I was pretty hungry, but it warn’t going to do for me to start a fire, because they might see the smoke. So I set there and watched the cannon-smoke and listened to the boom. The river was a mile wide there, and it always looks pretty on a summer morning—so I was having a good enough time seeing them hunt for my remainders if I only had a bite to eat. Well, then I happened to think how they always put quicksilver in loaves of bread and float them off, because they always go right to the drownded carcass and stop there. So, says I, I’ll keep a lookout, and if any of them’s floating around after me I’ll give them a show. I changed to the Illinois edge of the island to see what luck I could have, and I warn’t disappointed. A big double loaf come along, and I most got it with a long stick, but my foot slipped and she floated out further. Of course I was where the current set in the closest to the shore—I knowed enough for that. But by and by along comes another one, and this time I won. I took out the plug and shook out the little dab of quicksilver, and set my teeth in. It was “baker’s bread”—what the quality eat; none of your low-down corn-pone.
I got a good place amongst the leaves, and set there on a log, munching the bread and watching the ferry-boat, and very well satisfied. And then something struck me. I says, now I reckon the widow or the parson or somebody prayed that this bread would find me, and here it has gone and done it. So there ain’t no doubt but there is something in that thing—that is, there’s something in it when a body like the widow or the parson prays, but it don’t work for me, and I reckon it don’t work for only just the right kind.
I lit a pipe and had a good long smoke, and went on watching. The ferryboat was floating with the current, and I allowed I’d have a chance to see who was aboard when she come along, because she would come in close, where the bread did. When she’d got pretty well along down towards me, I put out my pipe and went to where I fished out the bread, and laid down behind a log on the bank in a little open place. Where the log forked I could peep through.
By and by she come along, and she drifted in so close that they could a run out a plank and walked ashore. Most everybody was on the boat. Pap, and Judge Thatcher, and Bessie Thatcher, and Jo Harper, and Tom Sawyer, and his old Aunt Polly, and Sid and Mary, and plenty more. Everybody was talking about the murder, but the captain broke in and says:
“Look sharp, now; the current sets in the closest here, and maybe he’s washed ashore and got tangled amongst the brush at the water’s edge. I hope so, anyway.”
I didn’t hope so. They all crowded up and leaned over the rails, nearly in my face, and kept still, watching with all their might. I could see them first-rate, but they couldn’t see me. Then the captain sung out:
“Stand away!” and the cannon let off such a blast right before me that it made me deef with the noise and pretty near blind with the smoke, and I judged I was gone. If they’d a had some bullets in, I reckon they’d a got the corpse they was after. Well, I see I warn’t hurt, thanks to goodness. The boat floated on and went out of sight around the shoulder of the island. I could hear the booming now and then, further and further off, and by and by, after an hour, I didn’t hear it no more. The island was three mile long. I judged they had got to the foot, and was giving it up. But they didn’t yet a while. They turned around the foot of the island and started up the channel on the Missouri side, under steam, and booming once in a while as they went. I crossed over to that side and watched them. When they got abreast the head of the island they quit shooting and dropped over to the Missouri shore and went home to the town.
I knowed I was all right now. Nobody else would come a-hunting after me. I got my traps out of the canoe and made me a nice camp in the thick woods. I made a kind of a tent out of my blankets to put my things under so the rain couldn’t get at them. I catched a catfish and haggled him open with my saw, and towards sundown I started my camp fire and had supper. Then I set out a line to catch some fish for breakfast.
When it was dark I set by my camp fire smoking, and feeling pretty well satisfied; but by and by it got sort of lonesome, and so I went and set on the bank and listened to the current swashing along, and counted the stars and drift logs and rafts that come down, and then went to bed; there ain’t no better way to put in time when you are lonesome; you can’t stay so, you soon get over it.
And so for three days and nights. No difference—just the same thing. But the next day I went exploring around down through the island. I was boss of it; it all belonged to me, so to say, and I wanted to know all about it; but mainly I wanted to put in the time. I found plenty strawberries, ripe and prime; and green summer grapes, and green razberries; and the green blackberries was just beginning to show. They would all come handy by and by, I judged.
Well, I went fooling along in the deep woods till I judged I warn’t far from the foot of the island. I had my gun along, but I hadn’t shot nothing; it was for protection; thought I would kill some game nigh home. About this time I mighty near stepped on a good-sized snake, and it went sliding off through the grass and flowers, and I after it, trying to get a shot at it. I clipped along, and all of a sudden I bounded right on to the ashes of a camp fire that was still smoking.

