Kabanata Kabanata 29 · 第29章

They was fetching a very nice-looking old gentleman along, and a

nice-looking younger one, with his right arm in a sling. And, my souls,

how the people yelled and laughed, and kept it up. But I didn’t see no

joke about it, and I judged it would strain the duke and the king some

to see any. I reckoned they’d turn pale. But no, nary a pale did _they_

turn. The duke he never let on he suspicioned what was up, but just

went a goo-gooing around, happy and satisfied, like a jug that’s

googling out buttermilk; and as for the king, he just gazed and gazed

down sorrowful on them new-comers like it give him the stomach-ache in

his very heart to think there could be such frauds and rascals in the

world. Oh, he done it admirable. Lots of the principal people gethered

around the king, to let him see they was on his side. That old

gentleman that had just come looked all puzzled to death. Pretty soon

he begun to speak, and I see straight off he pronounced _like_ an

Englishman—not the king’s way, though the king’s _was_ pretty good for

an imitation. I can’t give the old gent’s words, nor I can’t imitate

him; but he turned around to the crowd, and says, about like this:

“This is a surprise to me which I wasn’t looking for; and I’ll

acknowledge, candid and frank, I ain’t very well fixed to meet it and

answer it; for my brother and me has had misfortunes; he’s broke his

arm, and our baggage got put off at a town above here last night in the

night by a mistake. I am Peter Wilks’ brother Harvey, and this is his

brother William, which can’t hear nor speak—and can’t even make signs

to amount to much, now’t he’s only got one hand to work them with. We

are who we say we are; and in a day or two, when I get the baggage, I

can prove it. But up till then I won’t say nothing more, but go to the

hotel and wait.”

So him and the new dummy started off; and the king he laughs, and

blethers out:

“Broke his arm—_very_ likely, _ain’t_ it?—and very convenient, too, for

a fraud that’s got to make signs, and ain’t learnt how. Lost their

baggage! That’s _mighty_ good!—and mighty ingenious—under the

_circumstances!_”

So he laughed again; and so did everybody else, except three or four,

or maybe half a dozen. One of these was that doctor; another one was a

sharp-looking gentleman, with a carpet-bag of the old-fashioned kind

made out of carpet-stuff, that had just come off of the steamboat and

was talking to him in a low voice, and glancing towards the king now

and then and nodding their heads—it was Levi Bell, the lawyer that was

gone up to Louisville; and another one was a big rough husky that come

along and listened to all the old gentleman said, and was listening to

the king now. And when the king got done this husky up and says:

“Say, looky here; if you are Harvey Wilks, when’d you come to this

town?”

“The day before the funeral, friend,” says the king.

“But what time o’ day?”

“In the evenin’—’bout an hour er two before sundown.”

“_How’d_ you come?”

“I come down on the Susan Powell from Cincinnati.”

“Well, then, how’d you come to be up at the Pint in the _mornin_’—in a

canoe?”

“I warn’t up at the Pint in the mornin’.”

“It’s a lie.”

Several of them jumped for him and begged him not to talk that way to

an old man and a preacher.

“Preacher be hanged, he’s a fraud and a liar. He was up at the Pint

that mornin’. I live up there, don’t I? Well, I was up there, and he

was up there. I _see_ him there. He come in a canoe, along with Tim

Collins and a boy.”

The doctor he up and says:

“Would you know the boy again if you was to see him, Hines?”

“I reckon I would, but I don’t know. Why, yonder he is, now. I know him

perfectly easy.”

It was me he pointed at. The doctor says:

“Neighbors, I don’t know whether the new couple is frauds or not; but

if _these_ two ain’t frauds, I am an idiot, that’s all. I think it’s

our duty to see that they don’t get away from here till we’ve looked

into this thing. Come along, Hines; come along, the rest of you. We’ll

take these fellows to the tavern and affront them with t’other couple,

and I reckon we’ll find out _something_ before we get through.”

It was nuts for the crowd, though maybe not for the king’s friends; so

we all started. It was about sundown. The doctor he led me along by the

hand, and was plenty kind enough, but he never let _go_ my hand.

We all got in a big room in the hotel, and lit up some candles, and

fetched in the new couple. First, the doctor says:

“I don’t wish to be too hard on these two men, but _I_ think they’re

frauds, and they may have complices that we don’t know nothing about.

