The Further Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Greg Matthews
“Lookit them bastards,” says Bob. “They’re just waiting for us to drop, the stinkin’ sonsabitches.”
And he aimed his rifle and fired at them, which never upset the buzzards at all, but Bob felt a mite better for it. Soon we come across a wagon with the back axle busted. There warn’t nothing inside it so we kept on and soon was off the salt desert at last, but the regular desert ain’t no friendlier. By and by my head started in banging like a big drum and I wanted to puke, only there ain’t nothing in me to bring up so I stayed feeling sick as a dog all through the morning. It was so bad I come near to whimpering with the pain of it, and my head hung heavy like a cannonball and finally dragged my whole self off Jupiter. I never even knowed I was falling till I hit the ground. I give a shout with the surprise of it but no sound come out. Then Jim is bending over me and trickling water into my mouth from his canteen.
“Drink it, Huck,” he says, “I got more. You in perty bad shape I reckon.”
I still can’t talk and he says:
“Kin you sit on de horse awhile longer, Huck?”
I give a nod and he lifted me onto Jupiter and give me the reins.
“If’n you goin’ to fall again jest you grab onto de saddle horn an’ hang on tight. We almos’ in de mountains now, Huck. Dey lookin’ mighty shady from here.”
He got back on his own horse and we started forward. The others never even stopped when I fell so now we’re last in line. I looked ahead and Jim’s right; the mountains ain’t more than a few hours off so I gritted my teeth and held on. It took forever to reach them, and when we done it them mountains warn’t so shady as they looked from a distance. Jim rode ahead and come back later and says he found a spring further up the trail, and he’s brung back a full canteen to prove it. He come over and give it to me, but before I even got a mouthful inside of me Bob says:
“Grown men first. Bring that water over here. I’m bone dry.”
“You drink it, Huck,” says Jim.
“Are you deaf, nigger?” says Jesse. “You heard him, now bring it here.”
And he aimed his rifle at Jim’s back. When I seen that I run the canteen directly over to Bob, but Jesse warn’t through yet.
“You dumb nigger,” he says. “Ain’t you learned how to take orders from a white man? What kinder slave are you, you turd-eatin’ black sonovabitch?”
“I ain’t no slave,” says Jim. “I been a free man dis las’ year.”
“There ain’t no such thing as a free nigger, nigger, and don’t you forget it again or I’ll blow your head clean off. You hear me, nigger?”
“I ain’t deef,” says Jim, not bowing his head like a nigger is supposed to when he gets shouted at by a white man. Jesse never believed his eyes the way Jim looked straight into them, and I reckon he would of pulled the trigger if Bob hadn’t of throwed the canteen across to him. Jim walked away while Jesse gargled water and got back on his horse. I looked over at Randolph, wondering how come he’s so quiet, and seen that even if he ain’t facing Bob and Jesse the barrel of his pistol is poking out from under his elbow and he’s got his head turned just enough so’s he can aim if he wanted to shoot, which he don’t need to now the argument is ended, and the barrel vanished even while I’m looking. Randolph has got a cool head for sure, and I bet he never really wanted to get into no fight with Bob and Jesse over a nigger and a canteen of water. It ain’t like he looked on Jim as a friend, even called him nigger like the others, so maybe he would of shot Jesse purely on account of he don’t like white trash that ain’t high-toned like himself. It’s a puzzlement the way he acts and I can’t figure which side he’s on.
When we got to the spring there’s a little grass for the horses so we rested there all the afternoon and night. Jim and me kept away from the rest and there warn’t no more trouble, and next day we followed the trail twisting along through the mountains, real rugged country with buzzards and eagles always in the sky. When we was halfway through on the second day Randolph looked at his map and says he ain’t going to follow the wagon ruts through to Humboldt Wells but go catty-corner across country along what Mr. Walker back at Fort Bridger told him is called the Clyman Route of eighteen forty-six and hit the Humboldt River further down, which he says will save us a couple of days travel. We was all agreeable and left the wagon trail for a little valley heading due west, and followed it along another day and come out the other side where it’s flat desert again all covered in sagebrush, which made good burning for the fire that night.
Trouble come when Jesse started staring at Jim, not saying nothing, just staring. Jim seen it but kept right on eating, and finally Jesse says:
“Nigger, you eat more’n a horse. You better quit stealin’ our supplies or I ain’t answerable.”
“I ain’t stealin’ nothin’,” says Jim. “We got our own supplies.”
“The way you fill your belly you ain’t going to have none left pretty soon, and when that happens you better not come near ours or I ain’t answerable, I mean it.”
It was just ridickerless what he’s saying, and I never held back I’m so fired up over the stupidness of it and got on my feet.
“You quit! You done nothing but pick trouble all along, and if you don’t quit we ain’t going no further with you!”
It give him a surprise the way I yelled, but he just laughed it off.
“Lookit you,” he says, “the great mankiller himself. You oughter watch your tongue, small fry, or I might cut it outer your Injun head.”