My heart jumped up amongst my lungs. I never waited for to look further, but uncocked my gun and went sneaking back on my tiptoes as fast as ever I could. Every now and then I stopped a second amongst the thick leaves and listened, but my breath come so hard I couldn’t hear nothing else. I slunk along another piece further, then listened again; and so on, and so on. If I see a stump, I took it for a man; if I trod on a stick and broke it, it made me feel like a person had cut one of my breaths in two and I only got half, and the short half, too.

When I got to camp I warn’t feeling very brash, there warn’t much sand in my craw; but I says, this ain’t no time to be fooling around. So I got all my traps into my canoe again so as to have them out of sight, and I put out the fire and scattered the ashes around to look like an old last year’s camp, and then clumb a tree.

I reckon I was up in the tree two hours; but I didn’t see nothing, I didn’t hear nothing—I only thought I heard and seen as much as a thousand things. Well, I couldn’t stay up there forever; so at last I got down, but I kept in the thick woods and on the lookout all the time. All I could get to eat was berries and what was left over from breakfast.
By the time it was night I was pretty hungry. So when it was good and dark I slid out from shore before moonrise and paddled over to the Illinois bank—about a quarter of a mile. I went out in the woods and cooked a supper, and I had about made up my mind I would stay there all night when I hear a plunkety-plunk, plunkety-plunk, and says to myself, horses coming; and next I hear people’s voices. I got everything into the canoe as quick as I could, and then went creeping through the woods to see what I could find out. I hadn’t got far when I hear a man say:
“We better camp here if we can find a good place; the horses is about beat out. Let’s look around.”
I didn’t wait, but shoved out and paddled away easy. I tied up in the old place, and reckoned I would sleep in the canoe.
I didn’t sleep much. I couldn’t, somehow, for thinking. And every time I waked up I thought somebody had me by the neck. So the sleep didn’t do me no good. By and by I says to myself, I can’t live this way; I’m a-going to find out who it is that’s here on the island with me; I’ll find it out or bust. Well, I felt better right off.

So I took my paddle and slid out from shore just a step or two, and then let the canoe drop along down amongst the shadows. The moon was shining, and outside of the shadows it made it most as light as day. I poked along well on to an hour, everything still as rocks and sound asleep. Well, by this time I was most down to the foot of the island. A little ripply, cool breeze begun to blow, and that was as good as saying the night was about done. I give her a turn with the paddle and brung her nose to shore; then I got my gun and slipped out and into the edge of the woods. I sat down there on a log, and looked out through the leaves. I see the moon go off watch, and the darkness begin to blanket the river. But in a little while I see a pale streak over the treetops, and knowed the day was coming. So I took my gun and slipped off towards where I had run across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two to listen. But I hadn’t no luck somehow; I couldn’t seem to find the place. But by and by, sure enough, I catched a glimpse of fire away through the trees. I went for it, cautious and slow. By and by I was close enough to have a look, and there laid a man on the ground. It most give me the fan-tods. He had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire. I set there behind a clump of bushes, in about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him steady. It was getting gray daylight now. Pretty soon he gapped and stretched himself and hove off the blanket, and it was Miss Watson’s Jim! I bet I was glad to see him.

