking like a soldier. He had his gun across his pommel. I had seen him before. It was young Harney Shepherdson. I heard Buck’s gun go off at my ear, and Harney’s hat tumbled off from his head. He grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was hid. But we didn’t wait. We started through the woods on a run. The woods warn’t thick, so I looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet, and twice I seen Harney cover Buck with his gun; and then he rode away the way he come—to get his hat, I reckon, but I couldn’t see. We never stopped running till we got home. The old gentleman’s eyes blazed a minute—’twas pleasure, mainly, I judged—then his face sort of smoothed down, and he says, kind of gentle:

We done it, and then peeked through the leaves into the woods. Pretty soon a fine-looking young man come galloping down the road. He sat easy on his horse and looked like a soldier. He had his gun across the front of his saddle. I had seen him before. It was young Harney Shepherdson. I heard Buck’s gun go off right by my ear, and Harney’s hat tumbled off his head. He grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was hid. But we didn’t wait. We took off running through the woods. The woods weren’t thick, so I looked over my shoulder to dodge the bullet. Twice I seen Harney aim his gun at Buck. Then he rode away the way he come. He went to get his hat, I reckon, but I couldn’t see. We never stopped running till we got home. The old gentleman’s eyes blazed for a moment. It was mostly pleasure, I figured. Then his face sort of relaxed, and he says, kind of gentle:

“I don’t like that shooting from behind a bush. Why didn’t you step into the road, my boy?”

“I don’t like shooting from behind a bush. Why didn’t you step into the road, my boy?”

“The Shepherdsons don’t, father. They always take advantage.”

“The Shepherdsons don’t, Dad. They always take advantage.”

Miss Charlotte she held her head up like a queen while Buck was telling his tale, and her nostrils spread and her eyes snapped. The two young men looked dark, but never said nothing. Miss Sophia she turned pale, but the color come back when she found the man warn’t hurt.

Miss Charlotte she held her head up like a queen while Buck was telling his story. Her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed. The two young men looked angry, but never said nothing. Miss Sophia she turned pale, but the color come back when she found the man wasn't hurt.

Soon as I could get Buck down by the corn-cribs under the trees by ourselves, I says:

Soon as I could get Buck alone down by the corn sheds under the trees, I says:

“Did you want to kill him, Buck?”

“Well, I bet I did.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Him? He never done nothing to me.”

“Well, then, what did you want to kill him for?”

“Well, then, why did you want to kill him?”

“Why, nothing—only it’s on account of the feud.”

“Why, nothing, only it’s because of the feud.”

“What’s a feud?”

“Why, where was you raised? Don’t you know what a feud is?”

“Never heard of it before—tell me about it.”

“Never heard of it before. Tell me about it.”

“Well,” says Buck, “a feud is this way. A man has a quarrel with another man, and kills him; then that other man’s brother kills him; then the other brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then the cousins chip in—and by-and-by everybody’s killed off, and there ain’t no more feud. But it’s kind of slow, and takes a long time.”

“Well,” says Buck, “a feud works like this. A man has an argument with another man and kills him. Then that other man’s brother kills him. Then the other brothers, on both sides, goes after one another. Then the cousins join in. And eventually everybody’s killed off, and there ain’t no more feud. But it’s kind of slow, and takes a long time.”

“Has this one been going on long, Buck?”

“Has this one been going on for a long time, Buck?”

“Well, I should reckon! It started thirty year ago, or som’ers along there. There was trouble ’bout something, and then a lawsuit to settle it; and the suit went agin one of the men, and so he up and shot the man that won the suit—which he would naturally do, of course. Anybody would.”

“Well, I should reckon! It started thirty year ago, or somewhere around there. There was trouble about something, and then a lawsuit to settle it. And the suit went against one of the men, so he up and shot the man who won. Of course, he would naturally do that. Anybody would.”

“What was the trouble about, Buck?—land?”

“What was the trouble about, Buck? Was it about land?”

“I reckon maybe—I don’t know.”

“I reckon maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well, who done the shooting? Was it a Grangerford or a Shepherdson?”

“Laws, how do I know? It was so long ago.”

