“I appreciate your problem, Walt,” he says, “and will give his stories no credence in future. Now you tell me he does have a kind of lunatic air about him. It must be hard work caring for that type.”
“Yessir. Me and Goliath got to watch over him night and day.”
“So there is a nigger with you,” he says.
I could of kicked myself for letting it out, but I’m considerable rattled by the whole thing so it’s understandable, and there ain’t nothing for it but to steam ahead.
“He got that part right, yessir. Uncle Frank gets at least one thing right every day, sometimes two, but it’s rare.”
He swallered it easy and says:
“How long will you remain here before moving on?”
“Well … uh … we figured to get back on the trail any day now, Mr. Berringer. We’re all rested up and raring to find gold.”
“Why not wait awhile longer and travel along with us, Walt? California is near, but there are still hostile redskins betwixt here and there. You’ve been a power of help to us and I can’t say I’d sleep of a night wondering if you’re in trouble. Talk it over with your uncle. Seeing as he’s peculiar I guess the decision will be yours, but take my advice and throw in your lot with us. It would be folly to continue alone, burdened as you are by a lunatic.”
“I’ll give it consideration, Mr. Berringer.”
“Do that, Walt. Your party is more than welcome to join us.”
I done more hunting that day and shot a wildcat. Most of it went to Mr. Berringer’s people but I took a portion back to the cave. Jim warn’t happy they knowed about him, but the way I seen it there ain’t no point in hiding out in the cave no more, so we best take up the offer and join them. If we never done it they would of suspicioned us for sure, and if the bulldog is waiting for us somewhere up ahead he won’t ever look for us in a bunch of men and wagons, more likely he’ll be expecting us to pass by on our own, so that’s another reason we got to do it. Jim grumbled some but finally seen sense and says he’s agreeable, but when Frank come back to the cave he warn’t so eager on it.
“I have spent the greater part of the day with that crowd,” he says, “and there is not one intelligent being among them. You will no doubt find yourself at home in their midst but I will not, no indeed.”
That’s real dandy coming from the one that spilled the beans in the first place, and I got warm under the collar over it and give him a lecture on how a body can’t be standoffish out here, and if he don’t want to come along he can stay put and just see if he’s got the brains to keep himself alive. That shook him some I reckon, and he went away and sulked. Later on he says he’ll come along but he ain’t happy to do it, and went off and scribbled some more inventions for comfort.
So we stayed another week while the people in the train got theirselfs mended. I done their hunting till the men was able to do it and got to be right popular with all of them. Jim showed his face a time or three but no one started hollering for a sheriff to arrest us so they never guessed our true names. Frank stayed by himself most of the time and never bothered no one except on the night he woke up and shot my Hawken off in the cave on account of he seen Obadiah’s ghost standing over him. The noise echoed some and woke everyone in the train and they primed their guns for an Injun attack. I near got my head blowed off when I went along to say it’s a false alarm, and slept with the Hawken under me after that.
Folks called me Walt and I learned their names too, and they told all the things that happened to them since they left St. Joe, most of it regular stuff about cholera and dying and leaving their wagons and such, but my ears stood out when one of them told how there was a big conbobberation when Colonel Beckwith got back to Fort Laramie after the expedition against the Sioux (which was never even catched sight of the whole ten days the soldiers was looking for them) and found his wife upped and run off with a stranger. He done considerable rug chewing over it and got drunk five whole days and nights. The forty-niners weren’t allowed in the fort after the cholera broke out and only knowed what happened from sentries that talked friendly-like over the walls. They was all disgusted over the way the colonel never done no coloneling, just upended bottle after bottle and left the running of things to a captain, and in the end the captain read out from the army book of rules the part about when a commander is out of his head it’s all right for the next in line to take over the job official, which is what happened just before the train pulled out. I reckon the colonel must of been in love with Lydia to let himself go to pieces and put himself in the way of disgrace like that, and I kind of felt sorry for him.
Finally the time come when the wagons and us moved out, and it felt good to be rolling along with folks again and be treated like a friend. We followed the river west for ten days without no trouble from Injuns or Frank, who was busy inventing a giant steam shovel for digging tunnels through mountains so you never had to climb over them. He got all excited when he done the final drawing and showed everyone. They was polite and smiling about it or called him a danged fool to his face, which got him considerable peeved and he never showed them the other drawings like the underwater boat and the earth trumpet, which is just as well because most folks ain’t inclined to listen to a madman tolerant.
When we come in eye-reach of the Sierra Nevadas everyone was mightly impressed at how grand they looked, but the closer we got the more we changed our tune. If you ever seen them mountains you know why. They was big and awesome like the Rockies, only steeper and more fearsome looking with jaggedy peaks reaching up at the sky, so high only an eagle could of gone over easy, but on the other side is California, and that give us fresh heart.
We made camp hard up against where the mountains start getting steep and there was singing and dancing around the fire that night with a jew’s-harp and a flute, the only insterments light enough not to have got throwed away on the trail. It’s all to celebrate that we ain’t got far to go and make everyone less afraid of the last stretch, which looks to be mighty tough going like I say. It was cheering the way folks jumped and stomped around, whooping and laughing and enjoying theirselfs and leaving the bad times behind. Then Mr. Berringer give a speech when things quieted down for a spell so’s you could catch your breath.