“Just you try it!” says I, squeaking all high pitched I’m so mad. “You try and I’ll lift the hair off your idiot head!”
“Idiot, am I?” he snarls, and got on his feet with his eyes all narrowed down to slits. I seen he’s in a mean mood and was just waiting for me or Jim to talk back so’s he can start a fight.
“You better get set for dying, boy,” he says, and whips out his knife. “Say them prayers, Injun. I had about enougher you and the nigger both.”
I don’t know nothing about knife fighting so I left mine in my belt and backed away, scared now I seen he ain’t fooling.
“Come on, boy. Where’s your guts? Ain’t you the little coward, backin’ off that way. Come on and get acquainted with a steely gent name of Bowie, or else get on your knees and apologize. What’s it gonna to be, Injun?”
“I ain’t apologizing to you, you peabrain sap-head idiot!” says I, still stepping backwards. “You got to be the pathetickest idiot brain I ever met! You ain’t got no more control than a baby that messes his crib!”
His face twisted out of shape and he run at me with his knife raised. I froze on the spot, too scared to pull my own knife or even turn tail and run, and I figured I’m good as dead. But when Jesse went charging past Randolph to get at me Randolph’s boot got in the way of his legs and he come crashing down so close to the fire his sleeve catched alight and he squealed and slapped the flames out directly. He warn’t hurt none but was still plenty mad, and he looked around for his knife that he dropped but Jim already grabbed it. Then Bob picks up his rifle and aims it at Jim.
“Drop that knife, nigger,” he says, and Jim tossed it over his shoulder away into the dark where no one ain’t going to find it without a heap of looking.
“Shoot him!” yells Jesse.
“I reckon I just might,” says Bob, and cocked the hammer.
“Put that rifle down, Raffe,” says Randolph, and he’s got his pistol pointed at Bob’s heart. Bob let the hammer down easy and laid his gun on the ground.
“Drummond,” says Randolph, “get your knife, then sit down and act like a human being.”
“I don’t take no orders from no one!” yells Jesse.
Randolph put a shot past his ear and Jesse hunted around for the knife then sat down quiet. Says Randolph:
“Now listen to me all of you. We are five men in a wilderness. Only our own good sense will bring us through to California, and I’ve seen nothing that looks like good sense tonight. It’s my aim to get where I’m
“Lessen he kills you first,” grumbles Jesse.
“That’s right, he who shoots first also shoots last. I sleep with one eye open, Drummond, so don’t try it. And leave the nigger alone, he’s done you no harm.”
“Maybe,” says Jesse.
“No maybe—you do it.”
I reckon if Randolph warn’t a gambler he would of been a sea captain or in the army. When he talked like that you never had no doubt he means it, and Jesse and Bob settled down to smoke their pipes and Jim and me done the same. Randolph joined in with a cigar and we sent up enough smoke to get seen miles around if it was daylight, then we rolled in our blankets and slept.
I got woke by a kind of grunting, and it’s Jim getting attacked by Jesse. They was thrashing around in the dust with Jim underneath and he’s got his fingers around Jesse’s wrist to stop the knife coming down into his heart. I kicked my blanket away and picked up a rock and smashed it against Jesse’s head and he sagged limp and Jim pushed him away. The others was awake now and I grabbed my Hawken and aimed at Bob.
“Don’t you move,” says I. “Jim, get our horses ready.”
“What’s your plan, boy?” asks Randolph.
“We’re leaving you three before someone gets killed. That Jesse’s a lunatic and there ain’t no reasoning with him, so Jim and me are going to make our own way from now on.”
“We ain’t stopping you,” says Bob. “The sooner you get the better, but if you went and killed Jesse I’m comin’ after you.”
“He ain’t dead, but I wish he was and I ain’t ashamed to say it.”
Jesse give a groan and I yelled at him to get over with the others. When he seen my rifle he done it, but on hands and knees. His hair’s all bloody and he puked a couple times on the way, but I never felt sorry for him. I would of been more sympathetical to a sick dog than Jesse. It took Jim awhile to get things fixed up working in the dark and the Hawken got mighty weighty in my hands, but I never let the barrel drop. Finally Jim says the horses is ready. He led Jupiter over to me and I mounted up while Jim held the rifle, then I took it back while he got mounted and led our pack horses off into the dark. When he was a fair distance off I turned Jupiter and dug in my heels and went after him.
A mile or two away we stopped and listened but never heard nobody coming after us so I reckon we’re rid of them, which is reliefsome. We kept on at a walk and a few mile further on stopped again.
“Jim,” says I, “we got to plan out how not to run into that bunch again. I can’t take no more muleheadedness from idiots that won’t even try to be friendly. We got problems enough without idiots on top of everything else.”
“How we goin’ to do it, Huck? Dey be follerin’ on direc’ly come mornin’.”
“Then we’ll just hide ourselfs someplace till they go by, and so long as we don’t travel too fast they’ll get way ahead and we won’t ever meet up with them no more. See them rocks? If we camp in among them till daybreak we’ll be able to spy the others go past without them catching a look at us.”