“Goodness, how do I know? It was so long ago.”

“Don’t anybody know?”

“Oh, yes, pa knows, I reckon, and some of the other old people; but they don’t know now what the row was about in the first place.”

“Oh, yes, I reckon pa knows, and some of the other old people do too. But they don’t know now what the fight was about in the first place.”

“Has there been many killed, Buck?”

“Yes; right smart chance of funerals. But they don’t always kill. Pa’s got a few buckshot in him; but he don’t mind it ’cuz he don’t weigh much, anyway. Bob’s been carved up some with a bowie, and Tom’s been hurt once or twice.”

“Yes, quite a few funerals. But they don’t always kill. Pa’s got a few buckshot in him. But he don’t mind it because he don’t weigh much, anyway. Bob’s been cut up some with a bowie knife, and Tom’s been hurt once or twice.”

“Has anybody been killed this year, Buck?”

“Yes; we got one and they got one. ’Bout three months ago my cousin Bud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods on t’other side of the river, and didn’t have no weapon with him, which was blame’ foolishness, and in a lonesome place he hears a horse a-coming behind him, and sees old Baldy Shepherdson a-linkin’ after him with his gun in his hand and his white hair a-flying in the wind; and ’stead of jumping off and taking to the brush, Bud ’lowed he could out-run him; so they had it, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man a-gaining all the time; so at last Bud seen it warn’t any use, so he stopped and faced around so as to have the bullet holes in front, you know, and the old man he rode up and shot him down. But he didn’t git much chance to enjoy his luck, for inside of a week our folks laid him out.”

“Yes, we got one and they got one. About three months ago my cousin Bud, fourteen year old, was riding through the woods across the river. He didn’t have no weapon with him, which was blame foolishness. In a lonely spot he hears a horse coming up behind him. He sees old Baldy Shepherdson galloping after him with his gun in his hand. His white hair was flying in the wind. Instead of jumping off and taking to the brush, Bud figured he could outrun him. So they raced, nip and tuck, for five mile or more, the old man gaining all the time. At last Bud seen it wasn’t any use, so he stopped and turned to face him. He wanted to have the bullet holes in front, you know. And the old man, he rode up and shot him down. But he didn’t get much chance to enjoy his luck. Within a week our folks laid him out.”

“I reckon that old man was a coward, Buck.”

“I reckon he warn’t a coward. Not by a blame’ sight. There ain’t a coward amongst them Shepherdsons—not a one. And there ain’t no cowards amongst the Grangerfords either. Why, that old man kep’ up his end in a fight one day for half an hour against three Grangerfords, and come out winner. They was all a-horseback; he lit off of his horse and got behind a little woodpile, and kep’ his horse before him to stop the bullets; but the Grangerfords stayed on their horses and capered around the old man, and peppered away at him, and he peppered away at them. Him and his horse both went home pretty leaky and crippled, but the Grangerfords had to be fetched home—and one of ’em was dead, and another died the next day. No, sir; if a body’s out hunting for cowards he don’t want to fool away any time amongst them Shepherdsons, becuz they don’t breed any of that kind.”

“I reckon he wasn’t a coward. Not by a blame sight. There ain’t a coward amongst them Shepherdsons, not a one. And there ain’t no cowards amongst the Grangerfords either. Why, that old man held his own against three Grangerfords one day for half an hour, and come out winner. They was all on horseback. He got off his horse and got behind a little woodpile. He kept his horse in front of him to stop the bullets. But the Grangerfords stayed on their horses and rode around the old man, firing away at him. And he fired away at them. Him and his horse both went home bleeding badly and crippled, but the Grangerfords had to be brought home. And one of ’em was dead, and another died the next day. No, sir, if a body’s out hunting for cowards, he don’t want to waste any time amongst them Shepherdsons. That’s because they don’t breed any of that kind.”

Next Sunday we all went to church, about three mile, everybody a-horseback. The men took their guns along, so did Buck, and kept them between their knees or stood them handy against the wall. The Shepherdsons done the same. It was pretty ornery preaching—all about brotherly love, and such-like tiresomeness; but everybody said it was a good sermon, and they all talked it over going home, and had such a powerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace and preforeordestination, and I don’t know what all, that it did seem to me to be one of the roughest Sundays I had run across yet.

