Bab Bab 26 · CHAPTER XXVI. The Haunted House—Sleepy Ghosts—A Box of Gold—Bitter Luck

. CHAPTER XXVI. The Haunted House—Sleepy Ghosts—A Box of Gold—Bitter Luck

About noon the next day the boys arrived at the dead tree; they had come

for their tools. Tom was impatient to go to the haunted house; Huck was

measurably so, also—but suddenly said:

“Lookyhere, Tom, do you know what day it is?”

Tom mentally ran over the days of the week, and then quickly lifted his

eyes with a startled look in them—

“My! I never once thought of it, Huck!”

“Well, I didn’t neither, but all at once it popped onto me that it was

Friday.”

“Blame it, a body can’t be too careful, Huck. We might ’a’ got into an

awful scrape, tackling such a thing on a Friday.”

“_Might_! Better say we _would_! There’s some lucky days, maybe, but

Friday ain’t.”

“Any fool knows that. I don’t reckon _you_ was the first that found it

out, Huck.”

“Well, I never said I was, did I? And Friday ain’t all, neither. I had a

rotten bad dream last night—dreampt about rats.”

“No! Sure sign of trouble. Did they fight?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s good, Huck. When they don’t fight it’s only a sign that

there’s trouble around, you know. All we got to do is to look mighty

sharp and keep out of it. We’ll drop this thing for today, and play. Do

you know Robin Hood, Huck?”

“No. Who’s Robin Hood?”

“Why, he was one of the greatest men that was ever in England—and the

best. He was a robber.”

“Cracky, I wisht I was. Who did he rob?”

“Only sheriffs and bishops and rich people and kings, and such like. But

he never bothered the poor. He loved ’em. He always divided up with ’em

perfectly square.”

“Well, he must ’a’ been a brick.”

“I bet you he was, Huck. Oh, he was the noblest man that ever was.

They ain’t any such men now, I can tell you. He could lick any man in

England, with one hand tied behind him; and he could take his yew bow

and plug a ten-cent piece every time, a mile and a half.”

“What’s a _yew_ bow?”

“I don’t know. It’s some kind of a bow, of course. And if he hit that

dime only on the edge he would set down and cry—and curse. But we’ll

play Robin Hood—it’s nobby fun. I’ll learn you.”

“I’m agreed.”

So they played Robin Hood all the afternoon, now and then casting a

yearning eye down upon the haunted house and passing a remark about the

morrow’s prospects and possibilities there. As the sun began to sink

into the west they took their way homeward athwart the long shadows

of the trees and soon were buried from sight in the forests of Cardiff

Hill.

On Saturday, shortly after noon, the boys were at the dead tree again.

They had a smoke and a chat in the shade, and then dug a little in their

last hole, not with great hope, but merely because Tom said there were

so many cases where people had given up a treasure after getting down

within six inches of it, and then somebody else had come along and

turned it up with a single thrust of a shovel. The thing failed this

time, however, so the boys shouldered their tools and went away feeling

that they had not trifled with fortune, but had fulfilled all the

requirements that belong to the business of treasure-hunting.

When they reached the haunted house there was something so weird and

grisly about the dead silence that reigned there under the baking sun,

and something so depressing about the loneliness and desolation of the

place, that they were afraid, for a moment, to venture in. Then they

crept to the door and took a trembling peep. They saw a weedgrown,

floorless room, unplastered, an ancient fireplace, vacant windows,

a ruinous staircase; and here, there, and everywhere hung ragged and

abandoned cobwebs. They presently entered, softly, with quickened

pulses, talking in whispers, ears alert to catch the slightest sound,

and muscles tense and ready for instant retreat.

In a little while familiarity modified their fears and they gave the

place a critical and interested examination, rather admiring their own

boldness, and wondering at it, too. Next they wanted to look upstairs.

This was something like cutting off retreat, but they got to daring

each other, and of course there could be but one result—they threw their

tools into a corner and made the ascent. Up there were the same signs of

decay. In one corner they found a closet that promised mystery, but the

promise was a fraud—there was nothing in it. Their courage was up now

and well in hand. They were about to go down and begin work when—

“Sh!” said Tom.

“What is it?” whispered Huck, blanching with fright.

“Sh!... There!... Hear it?”

“Yes!... Oh, my! Let’s run!”

“Keep still! Don’t you budge! They’re coming right toward the door.”

The boys stretched themselves upon the floor with their eyes to

knotholes in the planking, and lay waiting, in a misery of fear.