And that’s what we done. We never lit no fire, just hobbled the horses and bedded down for the few hours left till dawn. When the sun come up we kept a watch lying flat on top of a boulder, and sure enough here comes Randolph and Bob and Jesse. They never once looked over at where we are and rode on by, but just when I figured the plan worked dandy we seen a bunch of Injuns on horseback come down from a rocky ridge a half mile or so off and head for Randolph and the rest, maybe a dozen in all.
They rode up slow and stopped real close to the three, which are stopped too. It looks like they’re having some kind of powwow, then all of a sudden there’s gunfire and three Injuns fell to the ground and the rest galloped off. When the Injuns was out of sight Randolph and them whipped up their horses and hared off in a cloud of dust, and when it settled they was out of eye-reach. The empty Injun horses has run off too, most likely headed for home behind the rest. Says I:
“Jim, I reckon we’ll stay put here awhile in case them Injuns has gone to fetch their big brothers to ride after Randolph and them. I got no intention to get mixed up in it. I just bet it was Jesse that fired first.”
Jim allowed it’s the safest thing so we waited hid in the rocks for hours with one or other of us keeping watch. The Injuns never showed, so if they was aiming to ambush Randolph they must be fixing to do it further down the trail. But the time we spent hid warn’t wasted, because around noon Jim give a hiss to get my notice and points across the sage. I slid up alongside of him and looked where he’s pointing and my heart give a little jump. It’s Bulldog, and he’s got an Injun with him bending low in the saddle to read signs on the ground.
“How he know we took de shortcut?” whispers Jim.
“The Injun. Thaddeus told me they can practickly track a bird through the air. He must of seen where we branched off the wagon route and followed along.”
“If’n he be dat good he goin’ to see where we turned off an’ hid over here, Huck.”
“I know it. Dang that bulldog. Why’d he have to get smart and hire a tracker?”
Barrett and the Injun was moving along slow and I fretted plenty when they come to the spot where me and Jim changed course for the rocks, and sure enough, the Injun points at the ground and says something to the bulldog. We was close enough to get the noise but not the words.
“Dey be headin’ dis way anytime now, Huck. You goin’ to shoot him?”
“Shoot him? Why, that’d make me worse’n Jesse, specially if I done it from behind cover. No, I reckon we’ll have to run for it.”
The Injun was riding in tight circles now and pointing at stuff on the ground. Says I:
“Stay here and keep watch, Jim. I’ll get the horses ready.”
I crawled away on my belly and tightened up all the saddle girths and took off the hobbles, then Jim signaled me and I slithered back over. The Injun is still riding in circles, but it never should of took him all this time to see where we turned off. The answer come to me.
“Jim, it’s the same spot where Randolph and them killed the Injuns! It’s the bodies they’re looking at, not our tracks.”
“He still lookin’ mighty close at de groun’. If’n he got eagle eyes like you say den he goin’ to find ’em for sure, Huck.”
The Injun and Bulldog was talking now, maybe trying to put the story of the massacre together. The Injun pointed up at the ridge where the Injuns come from, then straight at our rocks.
“He’s suspicioned it, Jim.…”
“Maybe not. Dey’s argumentin’ ’bout somethin’.”
The Injun kept pointing over at us, but Bulldog was pointing the way Randolph and the others went. Their voices got louder but we still never heard them clear, then the Injun reached into his pocket and pulled out something small. First off I figured it’s a pistol, but he put it to his mouth and I seen it’s a bottle. Bulldog talked even louder and slapped the bottle out of the Injun’s hand. It smashed on the ground and the Injun started talking real loud too, and Bulldog give as good as he got.
“That’s why he don’t believe the Injun about us being over here, Jim. He’s a whiskey Injun.”
For a little while longer it looked like the bulldog is going to get his way, then the Injun turned his horse and come directly for us. I reckon his pride must of been hurt and he aims to prove he’s right, drunk or not. The bulldog give one last cuss and come along behind. Says I:
“Our luck just run out, Jim.”
I started to slide away but Jim grabbed my arm.
“Wait on, Huck.… De Injuns is back!”
I looked and he’s right. They come pouring over the ridge, maybe twenty this time, and when they seen Barrett and the tracker they let out a w
“Ain’t it funny de way it work out, Huck. If Jesse hadn’ter been so mean we would of been with ’em still an’ had a heaper Injuns on our trail. Now we ain’t even got de bulldog to worry on no mo’.”
He’s right, but I warn’t happy. The bulldog hounded me halfway across the country and I disliked him for it, but he never killed no Injuns, and for me to ride off knowing he’ll be staked out on an anthill or get his skin peeled off or something ain’t the kind of thing that sits easy on a body’s conscience. There’s plenty that would judge me in the clear if I let the Injuns do to him what Injuns does, but that don’t help none.
“Jim,” says I, “we’ll have to rescue him.”