Next Sunday we all went to church, about three mile away, everybody on horseback. The men took their guns along, and so did Buck. They kept their guns between their knees or stood them within easy reach against the wall. The Shepherdsons done the same. The preaching was pretty boring, all about brotherly love and that kind of tiresome stuff. But everybody said it was a good sermon, and they all talked it over going home. They had such a powerful lot to say about faith and good works and free grace and preforeordestination. And I don’t know what all else. With all that talk, it did seem to me to be one of the roughest Sundays I had run across yet.

About an hour after dinner everybody was dozing around, some in their chairs and some in their rooms, and it got to be pretty dull. Buck and a dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun sound asleep. I went up to our room, and judged I would take a nap myself. I found that sweet Miss Sophia standing in her door, which was next to ours, and she took me in her room and shut the door very soft, and asked me if I liked her, and I said I did; and she asked me if I would do something for her and not tell anybody, and I said I would. Then she said she’d forgot her Testament, and left it in the seat at church between two other books, and would I slip out quiet and go there and fetch it to her, and not say nothing to nobody. I said I would. So I slid out and slipped off up the road, and there warn’t anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two, for there warn’t any lock on the door, and hogs likes a puncheon floor in summer-time because it’s cool. If you notice, most folks don’t go to church only when they’ve got to; but a hog is different.

About an hour after dinner, everybody was dozing, some in their chairs and some in their rooms. It got to be pretty dull. Buck and a dog was stretched out on the grass in the sun, sound asleep. I went up to our room and figured I would take a nap myself. I found that sweet Miss Sophia standing in her doorway, next to ours. She took me into her room and shut the door very soft. She asked me if I liked her, and I said I did. Then she asked me if I would do something for her and not tell anybody. I said I would. Then she said she’d forgot her New Testament and left it on the seat at church between two other books. She asked if I would slip out quiet and go fetch it for her, and not say nothing to nobody. I said I would. So I slid out and slipped off up the road. There wasn’t anybody at the church, except maybe a hog or two, for there wasn’t any lock on the door. Hogs likes a wooden plank floor in summertime because it’s cool. If you notice, most folks don’t go to church only when they’ve got to. But a hog is different.

Says I to myself, something’s up; it ain’t natural for a girl to be in such a sweat about a Testament. So I give it a shake, and out drops a little piece of paper with “Half-past two” wrote on it with a pencil. I ransacked it, but couldn’t find anything else. I couldn’t make anything out of that, so I put the paper in the book again, and when I got home and upstairs there was Miss Sophia in her door waiting for me. She pulled me in and shut the door; then she looked in the Testament till she found the paper, and as soon as she read it she looked glad; and before a body could think she grabbed me and give me a squeeze, and said I was the best boy in the world, and not to tell anybody. She was mighty red in the face for a minute, and her eyes lighted up, and it made her powerful pretty. I was a good deal astonished, but when I got my breath I asked her what the paper was about, and she asked me if I had read it, and I said no, and she asked me if I could read writing, and I told her “no, only coarse-hand,” and then she said the paper warn’t anything but a book-mark to keep her place, and I might go and play now.

Says I to myself, something’s up. It ain’t natural for a girl to be in such a sweat about a Testament. So I give the book a shake, and out drops a little piece of paper. It had “Half-past two” wrote on it in pencil. I searched all through the book, but couldn’t find anything else. I couldn’t make any sense of the note, so I put the paper back in the book. When I got home and went upstairs, Miss Sophia was waiting for me in her doorway. She pulled me in and shut the door. Then she looked through the Testament till she found the paper. As soon as she read it, she looked happy. Before anybody could think, she grabbed me and give me a squeeze. She said I was the best boy in the world, and I wasn’t to tell anybody. Her face was mighty red for a minute, and her eyes lit up. It made her look mighty pretty. I was pretty astonished, but when I caught my breath, I asked her what the paper was about. She asked me if I had read it, and I said no. Then she asked me if I could read handwriting, and I told her “no, only big, clear writing.” Then she said the paper wasn’t anything but a bookmark to keep her place. She said I could go and play now.

