The Further Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Greg Matthews
On the fourth day a scout come riding full pelt from up ahead all excited like he’s seen something mighty interesting, so when a parcel of men set off in the direction he come from I rode along too. When we come to the crest of a rise a few mile away, I seen a genuine wonderment. The whole plain just as far as you could see was covered with buffalo like a lumpy brown carpet. The nearest ones was a quarter mile off, front heavy with shaggy humpbacks and big heads with goatee beards, and their little whippy tails never stopped switching flies away. There must of been millions of them all moving along peaceful together.
The Injuns walked their horses real slow down the slope toward them, nocking arrows in their bowstrings and getting their lances ready. The buffalo never even noticed till the wind shifted and give them the scent, then they whirled about and started pressing back into the rest of the herd to get away, and panic run right through all of them and the whole carpet just turned tail and run. The Injuns let out a whoop and dug in their heels and galloped away after them, and I done it too. Horses is faster than buffalo and the lead riders catched up right quick with the tailenders and dropped their reins and begun pouring arrows into them just behind the hump, loading and reloading on the fly and guiding the horses with their knees. I seen one buffalo barreling along with maybe a dozen arrows in him but still going strong, then he swerved sideways and brung down the horse and rider alongside of him. They never got hurt somehow and the Injun sprung back onto his horse and kept right on chasing the same buffalo, which was staggering some now with blood pouring out along his sides. Then his legs never worked no more and the front ones buckled under him and he done a somersault and plowed along the ground and lay dying. Them with lances done the bravest thing, riding up real close and shoving the point in deep behind the hump, just like pictures I seen of men killing whales, and the buffalo that got that treatment died soonest. The chase went on mile after mile with the air full of dust and the ground rumbling and shaking under all them hoofs and the Injuns whooping every time they brung down another.
I rode along with the blood rushing in my head and my eyes and nose full of dust and my ears full of noise. It was as dangersome and thrilling as the thunderstorm, and I whooped along with the Injuns a considerable distance before I recollected I got a rifle slung over my shoulder that ain’t earning its keep. I dropped my reins like the Sioux done and swung the Hawken up to my shoulder to draw a bead on a big shaggy bull thundering along maybe three yards off, only my horse ain’t trained to run without a tight rein like Injun ponies and he sheered off, so I lost the chance. But I never give up. I steered him back on course and tried it again with another buffalo, but soon as I dropped them reins to bring up the rifle he took a new direction and I lost the chance again. I seen I ain’t going to kill no buffalo from a moving horse: I could of tried shooting with one hand but a Hawken has got a powerful kick and it would of jumped right out of my mitt if I done it, so I never.
I reined in to one side and brung my horse to a halt. The herd was still streaming past but thinning out now, so I put the Hawken to my shoulder and tried to pick a likely one to drop. Then I seen a horse put his leg in a gopher hole and go crashing down. The rider went flying through the air and rolled along the ground, but he ain’t hurt by a miracle and picked himself up before he even quit rolling, only now there’s a huge big bull rushing down on him and likely to grind him under without even stopping. I swung the Hawken and aimed square at his spine behind the head and squeezed the trigger. The Hawken bucked and the bull kind of slid forward through the dust on his knees like a steamboat running full speed onto a sandbar. His head fell to one side and he’s dead, just a leg away from the Injun which I see now is Running Horse. Another Injun come along and scooped him up behind at full gallop and took him out of harm’s way, and he give me a wave to show he ain’t hurt none.
The last few buffalo run by panting like old boilers with their purple tongues lolling out of their heads and the herd rolled away over a rise out of eye-reach. When the dust settled I counted up ten dead along with the one I shot, which is a heap of meat. Running Horse’s pony was lying with his leg snapped below the knee, whinnying pitiful. I reloaded and was just about to put a ball in his head when Running Horse come up and stopped me. What he done next come unexpected, because he hacks a chunk out of the horse’s neck with his tomahawk so the blood come frothing out, then he made a bowl of his hands and let the blood spurt in to fill it. Then he drunk it! I never seen nothing so awful and disgusting. The horse kicked feeble and there’s a pool of blood growing around him. Running Horse smeared his face and chest with it and finally the horse give up the ghost. Buffalo hunting is thirsty work, but there warn’t no need I could see to drink no horse blood. It was a puzzlement, but later on Hepzibah told me it’s a sign of respect for the horse from the owner, and that way the horse is going to be waiting for him after Running Horse dies too, and they can ride across the sky together chasing moonbeams.
The women come along and started hacking at the dead buffalo, peeling off the hide and cutting off chunks of meat for cooking, and the job took all day. The men done the exciting part of hunting and the women done all the boring dirty work, but they laughed and sung while they done it and when night come down there was a feast that everyone joined in, just stuffing buffalo hump inside of them till their bellies swelled and they can’t hardly walk.