“Friends,” he says, “we have journeyed far together across prairie and mountains and desert and lost dear ones along the way. Only a handful remain of those who began, but few though we may be, not one need feel ashamed for having lived when others died, for there has not once in all these miles been an act of cowardice or meanness among the members present and departed of our band. The last hurdle is before us and we will strive to overcome it as we have done those that came before, and we will win through, of that I am sure. But now I ask you to bow your heads in silent prayer for those lost to us, that we may remember their sacrifice and draw strength from their memory and be grateful for the mercy God has bestowed upon we who remain.”
They all took off their hats and bowed their heads and I done the same so as not to give no offense. I owed them it for treating Jim and me decent. They never knowed we’re wanted men so maybe things would of been different if they was acquainted with the facts, but I reckon I got to give them the doubtful benefit as they say. When the prayer was over they started up the dancing again and I went down to the river to be on my own awhile. It was peaceful there with the music off yonder through the trees and the frogs croaking and the water sliding by. I sat on a rock and smoked my pipe, just watching the river all sparkling in the moonlight and hearing the night birds, real restful to the ear. It was so relaxsome I never jumped when footsteps come up behind me, just turned slow, figuring it’s someone from the train come looking for restfulness same as me. But it ain’t. It’s Chauncey Thermopylae Barrett, and he’s got Bob and Jesse with him.
“Good evening, Finn,” he says. “I see you have survived the desert crossing in good health.”
He ain’t in a dress no more and got himself a pistol from somewhere that?
??s pointed right at me. I near choked on my pipe with the shock of it, but I warn’t about to let them see me scared even if I’m sick to my belly.
“Evening, Bulldog,” says I. “How goes it?”
“I have never had affection for that name,” he says. “In future kindly call me Mr. Barrett.”
Jesse give a laugh, it’s so ridickerless the way Bulldog acts, and got give a look to keep him quiet. Says I:
“Evening to you too, gents. I’m considerable surprised you teamed up with Bulldog here. I recollect you saying you never liked him awhile back.”
“We need a grubstake, boy,” says Bob, “and you’re it. No hard feelings.”
“I don’t ever let hard feelings come between me and other folks, Bob, but you and Jesse ain’t folks, just cockroaches.”
“Snippy, ain’t he,” says Jesse, grinning.
“I reckon he’ll sound different with a rope around his scrawny neck,” says Bob.
“These gentlemen are now in my employ,” says Bulldog. “We chanced upon each other and have agreed to forget past differences and join forces.”
“Well, I ain’t surprised to hear it,” says I. “You made a jackass of yourself so many times trying to catch me on your own I reckon you must be too mortified to try it again without help.”
“Insults are never the bravest of words, Finn. You have led me a long hard chase and demonstrated a degree of cleverness I found challenging, but your time of freedom is now over.”
“Where’s Randolph?” says I to Bob, ignoring Barrett deliberate so he’ll figure I ain’t afraid.
“We got split up in the desert. Maybe he’s alive and maybe he ain’t. It don’t matter beans to you no more.”
“Have trouble finding me?” asks I of Bulldog.
“It was simply a matter of waiting and watching from a vantage point above the trail. If you were not defeated by the desert I knew you would one day pass by. This is the day. You have been under observation since noon.”
“How come you never went into the camp to arrest me?”
“You have the knack of surrounding yourself with friends, Finn. I swore I would never again underestimate your ability to ingratiate yourself among protectors, and so waited until dark.” Then he looks at Bob and Jesse and says: “Ironically, your erstwhile friends are now with me.”
“Ain’t life peculiar,” says I.
“Keep that lip on a tight rein, boy,” says Jesse. “I ain’t forgot the way you tried to kill me that time.”
“There ain’t nothing surprising in that, rabbit-brain. When you see a cockroach you just naturally want to take a rock to it.”
Jesse made to come at me but Bob held him back. Says I:
“What’s your plan, Bulldog? Are you counting on them two to get me back to Missouri, or do the safe thing and shoot me?”
“Neither. There is law of a kind in San Francisco. You’ll be taken there to stand trial or possibly sent back east by way of Cape Horn if that is the wish of the authorities. Once you have been imprisoned my responsibility in the matter ends. The law takes its own course without my aid.”
“That’s real kind. I always wanted to go on a sea trip. I reckon this must be your way of repaying the debt.”
“What debt?” he says.
“Mean to say you forgot already? Why, Bulldog, you got the shortest memory in history. Don’t you recollect how the Injuns got ahold of you and I set you free? I even give you a nice dress to wear afterwards.”
“Dress?” says Jesse. “What’s he talkin’ about?”
“Nothing,” says the bulldog, looking a mite upset.