I went off down to the river, studying over this thing, and pretty soon I noticed that my was following along behind. When we was out of sight of the house he looked back and around a second, and then comes a-running, and says:

I went off down to the river, thinking this thing over. Pretty soon I noticed that my was following behind me. When we was out of sight of the house, he looked back and around for a second. Then he comes running up and says:

“Mars Jawge, if you’ll come down into de swamp I’ll show you a whole stack o’ water-moccasins.”

“Master George, if you’ll come down into the swamp, I’ll show you a whole stack of water-moccasins.”

Thinks I, that’s mighty curious; he said that yesterday. He oughter know a body don’t love water-moccasins enough to go around hunting for them. What is he up to, anyway? So I says:

Thinks I, that’s mighty strange. He said that yesterday. He ought to know a body don’t love water moccasins enough to go around hunting for them. What is he up to, anyway? So I says:

“All right; trot ahead.”

“All right, go ahead.”

I followed a half a mile; then he struck out over the swamp, and waded ankle deep as much as another half-mile. We come to a little flat piece of land which was dry and very thick with trees and bushes and vines, and he says:

I followed for half a mile. Then he headed into the swamp and waded ankle-deep for another half-mile or so. We come to a small, flat patch of dry land thick with trees, bushes, and vines, and he says:

“You shove right in dah jist a few steps, Mars Jawge; dah’s whah dey is. I’s seed ’m befo’; I don’t k’yer to see ’em no mo’.”

“You shove right in there just a few steps, Master George. That’s where they is. I’s seed them before. I don’t care to see them no more.”

Then he slopped right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hid him. I poked into the place a-ways and come to a little open patch as big as a bedroom all hung around with vines, and found a man laying there asleep—and, by jings, it was my old Jim!

Then he trudged right along and went away, and pretty soon the trees hid him. I poked farther into the place and come to a little clearing as big as a bedroom. Vines hung all around the clearing. I found a man laying there asleep, and by jings, it was my old Jim!

I waked him up, and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to him to see me again, but it warn’t. He nearly cried he was so glad, but he warn’t surprised. Said he swum along behind me that night, and heard me yell every time, but dasn’t answer, because he didn’t want nobody to pick him up and take him into slavery again. Says he:

I waked him up, and I reckoned it was going to be a grand surprise to him to see me again, but it wasn’t. He nearly cried he was so glad, but he wasn’t surprised. Said he swum along behind me that night, and heard me yell every time, but dasn’t answer, because he didn’t want nobody to pick him up and take him into slavery again. Says he:

“I got hurt a little, en couldn’t swim fas’, so I wuz a considable ways behine you towards de las’; when you landed I reck’ned I could ketch up wid you on de lan’ ’dout havin’ to shout at you, but when I see dat house I begin to go slow. I ’uz off too fur to hear what dey say to you—I wuz ’fraid o’ de dogs; but when it ’uz all quiet agin, I knowed you’s in de house, so I struck out for de woods to wait for day. Early in de mawnin’ some er de come along, gwyne to de fields, en dey tuk me en showed me dis place, whah de dogs can’t track me on accounts o’ de water, en dey brings me truck to eat every night, en tells me how you’s a-gitt’n along.”

“I got hurt a little, and couldn’t swim fast, so I was a considerable ways behind you toward the last. When you landed, I reckoned I could catch up with you on land without having to shout at you. But when I see that house, I begin to go slow. I was too far off to hear what they say to you. I was afraid of the dogs. But when it was all quiet again, I knowed you was in the house. So I struck out for the woods to wait for daylight. Early in the morning, some of the come along, going to the fields. And they took me and showed me this place, where the dogs can’t track me because of the water. And they brings me stuff to eat every night, and tells me how you’s getting along.”

“Why didn’t you tell my Jack to fetch me here sooner, Jim?”

“Why didn’t you tell my Jack to bring me here sooner, Jim?”