I says:
“Hello, Jim!” and skipped out.
He bounced up and stared at me wild. Then he drops down on his knees, and puts his hands together and says:
“Doan’ hurt me—don’t! I hain’t ever done no harm to a ghos’. I alwuz liked dead people, en done all I could for ‘em. You go en git in de river agin, whah you b’longs, en doan’ do nuffn to Ole Jim, ‘at ‘uz awluz yo’ fren’.”

Well, I warn’t long making him understand I warn’t dead. I was ever so glad to see Jim. I warn’t lonesome now. I told him I warn’t afraid of him telling the people where I was. I talked along, but he only set there and looked at me; never said nothing.
Then I says:
“It’s good daylight. Le’s get breakfast. Make up your camp fire good.”
“What’s de use er makin’ up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich truck? But you got a gun, hain’t you? Den we kin git sumfn better den strawbries.”
“Strawberries and such truck,” I says. "Is that what you live on?”
“I couldn’ git nuffn else,” he says.
“Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?”
“I come heah de night arter you’s killed.”
“What, all that time?”
“Yes—indeedy.”
“And ain’t you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?”
“No, sah—nuffn else.”
“Well, you must be most starved, ain’t you?”
“I reck’n I could eat a hoss. I think I could. How long you ben on de islan’?”
“Since the night I got killed.”
“No! W’y, what has you lived on? But you got a gun. Oh, yes, you got a gun. Dat’s good. Now you kill sumfn en I’ll make up de fire.”
So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in a grassy open place amongst the trees, I fetched meal and bacon and coffee, and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the nigger was set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done with witchcraft. I catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned him with his knife, and fried him.
When breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking hot. Jim laid it in with all his might, for he was most about starved. Then when we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied. By and by Jim says:

“But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat ‘uz killed in dat shanty ef it warn’t you?”
Then I told him the whole thing, and he said it was smart. He said Tom Sawyer couldn’t get up no better plan than what I had. Then I says:
“How do you come to be here, Jim, and how’d you get here?”
He looked pretty uneasy, and didn’t say nothing for a minute. Then he says:
“Maybe I better not tell.”
“Why, Jim?”
“Well, dey’s reasons. But you wouldn’ tell on me ef I uz to tell you, would you, Huck?”
“Blamed if I would, Jim.”
“Well, I b’lieve you, Huck. I—I run off.”
“Jim!”
“But mind, you said you wouldn’ tell—you know you said you wouldn’ tell, Huck.”
“Well, I did. I said I wouldn’t, and I’ll stick to it. Honest injun, I will. People would call me a low-down Abolitionist and despise me for keeping mum—but that don’t make no difference. I ain’t a-going to tell, and I ain’t a-going back there, anyways. So, now, le’s know all about it.”
“Well, you see, it ‘uz dis way. Ole missus—dat’s Miss Watson—she pecks on me all de time, en treats me pooty rough, but she awluz said she wouldn’ sell me down to Orleans. But I noticed dey wuz a nigger trader roun’ de place considable lately, en I begin to git oneasy. Well, one night I creeps to de do’ pooty late, en de do’ warn’t quite shet, en I hear old missus tell de widder she gwyne to sell me down to Orleans, but she didn’ want to, but she could git eight hund’d dollars for me, en it ‘uz sich a big stack o’ money she couldn’ resis’. De widder she try to git her to say she wouldn’ do it, but I never waited to hear de res’. I lit out mighty quick, I tell you.
“I tuck out en shin down de hill, en ‘spec to steal a skift ‘long de sho’ som’ers ‘bove de town, but dey wuz people a-stirring yit, so I hid in de ole tumble-down cooper-shop on de bank to wait for everybody to go ‘way. Well, I wuz dah all night. Dey wuz somebody roun’ all de time. ‘Long ‘bout six in de mawnin’ skifts begin to go by, en ‘bout eight er nine every skift dat went ‘long wuz talkin’ ‘bout how yo’ pap come over to de town en say you’s killed. Dese las’ skifts wuz full o’ ladies en genlmen a-goin’ over for to see de place. Sometimes dey’d pull up at de sho’ en take a res’ b’fo’ dey started acrost, so by de talk I got to know all ‘bout de killin’. I ‘uz powerful sorry you’s killed, Huck, but I ain’t no mo’ now.