“You ain’t told them the story?” says I, and proceeded to do it for him while he chewed his mustache and fumed some. Bob and Jesse laughed and he told them to quit. He’s awful proud and don’t like to look a fool, and I seen it’s a way to give me and Jim a chance. Says I:
“You must be the woefullest detective in creation, Bulldog. You done all the wrong things ever since you started after me, and you can’t even take me in without two others to help. It’s a mighty poor showing, and on top of it you ain’t even got the decency to give me a chance after I went and saved your ungrateful hide from Injuns. I reckon it’s downright feeble and it shows you ain’t got no kind of confidence to do the job. Well, I ain’t blaming you. If I was in your boots I’d proberly do the same as you and squash the voice inside of you that says you ain’t got the nerve to give me a chance by way of repayment. Once the story gets around I bet you won’t get another job detecting, not after you lose your reputation. Folks say you’re smart and a gentleman too, but it ain’t so, not if you don’t give me and Jim a chance.”
“What kind of chance?” he says, and I seen he’s took the bait.
“The time from now till daylight to get away without you following.”
“Don’t be absurd, Finn,” he says.
“See? I knowed you’re too scared to do it. It’s a shame I got to be brung in by a poor loser. I figure I deserve better’n that on account of being famous. I always reckoned you was a coward, Bulldog, and when the newspapers ask me how I feel about things you can bet I’ll give ’em the straight facts about that rescue I done for you. Folks’ll read a story like that ten times over.”
“Take that back,” he says, grinding his teeth. “No man calls me a coward.”
“I ain’t no man, just a boy you never repayed for saving your life.”
He grinded his teeth some more then says:
“Very well. You have until sunrise.”
“What?” says Bob. “You aim to let him go?”
“He has challenged my integrity. I have no option.”
“We’re workin’ for a fool,” says Jesse to Bob. “We don’t aim to lose that reward money, Barrett, not now we got it in grabbin’ distance. He ain’t about to get free, not while I got this rifle on him, the little sass-mouth.”
“You’ll do as I say,” says Bulldog, and he’s got his pistol on them to make them do it. “Put down those rifles.”
“This don’t make a grain of sense,” says Bob. “You let him go and we ain’t workin’ for you no more.”
“That is your choice.”
“There’s one thing more before you and me got a deal, Bulldog,” says I. “Jim needs a horse. It ain’t fair if we only got one between us. If you don’t give us another it shows you ain’t a square dealer and the repayment ain’t true.”
“Very well. Drummond, you’ll give him your horse.”
“Danged if I will!” yells Jesse. “Give him yours if you got a mind to, but you ain’t gettin’ mine!”
“Mine neither,” says Bob, and they ain’t bluffing, I can tell.
The bulldog chewed his lip awhile then says:
“So be it. Finn, you will take my horse for the nigger.”
“I reckon it’s a fair trade,” says I, and they marched me a little ways off to where their horses are hid and I got on Bulldog’s while he kept his eye and pistol on Bob and Jesse, both of them cussing and itching to put a ball in me.
“The debt is repaid, Finn,” says Bulldog. “From this moment on I will have no mercy, be sure of that.”
“I never expected none, and you won’t get it from me neither, nor will you two,” says I to Bob and Jesse. “I got my Hawken still and can pick the legs off a fly at fifty yards so you better not get close. I got no friendliness for neither of you.”
It’s a big lie about the fly legs, but it don’t do no harm to throw a scare into them, which they hid with more cussing or else never believed me. Says I:
“Goodbye, and I hope we never meet up again ever.”
“Rest assured we will,” says Bulldog, and the others say the same in the briskest language, half for me and half for Bulldog, and I rode for the camp.
When I found Jim and told what happened his face dropped, but he never wasted no time with questions. We got Jupiter saddled and flung some supplies in a bag and I fetched my Hawken. No one seen us with the music and dancing still g
oing on and we was just about set to leave when Mr. Berringer come along and seen the horses saddled.
“Are you leaving us, Walt?” he asks, all puzzled.
“We got to, Mr. Berringer. I can’t explain nothing about why, just thank you for the kindness you and the others give us.”
“There must be a reason for this.…”
“There is, but I can’t say. Goodbye, Mr. Berringer.”
“Wait! Are you being … hunted?”
“I can’t tell. Please don’t ask no more.”
“You’re Huckleberry Finn, I guess,” he says. “And you’re Jim.”
I could of lied, but there ain’t no point now.
“I reckon so. I never wanted to get in no trouble with you over it so I never told you.”
“There’s no need for apology, my boy. I guessed who you are from the moment I saw the two of you together.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“There are some, but they have promised me never to speak of it out of gratitude for your kindness back along the river. There’s no need for you to run off.”
“I reckon there is, sir.”
I told him about Bulldog and the others and the deal I made and he says:
“This is foolish. If you remain with us Barrett and his men can do you no harm. You’re among friends now, Huckleberry, armed friends. Do not put yourself at risk by leaving.”
“If we stuck with you all the way to California the bulldog’d just string along behind and wait for the train to break up when you come to the end of the trail. He’ll know exactly where we’re at all the time and grab us when there ain’t no bunch of people around to stop him. We got to go now and count on giving him the cold shake in the mountains. I appreciate the offer, Mr. Berringer, but it ain’t no good staying around.”