“Well, ’twarn’t no use to ’sturb you, Huck, tell we could do sumfn—but we’s all right now. I ben a-buyin’ pots en pans en vittles, as I got a chanst, en a-patchin’ up de raf’ nights when—”

“Well, it wasn't no use to disturb you, Huck, till we could do something. But we's all right now. I been buying pots and pans and vittles as I got a chance, and patching up the raft nights when...”

“What raft, Jim?”

“Our ole raf’.”

“Our old raft.”

“You mean to say our old raft warn’t smashed all to flinders?”

“You mean to say our old raft wasn’t smashed all to pieces?”

“No, she warn’t. She was tore up a good deal—one en’ of her was; but dey warn’t no great harm done, on’y our traps was mos’ all los’. Ef we hadn’ dive’ so deep en swum so fur under water, en de night hadn’ ben so dark, en we warn’t so sk’yerd, en ben sich punkin-heads, as de sayin’ is, we’d a seed de raf’. But it’s jis’ as well we didn’t, ’kase now she’s all fixed up agin mos’ as good as new, en we’s got a new lot o’ stuff, in de place o’ what ’uz los’.”

“No, she wasn't. She was tore up a good deal at one end. But there wasn't no great harm done, only our stuff was most all lost. If we hadn't dived so deep and swum so far underwater, we'd have seen the raft. That is, if the night hadn't been so dark and we weren't so scared and such pumpkin-heads, as they say. But it's just as well we didn't, because now she's all fixed up again, most as good as new. And we's got a new lot of stuff in place of what was lost.”

“Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, Jim—did you catch her?”

“Why, how did you get hold of the raft again, Jim? Did you catch it?”

“How I gwyne to ketch her en I out in de woods? No; some er de foun’ her ketched on a snag along heah in de ben’, en dey hid her in a crick ’mongst de willows, en dey wuz so much jawin’ ’bout which un ’um she b’long to de mos’ dat I come to heah ’bout it pooty soon, so I ups en settles de trouble by tellin’ ’um she don’t b’long to none uv um, but to you en me; en I ast ’m if dey gwyne to grab a young white genlman’s propaty, en git a hid’n for it? Den I gin ’m ten cents apiece, en dey ’uz mighty well satisfied, en wisht some mo’ raf’s ’ud come along en make ’m rich agin. Dey’s mighty good to me, dese is, en whatever I wants ’m to do fur me, I doan’ have to ast ’m twice, honey. Dat Jack’s a good , en pooty smart.”

“How I going to catch her when I out in the woods? No, some of the found her caught on a snag along here in the bend. And they hid her in a creek among the willows. They was jawing so much about which one of them she belonged to the most that I soon heard about it. So I ups and settles the trouble by telling them she don’t belong to none of them, but to you and me. And I asked them if they was going to grab a young white gentleman’s property and get a beating for it? Then I give them ten cents apiece, and they was mighty well satisfied. And they wished some more rafts would come along and make them rich again. They’s mighty good to me, these is. And whatever I wants them to do for me, I don’t have to ask them twice, honey. That Jack’s a good , and pretty smart.”

“Yes, he is. He ain’t ever told me you was here; told me to come, and he’d show me a lot of water-moccasins. If anything happens he ain’t mixed up in it. He can say he never seen us together, and it’ll be the truth.”

“Yes, he is. He ain’t ever told me you was here. He told me to come, and he’d show me a lot of water moccasins. If anything happens, he ain’t mixed up in it. He can say he never seen us together, and it’ll be the truth.”

I don’t want to talk much about the next day. I reckon I’ll cut it pretty short. I waked up about dawn, and was a-going to turn over and go to sleep again, when I noticed how still it was—didn’t seem to be anybody stirring. That warn’t usual. Next I noticed that Buck was up and gone. Well, I gets up, a-wondering, and goes down stairs—nobody around; everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside. Thinks I, what does it mean? Down by the wood-pile I comes across my Jack, and says:

I don’t want to talk much about the next day. I reckon I’ll cut it pretty short. I waked up about dawn and was going to turn over and go to sleep again. Then I noticed how still it was. Didn’t seem to be anybody stirring. That wasn’t usual. Next I noticed that Buck was up and gone. Well, I gets up, wondering, and goes downstairs. Nobody around, everything as still as a mouse. Just the same outside. Thinks I, what does it mean? Down by the woodpile I comes across my Jack, and says:

“What’s it all about?”