The hunters sung songs about how brave they are and Running Horse sung about how I shot the buffalo that was set to squash him. Hepzipah says I got to give the story all over again too, so I got up and done a mime of riding along and everything and they just killed theirselfs laughing when I come to the part about the horse swerving away whenever I dropped the reins to take aim, so I had to do that part about five times more than it really happened. When I finally done the buffalo skidding to a stop they practickly busted a gut and I had to do that part over considerable too, which layered me in dust, but it’s worth it to be popular like that. I ain’t a notice-grabber by nature, but after I done what I done that day the men never looked at me like I’m wearing a dress no more, which made life easier. They give me official reckernition too; the chief had me come over and he tied a knot of my hair around a long eagle feather as a reward for saving one of his warriors. Tom Sawyer would of envied all the attention I got.
Then Standing Tall started in with a song of his own about hunting in days gone by when he was younger, and about a battle with another tribe when he got an arrow in the arm and ripped it right out and kept on fighting. Everyone just loved it even if they must of heard it a hundred times before. Hepzibah says Standing Tall is real popular and how when a chief dies the whole tribe goes into mourning straight off, even if they’re in the middle of something important like a battle. When a chief dies it’s like the heart of all of them is gone for a day or two, which shows how much respect they got for their leader. The tale-telling and singing went on all night, then everyone drug theirselfs off to bed and never got up till late next day, which suited me fine.
A few days later we swung south and come to the Platte, and I seen how the water level has dropped plenty since we crossed it at Fort Kearney. We followed it for a week, maybe a hundred and fifty mile, and one afternoon come around a bend and there in front of us is the Nicobar. She was stranded high and dry on a sandbar with the bottoms of her paddles sunk inches deep in it, and she’ll be part of the scenery hereabouts till winter rains lift her clear. There was a whole section of her upper deck missing, which is strange, and she’s a tragical sight to see all butchered like that. I looked for Pap but he warn’t in sight. There’s only three or four men around her digging with shovels and trying to make a channel that’ll let the water either side of the bar reach the Nicobar’s hull, but I could tell just by looking it ain’t going to work on account of the level warn’t high enough anyway.
When they seen us they dropped their shovels and scrambled on board. The women and children was a little way behind, and Standing Tall and his men lined up along t
The second blast sent them galloping over the rise away from the river and Jim and me went along too. I never seen such a waste of life. The Injuns was only curious, not warlike, but them on the Nicobar must of panicked when they seen so many. The rest of the tribe come running after the riders and they all got assembled a half mile off. The women set up a wailing and moaning over them that was killed. I hoped Running Horse ain’t among them or Hepzibah would likely get Jim and me killed too out of revenge, and we shook like scared dogs waiting to see what happens next. Then I seen Running Horse with all his arms and legs and felt relieved, but not for long because here comes Hepzibah with thunder on her face and she spit on my moccasins.
“See?” she says, all shivering with rage. “That’s whites for you! They’re going to pay for it, just wait and see! We’ll get them and make them sorry! They’ll wish they was never born before we finish, and you just better keep out of things if you don’t want the same!”
“It warn’t our fault, Hepzibah.…”
“I don’t care!” she screams, and stamped away. Jim says:
“We walkin’ on mighty thin ice wid dat gal, Huck. She ain’t white no mo’, jest Injun. Dese here Sioux is her own folks for sure. You reckon we oughter get away?”
“Too risky, Jim. If she sees we’re gone she’ll blab on us definite and the whole tribe’ll come after us.”
“Maybe dey be too busy wid de boat to give us no mind. Dey got de dander up good an’ hot an’ wants blood I reckon.”
“Well, I prefer it ain’t ours. We’ll just stay out of the way like Hepzibah says and hope they forget about us till they get cooled off.”
So that’s what we done, sticking to the shadows when night come down and fires got lit. The men held a big powwow and talked loud and dramatic, then a dozen or so went down to the river and brung back the dead under cover of darkness. There was more weeping and wailing from the women when they seen the awful damage the chain shot done and the men looked mighty grim. Then they got out drums and commenced banging on them and shuffling in a circle around the main fire, chanting a song all deep and terrible sounding, enough to make your hair stand on end. Hepzibah come up to me with a smug look and says they aim to attack the Nicobar just after dawn and lift the hair off them that’s aboard, only first they’ll have some fun out of them. She never explained the fun part, just says we’ll see what she means tomorrow, then she went back to the women. I done some brain churning and say:
“Jim, them on board done the wrong thing, but it ain’t right they should all get scalped for what a handful done with the cannon, not even Pap.”
“Ain’t nothin’ we kin do, Huck.”
“I got intentions to warn them.”
“You cain’t, Huck. Dey goin’ to figure you an Injun dress’ like you is.”
“Not if I talk to them before they see me. I got to do it or feel ashamed forever.”
“If’n Hepzibah fin’ out, you goin’ to get killed by Injuns. She don’ like us no mo’, Huck.”
“I’ll only be gone a little while. So long as she sees you’re still around she’ll likely figure I’m here too.”
“I wish you wouldn’, Huck.”
“Well, I am.”
I snuck away from the camp and heeled it for the river. The Nicobar was all in darkness without no lamps burning, and I hollered across the water to let them know I ain’t no war party.
