Huck looked into the old man s honest eyes a moment, then bent over and
whispered in his ear:
Tain t a Spaniard it s Injun Joe!
The Welshman almost jumped out of his chair. In a moment he said:
It s all plain enough, now. When you talked about notching ears and
slitting noses I judged that that was your own embellishment, because
white men don t take that sort of revenge. But an Injun! That s a
different matter altogether.
During breakfast the talk went on, and in the course of it the old man
said that the last thing which he and his sons had done, before going
to bed, was to get a lantern and examine the stile and its vicinity for
marks of blood. They found none, but captured a bulky bundle of
Of _what_?
If the words had been lightning they could not have leaped with a more
stunning suddenness from Huck s blanched lips. His eyes were staring
wide, now, and his breath suspended waiting for the answer. The Welshman
started stared in return three seconds five seconds ten then replied:
Of burglar s tools. Why, what s the _matter_ with you?
Huck sank back, panting gently, but deeply, unutterably grateful. The
Welshman eyed him gravely, curiously and presently said:
Yes, burglar s tools. That appears to relieve you a good deal. But what
did give you that turn? What were _you_ expecting we d found?
Huck was in a close place the inquiring eye was upon him he would have
given anything for material for a plausible answer nothing suggested
itself the inquiring eye was boring deeper and deeper a senseless
reply offered there was no time to weigh it, so at a venture he uttered
it feebly:
Sunday-school books, maybe.
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