“I laid dah under de shavin’s all day. I ‘uz hungry, but I warn’t afeard; bekase I knowed ole missus en de widder wuz goin’ to start to de camp-meet’n’ right arter breakfas’ en be gone all day, en dey knows I goes off wid de cattle ‘bout daylight, so dey wouldn’ ‘spec to see me roun’ de place, en so dey wouldn’ miss me tell arter dark in de evenin’. De yuther servants wouldn’ miss me, kase dey’d shin out en take holiday soon as de ole folks ‘uz out’n de way.
“Well, when it come dark I tuck out up de river road, en went ‘bout two mile er more to whah dey warn’t no houses. I’d made up my mine ‘bout what I’s agwyne to do. You see, ef I kep’ on tryin’ to git away afoot, de dogs ‘ud track me; ef I stole a skift to cross over, dey’d miss dat skift, you see, en dey’d know ‘bout whah I’d lan’ on de yuther side, en whah to pick up my track. So I says, a raff is what I’s arter; it doan’ make no track.
“I see a light a-comin’ roun’ de p’int bymeby, so I wade’ in en shove’ a log ahead o’ me en swum more’n half way acrost de river, en got in ‘mongst de drift-wood, en kep’ my head down low, en kinder swum agin de current tell de raff come along. Den I swum to de stern uv it en tuck a-holt. It clouded up en ‘uz pooty dark for a little while. So I clumb up en laid down on de planks. De men ‘uz all ‘way yonder in de middle, whah de lantern wuz. De river wuz a-risin’, en dey wuz a good current; so I reck’n’d ‘at by fo’ in de mawnin’ I’d be twenty-five mile down de river, en den I’d slip in jis b’fo’ daylight en swim asho’, en take to de woods on de Illinois side.
“But I didn’ have no luck. When we ‘uz mos’ down to de head er de islan’ a man begin to come aft wid de lantern, I see it warn’t no use fer to wait, so I slid overboard en struck out fer de islan’. Well, I had a notion I could lan’ mos’ anywhers, but I couldn’t—bank too bluff. I ‘uz mos’ to de foot er de islan’ b’fo’ I found’ a good place. I went into de woods en jedged I wouldn’ fool wid raffs no mo’, long as dey move de lantern roun’ so. I had my pipe en a plug er dog-leg, en some matches in my cap, en dey warn’t wet, so I ‘uz all right.”
“And so you ain’t had no meat nor bread to eat all this time? Why didn’t you get mud-turkles?”
“How you gwyne to git ‘m? You can’t slip up on um en grab um; en how’s a body gwyne to hit um wid a rock? How could a body do it in de night? En I warn’t gwyne to show mysef on de bank in de daytime.”
“Well, that’s so. You’ve had to keep in the woods all the time, of course. Did you hear ‘em shooting the cannon?”
“Oh, yes. I knowed dey was arter you. I see um go by heah—watched um thoo de bushes.”
Some young birds come along, flying a yard or two at a time and lighting. Jim said it was a sign it was going to rain. He said it was a sign when young chickens flew that way, and so he reckoned it was the same way when young birds done it. I was going to catch some of them, but Jim wouldn’t let me. He said it was death. He said his father laid mighty sick once, and some of them catched a bird, and his old granny said his father would die, and he did.