“Hello aboard the Nicobar! Can you hear me?”
“Who is it?” says a voice.
“A white man,” says I. “I’m coming out, so don’t shoot, please.”
There’s a mumble of low talking on board, then another voice says:
“Come on, then, but make noise so’s we know where you are.”
“I’m coming now. Don’t shoot.”
I waded in and headed for the steamer. The water never come past my waist in the deepest parts and I crossed the sandbar she’s stranded on, whistling all the while like they wanted. I reached her and swung aboard and got grabbed by two men and had my Hawken took away.
“Why, it’s an Injun after all,” says one. “It’s a trick!”
“Nossir, I ain’t no Injun. I’m Daniel McPhee from Illinois.”
“He sounds white,” says the other.
“Bring him along,” says the first, and I seen he’s wearing a gold ear-ring like a pirate, so he’s a riverman for sure. They held me tight by the arms and marched me along to the main cabin where there’s two other men, one of them a sight older than the rest with a captain’s cap on his head. There’s a smidgen of moonlight coming through the shutters and I seen Pap ain’t there.
“Who are you?” says the captain.
“Daniel McPhee, sir.”
“How come you’re dressed like an Injun?”
“My folks was pioneers, sir. They got killed by the Sioux and I got brung up Injun style.”
“Well, which are you, Injun or white?”
“I reckon I’m white. I come to warn you about the attack that’s going to happen tomorrow morning.”
“It’s a trick,” says the ear-ring.
“Hold your water,” says the captain. “Let’s hear him out. Are you sure it’s tomorrow, not tonight?”
“Yessir, straight after dawn.”
“He’s lying. They’ll come while it’s dark,” says the other one.
“It’s the truth,” says I. “You best get armed and ready for when they come or take the dinghy and head downriver right now.”
The captain give a feeble kind of laugh and says:
“The dinghy’s gone and the longboat too. When we got stuck here some took the boats and pulled upriver to reach Fort Laramie and the rest tore the hurricane deck to pieces and floated rafts back down to Fort Kearney. There’s only us four left.”
So Pap warn’t on board after all. Says I:
“Pardon me, Cap’n, but with only four men you can’t win, not even with a cannon. There’s upwards of a hundred warriors getting ready to scalp you.”
The one that ain’t spoke a word so far give a moan. He’s tall and lanky and don’t look hardly tough enough to be a forty-niner, but there’s them that’d say the same about me so I can’t judge. He looked awful scared and was practickly shivering out of his socks while he done the moaning.
“Stow that racket,” says the captain and turns back to me.
“Listen, boy, you know the Injuns and you can see the trouble we’re in here. Is there a way out?”
“Not as I can see, Cap’n. I figured on there being around fifty men with guns at least.”
He sucked his teeth and furrowed his brow some, pondering. Says I:
“There’s maybe one way, but it’s slenderish.”
“Spit it out, boy. We’re desperate men.”
“Can all you men ride?”
It turns out they all can except the moaner, who moaned even louder when I told the plan.
“I can snitch horses from the Sioux and bring them back for a getaway. They’re kind of busy singing and dancing right now so I reckon I can do it without getting seen, but I ain’t about to put money on it.”
“I can’t ride …” moans the moaner.
“Quit that godawful mewling,” sneers the ear-ring. “I can’t stand to see a growed man take on
The one beside him says:
“I come near to crying myself when I think on how you started the whole thing, Rufus. If you had of aimed that first shot over their heads none of this would of happened, you peabrain.”
“Who are you calling a peabrain, your dirty eggsucker!”
“Belay that!” roars the captain.
I seen it was bound to be uphill work rescuing men so full of argumentiveness, and there warn’t all that much time left neither.
“Pardon me, sirs,” says I, “I reckon you best save all the jawing and give me a yes or no on the plan.”
“The boy’s right,” says the captain. “Give him back his gun and let him do it.”
“I still ain’t sure we can trust him,” says Rufus.
“We don’t have a choice in it. This way there’s maybe a chance for us. Boy, do you remember any Bible lessons from before you got captured by them heathens?”
“Yessir, Cap’n, mostly about begatting and such. The Israelites done a fair amount of it when they warn’t praying.”
“Good,” he says, and goes and fetches back a biggish book and holds it up for me to see. “This here’s the ship’s log, only you’ve got to pretend it’s a Bible. I want you to put your hand upon it and swear before Almighty God you ain’t about to trick us.”
It would of wasted more time pointing out the foolishness of it all so I laid my paw on the log and say:
“I swear on the holy book I ain’t fixing no trap or trick or not doing nothing that can’t be called a genuine dyed-in-the-wool certified grade-A rescue, and may I be struck down by lightning and dwell forever in the hot place if it ain’t true, so help me.”
That made them rest easy and the captain claps me on the back and says:
“Our lives are in your hands, son. I reckon you’re a real white man under them buckskins.”
“Here’s your gun, boy,” says Rufus. “Now get, and don’t come back without no horses.”