Says he:

“Don’t you know, Mars Jawge?”

“Don’t you know, Master George?”

“No,” says I, “I don’t.”

“Well, den, Miss Sophia’s run off! ’deed she has. She run off in de night some time—nobody don’t know jis’ when; run off to get married to dat young Harney Shepherdson, you know—leastways, so dey ’spec. De fambly foun’ it out ’bout half an hour ago—maybe a little mo’—en’ I tell you dey warn’t no time los’. Sich another hurryin’ up guns en hosses you never see! De women folks has gone for to stir up de relations, en ole Mars Saul en de boys tuck dey guns en rode up de river road for to try to ketch dat young man en kill him ’fo’ he kin git acrost de river wid Miss Sophia. I reck’n dey’s gwyne to be mighty rough times.”

“Well, then, Miss Sophia’s run off! Indeed she has. She run off in the night sometime. Nobody don’t know just when. She run off to get married to that young Harney Shepherdson, you know. Leastways, so they suspect. The family found it out about half an hour ago, maybe a little more. And I tell you there weren’t no time lost. Such a rush for guns and horses you never see! The women folks has gone to stir up the relatives. And old Master Saul and the boys took their guns and rode up the river road. They’re trying to catch that young man and kill him before he can get across the river with Miss Sophia. I reckon there’s going to be mighty rough times.”

“Buck went off ’thout waking me up.”

“Buck went off without waking me up.”

“Well, I reck’n he did! Dey warn’t gwyne to mix you up in it. Mars Buck he loaded up his gun en ’lowed he’s gwyne to fetch home a Shepherdson or bust. Well, dey’ll be plenty un ’m dah, I reck’n, en you bet you he’ll fetch one ef he gits a chanst.”

“Well, I reckon he did! They weren't going to mix you up in it. Master Buck loaded up his gun and allowed he's going to fetch home a Shepherdson or bust. Well, there'll be plenty of them there, I reckon. And you bet you he'll fetch one if he gets a chance.”

I took up the river road as hard as I could put. By-and-by I begin to hear guns a good ways off. When I come in sight of the log store and the woodpile where the steamboats lands, I worked along under the trees and brush till I got to a good place, and then I clumb up into the forks of a cottonwood that was out of reach, and watched. There was a wood-rank four foot high a little ways in front of the tree, and first I was going to hide behind that; but maybe it was luckier I didn’t.

I ran up the river road as fast as I could go. After a while, I begin to hear gunshots a long way off. Soon I come in sight of the log store and the woodpile where the steamboats lands. I worked my way through the trees and brush till I found a good spot. Then I clumb up into the fork of a cottonwood, out of reach, and watched. There was a stack of wood four feet high a little way in front of the tree. At first I was going to hide behind the stack, but maybe it was luckier I didn’t.

There was four or five men cavorting around on their horses in the open place before the log store, cussing and yelling, and trying to get at a couple of young chaps that was behind the wood-rank alongside of the steamboat landing; but they couldn’t come it. Every time one of them showed himself on the river side of the woodpile he got shot at. The two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch both ways.

There was four or five men riding wildly around on their horses in the clearing in front of the log store. They was cussing and yelling, and trying to get at a couple of young fellows. The fellows was behind the woodpile beside the steamboat landing, but the men couldn’t get at them. Every time one of the men showed himself on the river side of the woodpile, he got shot at. The two boys was squatting back to back behind the pile, so they could watch both ways.

By-and-by the men stopped cavorting around and yelling. They started riding towards the store; then up gets one of the boys, draws a steady bead over the wood-rank, and drops one of them out of his saddle. All the men jumped off of their horses and grabbed the hurt one and started to carry him to the store; and that minute the two boys started on the run. They got half way to the tree I was in before the men noticed. Then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took out after them. They gained on the boys, but it didn’t do no good, the boys had too good a start; they got to the woodpile that was in front of my tree, and slipped in behind it, and so they had the bulge on the men again. One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young chap about nineteen years old.