If they have, won’t the complices get away with that bag of gold Peter

Wilks left? It ain’t unlikely. If these men ain’t frauds, they won’t

object to sending for that money and letting us keep it till they prove

they’re all right—ain’t that so?”

Everybody agreed to that. So I judged they had our gang in a pretty

tight place right at the outstart. But the king he only looked

sorrowful, and says:

“Gentlemen, I wish the money was there, for I ain’t got no disposition

to throw anything in the way of a fair, open, out-and-out investigation

o’ this misable business; but, alas, the money ain’t there; you k’n

send and see, if you want to.”

“Where is it, then?”

“Well, when my niece give it to me to keep for her I took and hid it

inside o’ the straw tick o’ my bed, not wishin’ to bank it for the few

days we’d be here, and considerin’ the bed a safe place, we not bein’

used to niggers, and suppos’n’ ’em honest, like servants in England.

The niggers stole it the very next mornin’ after I had went down

stairs; and when I sold ’em I hadn’t missed the money yit, so they got

clean away with it. My servant here k’n tell you ’bout it, gentlemen.”

The doctor and several said “Shucks!” and I see nobody didn’t

altogether believe him. One man asked me if I see the niggers steal it.

I said no, but I see them sneaking out of the room and hustling away,

and I never thought nothing, only I reckoned they was afraid they had

waked up my master and was trying to get away before he made trouble

with them. That was all they asked me. Then the doctor whirls on me and

says:

“Are _you_ English, too?”

I says yes; and him and some others laughed, and said, “Stuff!”

Well, then they sailed in on the general investigation, and there we

had it, up and down, hour in, hour out, and nobody never said a word

about supper, nor ever seemed to think about it—and so they kept it up,

and kept it up; and it _was_ the worst mixed-up thing you ever see.

They made the king tell his yarn, and they made the old gentleman tell

his’n; and anybody but a lot of prejudiced chuckleheads would a _seen_

that the old gentleman was spinning truth and t’other one lies. And

by-and-by they had me up to tell what I knowed. The king he give me a

left-handed look out of the corner of his eye, and so I knowed enough

to talk on the right side. I begun to tell about Sheffield, and how we

lived there, and all about the English Wilkses, and so on; but I didn’t

get pretty fur till the doctor begun to laugh; and Levi Bell, the

lawyer, says:

“Set down, my boy; I wouldn’t strain myself if I was you. I reckon you

ain’t used to lying, it don’t seem to come handy; what you want is

practice. You do it pretty awkward.”

I didn’t care nothing for the compliment, but I was glad to be let off,

anyway.

The doctor he started to say something, and turns and says:

“If you’d been in town at first, Levi Bell—” The king broke in and

reached out his hand, and says:

“Why, is this my poor dead brother’s old friend that he’s wrote so

often about?”

The lawyer and him shook hands, and the lawyer smiled and looked

pleased, and they talked right along awhile, and then got to one side

and talked low; and at last the lawyer speaks up and says:

“That’ll fix it. I’ll take the order and send it, along with your

brother’s, and then they’ll know it’s all right.”

So they got some paper and a pen, and the king he set down and twisted

his head to one side, and chawed his tongue, and scrawled off

something; and then they give the pen to the duke—and then for the

first time the duke looked sick. But he took the pen and wrote. So then

the lawyer turns to the new old gentleman and says:

“You and your brother please write a line or two and sign your names.”

The old gentleman wrote, but nobody couldn’t read it. The lawyer looked

powerful astonished, and says:

“Well, it beats _me_”—and snaked a lot of old letters out of his

pocket, and examined them, and then examined the old man’s writing, and

then _them_ again; and then says: “These old letters is from Harvey

Wilks; and here’s _these_ two handwritings, and anybody can see _they_

didn’t write them” (the king and the duke looked sold and foolish, I

tell you, to see how the lawyer had took them in), “and here’s _this_

old gentleman’s hand writing, and anybody can tell, easy enough, _he_

didn’t write them—fact is, the scratches he makes ain’t properly

_writing_ at all. Now, here’s some letters from—”

The new old gentleman says:

“If you please, let me explain. Nobody can read my hand but my brother

there—so he copies for me. It’s _his_ hand you’ve got there, not mine.”