“They’ve stopped.... No—coming.... Here they are. Don’t whisper another

word, Huck. My goodness, I wish I was out of this!”

Two men entered. Each boy said to himself: “There’s the old deaf and

dumb Spaniard that’s been about town once or twice lately—never saw

t’other man before.”

“T’other” was a ragged, unkempt creature, with nothing very pleasant

in his face. The Spaniard was wrapped in a serape; he had bushy white

whiskers; long white hair flowed from under his sombrero, and he wore

green goggles. When they came in, “t’other” was talking in a low voice;

they sat down on the ground, facing the door, with their backs to the

wall, and the speaker continued his remarks. His manner became less

guarded and his words more distinct as he proceeded:

“No,” said he, “I’ve thought it all over, and I don’t like it. It’s

dangerous.”

“Dangerous!” grunted the “deaf and dumb” Spaniard—to the vast surprise

of the boys. “Milksop!”

This voice made the boys gasp and quake. It was Injun Joe’s! There was

silence for some time. Then Joe said:

“What’s any more dangerous than that job up yonder—but nothing’s come of

it.”

“That’s different. Away up the river so, and not another house about.

’Twon’t ever be known that we tried, anyway, long as we didn’t succeed.”

“Well, what’s more dangerous than coming here in the daytime!—anybody

would suspicion us that saw us.”

“I know that. But there warn’t any other place as handy after that fool

of a job. I want to quit this shanty. I wanted to yesterday, only it

warn’t any use trying to stir out of here, with those infernal boys

playing over there on the hill right in full view.”

“Those infernal boys” quaked again under the inspiration of this remark,

and thought how lucky it was that they had remembered it was Friday and

concluded to wait a day. They wished in their hearts they had waited a

year.

The two men got out some food and made a luncheon. After a long and

thoughtful silence, Injun Joe said:

“Look here, lad—you go back up the river where you belong. Wait there

till you hear from me. I’ll take the chances on dropping into this town

just once more, for a look. We’ll do that ‘dangerous’ job after I’ve

spied around a little and think things look well for it. Then for Texas!

We’ll leg it together!”

This was satisfactory. Both men presently fell to yawning, and Injun Joe

said:

“I’m dead for sleep! It’s your turn to watch.”

He curled down in the weeds and soon began to snore. His comrade stirred

him once or twice and he became quiet. Presently the watcher began to

nod; his head drooped lower and lower, both men began to snore now.

The boys drew a long, grateful breath. Tom whispered:

“Now’s our chance—come!”

Huck said:

“I can’t—I’d die if they was to wake.”

Tom urged—Huck held back. At last Tom rose slowly and softly, and

started alone. But the first step he made wrung such a hideous creak

from the crazy floor that he sank down almost dead with fright. He never

made a second attempt. The boys lay there counting the dragging moments

till it seemed to them that time must be done and eternity growing gray;

and then they were grateful to note that at last the sun was setting.

Now one snore ceased. Injun Joe sat up, stared around—smiled grimly upon

his comrade, whose head was drooping upon his knees—stirred him up with

his foot and said:

“Here! _You’re_ a watchman, ain’t you! All right, though—nothing’s

happened.”

“My! have I been asleep?”

“Oh, partly, partly. Nearly time for us to be moving, pard. What’ll we

do with what little swag we’ve got left?”

“I don’t know—leave it here as we’ve always done, I reckon. No use to

take it away till we start south. Six hundred and fifty in silver’s

something to carry.”

“Well—all right—it won’t matter to come here once more.”

“No—but I’d say come in the night as we used to do—it’s better.”

“Yes: but look here; it may be a good while before I get the right

chance at that job; accidents might happen; ’tain’t in such a very good

place; we’ll just regularly bury it—and bury it deep.”

“Good idea,” said the comrade, who walked across the room, knelt down,

raised one of the rearward hearth-stones and took out a bag that jingled

pleasantly. He subtracted from it twenty or thirty dollars for himself

and as much for Injun Joe, and passed the bag to the latter, who was on

his knees in the corner, now, digging with his bowie-knife.

The boys forgot all their fears, all their miseries in an instant. With

gloating eyes they watched every movement. Luck!—the splendor of it was

beyond all imagination! Six hundred dollars was money enough to make

half a dozen boys rich! Here was treasure-hunting under the happiest

auspices—there would not be any bothersome uncertainty as to where to

dig. They nudged each other every moment—eloquent nudges and easily

understood, for they simply meant—“Oh, but ain’t you glad _now_ we’re

here!”