After a while, the men stopped jumping around and yelling. They started riding towards the store. Then up gets one of the boys, takes steady aim over the stacked wood, and shoots one out of his saddle. All the men jumped off their horses and grabbed the wounded man. They started carrying him to the store, and that minute the two boys took off running. They got halfway to the tree I was in before the men noticed. Then the men see them, and jumped on their horses and took off after them. They gained on the boys, but it didn’t do no good. The boys had too good a head start. They got to the woodpile in front of my tree and slipped behind it. So they had the advantage over the men again. One of the boys was Buck, and the other was a slim young fellow about nineteen years old.

The men ripped around awhile, and then rode away. As soon as they was out of sight I sung out to Buck and told him. He didn’t know what to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. He was awful surprised. He told me to watch out sharp and let him know when the men come in sight again; said they was up to some devilment or other—wouldn’t be gone long. I wished I was out of that tree, but I dasn’t come down. Buck begun to cry and rip, and ’lowed that him and his cousin Joe (that was the other young chap) would make up for this day yet. He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two or three of the enemy. Said the Shepherdsons laid for them in ambush. Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their relations—the Shepherdsons was too strong for them. I asked him what was become of young Harney and Miss Sophia. He said they’d got across the river and was safe. I was glad of that; but the way Buck did take on because he didn’t manage to kill Harney that day he shot at him—I hain’t ever heard anything like it.

The men stormed around awhile, and then rode away. As soon as they was out of sight, I called out to Buck and told him. He didn’t know what to make of my voice coming out of the tree at first. He was awful surprised. He told me to keep a sharp watch and let him know when the men come in sight again. He said they was up to some devilment or other and wouldn’t be gone long. I wished I was out of that tree, but I didn’t dare come down. Buck begun to cry and swear. He said him and his cousin Joe would get even for this day yet. Joe was the other young fellow. He said his father and his two brothers was killed, and two or three of the enemy. Said the Shepherdsons had ambushed them. Buck said his father and brothers ought to waited for their relatives. The Shepherdsons was too strong for them. I asked him what had become of young Harney and Miss Sophia. He said they’d got across the river and was safe. I was glad of that. But Buck carried on because he didn’t manage to kill Harney that day he shot at him. I ain’t ever heard anything like it.

All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns—the men had slipped around through the woods and come in from behind without their horses! The boys jumped for the river—both of them hurt—and as they swum down the current the men run along the bank shooting at them and singing out, “Kill them, kill them!” It made me so sick I most fell out of the tree. I ain’t a-going to tell all that happened—it would make me sick again if I was to do that. I wished I hadn’t ever come ashore that night to see such things. I ain’t ever going to get shut of them—lots of times I dream about them.

All of a sudden, bang! bang! bang! goes three or four guns. The men had slipped around through the woods and come up behind them without their horses! The boys jumped for the river, both of them hurt. As they swum down the current, the men run along the bank, shooting at them and shouting, “Kill them, kill them!” It made me so sick I almost fell out of the tree. I ain’t going to tell all that happened. It would make me sick again if I was to do that. I wished I hadn’t ever come ashore that night to see such things. I ain’t ever going to get those sights out of my head. Lots of times I dream about them.

I stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down. Sometimes I heard guns away off in the woods; and twice I seen little gangs of men gallop past the log store with guns; so I reckoned the trouble was still a-going on. I was mighty downhearted; so I made up my mind I wouldn’t ever go anear that house again, because I reckoned I was to blame, somehow. I judged that that piece of paper meant that Miss Sophia was to meet Harney somewheres at half-past two and run off; and I judged I ought to told her father about that paper and the curious way she acted, and then maybe he would a locked her up, and this awful mess wouldn’t ever happened.

I stayed in the tree till it begun to get dark, afraid to come down. Sometimes I heard guns far off in the woods. And twice I seen little groups of men with guns gallop past the log store. So I reckoned the trouble was still going on. I was mighty downhearted, so I made up my mind I wouldn’t ever go near that house again. I reckoned I was to blame, somehow. I judged that the piece of paper meant Miss Sophia was to meet Harney somewhere at two thirty and run off. And I judged I ought to told her father about that paper and the strange way she acted. Then maybe he would have locked her up, and this awful mess wouldn’t ever happened.