“_Well!_” says the lawyer, “this _is_ a state of things. I’ve got some

of William’s letters, too; so if you’ll get him to write a line or so

we can com—”

“He _can’t_ write with his left hand,” says the old gentleman. “If he

could use his right hand, you would see that he wrote his own letters

and mine too. Look at both, please—they’re by the same hand.”

The lawyer done it, and says:

“I believe it’s so—and if it ain’t so, there’s a heap stronger

resemblance than I’d noticed before, anyway. Well, well, well! I

thought we was right on the track of a solution, but it’s gone to

grass, partly. But anyway, _one_ thing is proved—_these_ two ain’t

either of ’em Wilkses”—and he wagged his head towards the king and the

duke.

Well, what do you think? That muleheaded old fool wouldn’t give in

_then!_ Indeed he wouldn’t. Said it warn’t no fair test. Said his

brother William was the cussedest joker in the world, and hadn’t

_tried_ to write—_he_ see William was going to play one of his jokes

the minute he put the pen to paper. And so he warmed up and went

warbling and warbling right along till he was actuly beginning to

believe what he was saying _himself;_ but pretty soon the new gentleman

broke in, and says:

“I’ve thought of something. Is there anybody here that helped to lay

out my br—helped to lay out the late Peter Wilks for burying?”

“Yes,” says somebody, “me and Ab Turner done it. We’re both here.”

Then the old man turns towards the king, and says:

“Perhaps this gentleman can tell me what was tattooed on his breast?”

Blamed if the king didn’t have to brace up mighty quick, or he’d a

squshed down like a bluff bank that the river has cut under, it took

him so sudden; and, mind you, it was a thing that was calculated to

make most _anybody_ sqush to get fetched such a solid one as that

without any notice, because how was _he_ going to know what was

tattooed on the man? He whitened a little; he couldn’t help it; and it

was mighty still in there, and everybody bending a little forwards and

gazing at him. Says I to myself, _Now_ he’ll throw up the sponge—there

ain’t no more use. Well, did he? A body can’t hardly believe it, but he

didn’t. I reckon he thought he’d keep the thing up till he tired them

people out, so they’d thin out, and him and the duke could break loose

and get away. Anyway, he set there, and pretty soon he begun to smile,

and says:

“Mf! It’s a _very_ tough question, _ain’t_ it! _Yes_, sir, I k’n tell

you what’s tattooed on his breast. It’s jest a small, thin, blue

arrow—that’s what it is; and if you don’t look clost, you can’t see it.

_Now_ what do you say—hey?”

Well, _I_ never see anything like that old blister for clean

out-and-out cheek.

The new old gentleman turns brisk towards Ab Turner and his pard, and

his eye lights up like he judged he’d got the king _this_ time, and

says:

“There—you’ve heard what he said! Was there any such mark on Peter

Wilks’ breast?”

Both of them spoke up and says:

“We didn’t see no such mark.”

“Good!” says the old gentleman. “Now, what you _did_ see on his breast

was a small dim P, and a B (which is an initial he dropped when he was

young), and a W, with dashes between them, so: P—B—W”—and he marked

them that way on a piece of paper. “Come, ain’t that what you saw?”

Both of them spoke up again, and says:

“No, we _didn’t_. We never seen any marks at all.”

Well, everybody _was_ in a state of mind now, and they sings out:

“The whole _bilin_’ of ’m ’s frauds! Le’s duck ’em! le’s drown ’em!

le’s ride ’em on a rail!” and everybody was whooping at once, and there

was a rattling powwow. But the lawyer he jumps on the table and yells,

and says:

“Gentlemen—gentle_men!_ Hear me just a word—just a _single_ word—if you

PLEASE! There’s one way yet—let’s go and dig up the corpse and look.”

That took them.

“Hooray!” they all shouted, and was starting right off; but the lawyer

and the doctor sung out:

“Hold on, hold on! Collar all these four men and the boy, and fetch

_them_ along, too!”

“We’ll do it!” they all shouted; “and if we don’t find them marks we’ll

lynch the whole gang!”

I _was_ scared, now, I tell you. But there warn’t no getting away, you

know. They gripped us all, and marched us right along, straight for the

graveyard, which was a mile and a half down the river, and the whole

town at our heels, for we made noise enough, and it was only nine in

the evening.

As we went by our house I wished I hadn’t sent Mary Jane out of town;

because now if I could tip her the wink she’d light out and save me,

and blow on our dead-beats.