Joe’s knife struck upon something.

“Hello!” said he.

“What is it?” said his comrade.

“Half-rotten plank—no, it’s a box, I believe. Here—bear a hand and we’ll

see what it’s here for. Never mind, I’ve broke a hole.”

He reached his hand in and drew it out—

“Man, it’s money!”

The two men examined the handful of coins. They were gold. The boys

above were as excited as themselves, and as delighted.

Joe’s comrade said:

“We’ll make quick work of this. There’s an old rusty pick over amongst

the weeds in the corner the other side of the fireplace—I saw it a

minute ago.”

He ran and brought the boys’ pick and shovel. Injun Joe took the

pick, looked it over critically, shook his head, muttered something to

himself, and then began to use it. The box was soon unearthed. It was

not very large; it was iron bound and had been very strong before the

slow years had injured it. The men contemplated the treasure awhile in

blissful silence.

“Pard, there’s thousands of dollars here,” said Injun Joe.

“’Twas always said that Murrel’s gang used to be around here one

summer,” the stranger observed.

“I know it,” said Injun Joe; “and this looks like it, I should say.”

“Now you won’t need to do that job.”

The halfbreed frowned. Said he:

“You don’t know me. Least you don’t know all about that thing. ’Tain’t

robbery altogether—it’s _revenge_!” and a wicked light flamed in his

eyes. “I’ll need your help in it. When it’s finished—then Texas. Go home

to your Nance and your kids, and stand by till you hear from me.”

“Well—if you say so; what’ll we do with this—bury it again?”

“Yes. [Ravishing delight overhead.] _No_! by the great Sachem, no!

[Profound distress overhead.] I’d nearly forgot. That pick had fresh

earth on it! [The boys were sick with terror in a moment.] What business

has a pick and a shovel here? What business with fresh earth on

them? Who brought them here—and where are they gone? Have you heard

anybody?—seen anybody? What! bury it again and leave them to come and

see the ground disturbed? Not exactly—not exactly. We’ll take it to my

den.”

“Why, of course! Might have thought of that before. You mean Number

One?”

“No—Number Two—under the cross. The other place is bad—too common.”

“All right. It’s nearly dark enough to start.”

Injun Joe got up and went about from window to window cautiously peeping

out. Presently he said:

“Who could have brought those tools here? Do you reckon they can be

upstairs?”

The boys’ breath forsook them. Injun Joe put his hand on his knife,

halted a moment, undecided, and then turned toward the stairway. The

boys thought of the closet, but their strength was gone. The steps came

creaking up the stairs—the intolerable distress of the situation woke

the stricken resolution of the lads—they were about to spring for the

closet, when there was a crash of rotten timbers and Injun Joe landed on

the ground amid the debris of the ruined stairway. He gathered himself

up cursing, and his comrade said:

“Now what’s the use of all that? If it’s anybody, and they’re up there,

let them _stay_ there—who cares? If they want to jump down, now, and get

into trouble, who objects? It will be dark in fifteen minutes—and then

let them follow us if they want to. I’m willing. In my opinion, whoever

hove those things in here caught a sight of us and took us for ghosts or

devils or something. I’ll bet they’re running yet.”

Joe grumbled awhile; then he agreed with his friend that what daylight

was left ought to be economized in getting things ready for leaving.

Shortly afterward they slipped out of the house in the deepening

twilight, and moved toward the river with their precious box.

Tom and Huck rose up, weak but vastly relieved, and stared after them

through the chinks between the logs of the house. Follow? Not they. They

were content to reach ground again without broken necks, and take the

townward track over the hill. They did not talk much. They were too much

absorbed in hating themselves—hating the ill luck that made them take

the spade and the pick there. But for that, Injun Joe never would have

suspected. He would have hidden the silver with the gold to wait

there till his “revenge” was satisfied, and then he would have had the

misfortune to find that money turn up missing. Bitter, bitter luck that

the tools were ever brought there!

They resolved to keep a lookout for that Spaniard when he should come to

town spying out for chances to do his revengeful job, and follow him to

“Number Two,” wherever that might be. Then a ghastly thought occurred to

Tom.

“Revenge? What if he means _us_, Huck!”

“Oh, don’t!” said Huck, nearly fainting.

They talked it all over, and as they entered town they agreed to believe

that he might possibly mean somebody else—at least that he might at

least mean nobody but Tom, since only Tom had testified.

Very, very small comfort it was to Tom to be alone in danger! Company

would be a palpable improvement, he thought.