When I got down out of the tree, I crept along down the river bank a piece, and found the two bodies laying in the edge of the water, and tugged at them till I got them ashore; then I covered up their faces, and got away as quick as I could. I cried a little when I was covering up Buck’s face, for he was mighty good to me.

When I got down out of the tree, I crept a little way along the river bank. I found the two bodies laying at the water’s edge and tugged at them till I got them ashore. Then I covered up their faces and got away as quick as I could. I cried a little when I was covering up Buck’s face, because he was mighty good to me.

It was just dark now. I never went near the house, but struck through the woods and made for the swamp. Jim warn’t on his island, so I tramped off in a hurry for the crick, and crowded through the willows, red-hot to jump aboard and get out of that awful country. The raft was gone! My souls, but I was scared! I couldn’t get my breath for most a minute. Then I raised a yell. A voice not twenty-five foot from me says:

It was just getting dark now. I never went near the house, but headed through the woods toward the swamp. Jim wasn't on his island, so I hurried off to the creek and pushed through the willows. I was desperate to jump aboard and get out of that awful country. The raft was gone! My souls, but I was scared! I couldn’t catch my breath for most a minute. Then I let out a yell. A voice not twenty-five foot from me says:

“Good lan’! is dat you, honey? Doan’ make no noise.”

“Good land! Is that you, honey? Don’t make no noise.”

It was Jim’s voice—nothing ever sounded so good before. I run along the bank a piece and got aboard, and Jim he grabbed me and hugged me, he was so glad to see me. He says:

It was Jim’s voice. Nothing ever sounded so good before. I run along the bank a piece and got aboard. And Jim he grabbed me and hugged me because he was so glad to see me. He says:

“Laws bless you, chile, I ’uz right down sho’ you’s dead agin. Jack’s been heah; he say he reck’n you’s ben shot, kase you didn’ come home no mo’; so I’s jes’ dis minute a startin’ de raf’ down towards de mouf er de crick, so’s to be all ready for to shove out en leave soon as Jack comes agin en tells me for certain you is dead. Lawsy, I’s mighty glad to git you back agin, honey.”

“Laws bless you, child, I was right down sure you was dead again. Jack’s been here. He say he reckon you has been shot, because you didn’t come home no more. So I is just this minute a-starting the raft down towards the mouth of the creek. That way I’ll be all ready to shove off and leave as soon as Jack comes again and tells me for certain you is dead. Lawsy, I is mighty glad to get you back again, honey.”

I says:

“All right—that’s mighty good; they won’t find me, and they’ll think I’ve been killed, and floated down the river—there’s something up there that’ll help them think so—so don’t you lose no time, Jim, but just shove off for the big water as fast as ever you can.”

“All right, that’s mighty good. They won’t find me, and they’ll think I’ve been killed and floated down the river. There’s something up there that’ll help them think so. So don’t you lose no time, Jim. Just shove off for the open water as fast as you can.”

I never felt easy till the raft was two mile below there and out in the middle of the Mississippi. Then we hung up our signal lantern, and judged that we was free and safe once more. I hadn’t had a bite to eat since yesterday, so Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, and pork and cabbage and greens—there ain’t nothing in the world so good when it’s cooked right—and whilst I eat my supper we talked, and had a good time. I was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, and so was Jim to get away from the swamp. We said there warn’t no home like a raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a raft don’t. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.

I never felt easy till the raft was two mile downstream from there, out in the middle of the Mississippi. Then we hung up our signal lantern and figured that we was free and safe once more. I hadn’t had a bite to eat since yesterday. So Jim he got out some corn-dodgers and buttermilk, and pork and cabbage and greens. There ain’t nothing in the world so good when it’s cooked right. And while I eat my supper, we talked and had a good time. I was powerful glad to get away from the feuds, and so was Jim to get away from the swamp. We said there weren’t no home like a raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and stuffy, but a raft don’t. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.