Well, we swarmed along down the river road, just carrying on like

wildcats; and to make it more scary the sky was darking up, and the

lightning beginning to wink and flitter, and the wind to shiver amongst

the leaves. This was the most awful trouble and most dangersome I ever

was in; and I was kinder stunned; everything was going so different

from what I had allowed for; stead of being fixed so I could take my

own time if I wanted to, and see all the fun, and have Mary Jane at my

back to save me and set me free when the close-fit come, here was

nothing in the world betwixt me and sudden death but just them

tattoo-marks. If they didn’t find them—

I couldn’t bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn’t think

about nothing else. It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful

time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the

wrist—Hines—and a body might as well try to give Goliar the slip. He

dragged me right along, he was so excited, and I had to run to keep up.

When they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it

like an overflow. And when they got to the grave they found they had

about a hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn’t

thought to fetch a lantern. But they sailed into digging anyway by the

flicker of the lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a

mile off, to borrow one.

So they dug and dug like everything; and it got awful dark, and the

rain started, and the wind swished and swushed along, and the lightning

come brisker and brisker, and the thunder boomed; but them people never

took no notice of it, they was so full of this business; and one minute

you could see everything and every face in that big crowd, and the

shovelfuls of dirt sailing up out of the grave, and the next second the

dark wiped it all out, and you couldn’t see nothing at all.

At last they got out the coffin and begun to unscrew the lid, and then

such another crowding and shouldering and shoving as there was, to

scrouge in and get a sight, you never see; and in the dark, that way,

it was awful. Hines he hurt my wrist dreadful pulling and tugging so,

and I reckon he clean forgot I was in the world, he was so excited and

panting.

All of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice of white glare,

and somebody sings out:

“By the living jingo, here’s the bag of gold on his breast!”

Hines let out a whoop, like everybody else, and dropped my wrist and

give a big surge to bust his way in and get a look, and the way I lit

out and shinned for the road in the dark there ain’t nobody can tell.

I had the road all to myself, and I fairly flew—leastways, I had it all

to myself except the solid dark, and the now-and-then glares, and the

buzzing of the rain, and the thrashing of the wind, and the splitting

of the thunder; and sure as you are born I did clip it along!

When I struck the town I see there warn’t nobody out in the storm, so I

never hunted for no back streets, but humped it straight through the

main one; and when I begun to get towards our house I aimed my eye and

set it. No light there; the house all dark—which made me feel sorry and

disappointed, I didn’t know why. But at last, just as I was sailing by,

_flash_ comes the light in Mary Jane’s window! and my heart swelled up

sudden, like to bust; and the same second the house and all was behind

me in the dark, and wasn’t ever going to be before me no more in this

world. She _was_ the best girl I ever see, and had the most sand.

The minute I was far enough above the town to see I could make the

tow-head, I begun to look sharp for a boat to borrow, and the first time

the lightning showed me one that wasn’t chained I snatched it and

shoved. It was a canoe, and warn’t fastened with nothing but a rope.

The tow-head was a rattling big distance off, away out there in the

middle of the river, but I didn’t lose no time; and when I struck the

raft at last I was so fagged I would a just laid down to blow and gasp

if I could afforded it. But I didn’t. As I sprung aboard I sung out:

“Out with you, Jim, and set her loose! Glory be to goodness, we’re shut

of them!”

Jim lit out, and was a-coming for me with both arms spread, he was so

full of joy; but when I glimpsed him in the lightning my heart shot up

in my mouth and I went overboard backwards; for I forgot he was old

King Lear and a drownded A-rab all in one, and it most scared the

livers and lights out of me. But Jim fished me out, and was going to

hug me and bless me, and so on, he was so glad I was back and we was

shut of the king and the duke, but I says:

“Not now; have it for breakfast, have it for breakfast! Cut loose and

let her slide!”

So in two seconds away we went a-sliding down the river, and it _did_

seem so good to be free again and all by ourselves on the big river,

and nobody to bother us. I had to skip around a bit, and jump up and

crack my heels a few times—I couldn’t help it; but about the third

crack I noticed a sound that I knowed mighty well, and held my breath

and listened and waited; and sure enough, when the next flash busted

out over the water, here they come!—and just a-laying to their oars and

making their skiff hum! It was the king and the duke.

So I wilted right down on to the planks then, and give up; and it was

all I could do to keep from crying.