And Jim said you mustn’t count the things you are going to cook for dinner, because that would bring bad luck. The same if you shook the table-cloth after sundown. And he said if a man owned a beehive and that man died, the bees must be told about it before sun-up next morning, or else the bees would all weaken down and quit work and die. Jim said bees wouldn’t sting idiots; but I didn’t believe that, because I had tried them lots of times myself, and they wouldn’t sting me.
I had heard about some of these things before, but not all of them. Jim knowed all kinds of signs. He said he knowed most everything. I said it looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so I asked him if there warn’t any good-luck signs. He says:
“Mighty few—an’ dey ain’t no use to a body. What you want to know when good luck’s a-comin’ for? Want to keep it off"Ef you’s got hairy arms en a hairy breas’, it’s a sign dat you’s agwyne to be rich. Well, dey’s some use in a sign like dat, ‘kase it’s so fur ahead. You see, maybe you’s got to be po’ a long time fust, en so you might git discourage’ en kill yo’sef ‘f you didn’ know by de sign dat you gwyne to be rich bymeby.”

“Have you got hairy arms and a hairy breast, Jim?”
“What’s de use to ax dat question? Don’t you see I has?”
“Well, are you rich?”
“No, but I ben rich wunst, and gwyne to be rich agin. Wunst I had foteen dollars, but I tuck to specalat’n’, en got busted out.”
“What did you speculate in, Jim?”
“Well, fust I tackled stock.”
“What kind of stock?”
“Why, live stock—cattle, you know. I put ten dollars in a cow. But I ain’ gwyne to resk no mo’ money in stock. De cow up ‘n’ died on my han’s.”
“So you lost the ten dollars.”
“No, I didn’t lose it all. I on’y los’ ‘bout nine of it. I sole de hide en taller for a dollar en ten cents.”
“You had five dollars and ten cents left. Did you speculate any more?”

“Yes. You know that one-laigged nigger dat b’longs to old Misto Bradish? Well, he sot up a bank, en say anybody dat put in a dollar would git fo’ dollars mo’ at de en’ er de year. Well, all de niggers went in, but dey didn’t have much. I wuz de on’y one dat had much. So I stuck out for mo’ dan fo’ dollars, en I said ‘f I didn’ git it I’d start a bank mysef. Well, o’ course dat nigger want’ to keep me out er de business, bekase he says dey warn’t business ‘nough for two banks, so he say I could put in my five dollars en he pay me thirty-five at de en’ er de year.
“So I done it. Den I reck’n’d I’d inves’ de thirty-five dollars right off en keep things a-movin’.

El sol estaba ya tan alto cuando me despert que pens que sera despus de las ocho. Me qued tumbado en la hierba a la sombra fresca, pensando en cosas y sintindome descansado y muy cmodo y satisfecho. Se vea el sol entre uno o dos agujeros, pero lo que haba sobre todo eran grandes rboles por todas partes y en medio de ellos muchas sombras. Haba sitios moteados en el suelo donde la luz se filtraba entre las hojas, y los sitios moteados cambiaban un poco, lo cual demostraba que soplaba algo de brisa. Un par de ardillas se sentaron en una rama y me parlotearon en plan muy amistoso.
Me senta muy perezoso y cmodo: no quera levantarme a hacer el desayuno. Bueno, pues estaba a punto de volverme a dormir cuando me pareci que oa un bum! a lo lejos, ro arriba. Me despierto y me apoyo en el codo y escucho; en seguida lo vuelvo a or. Di un salto y fui a mirar por un hueco entre las hojas, y voy y veo un montn de humo por encima del agua, muy lejos ro arriba: aproximadamente frente al transbordador. Y all estaba el transbordador, lleno de gente, que bajaba flotando. Entonces comprend lo que pasaba. Bum! Vi el humo blanco que sala del costado del transbordador. O sea, que estaban disparando el can por encima del agua, tratando de hacer que mi cadver saliera a la superficie.
Tena bastante hambre, pero ms me vala no hacer una hoguera, porque a lo mejor vean el humo. As que me qued sentado mirando el humo del can y escuchando el bum. All el ro meda una milla de ancho y siempre est muy bonito en una maana de verano, as que me lo pas bastante bien viendo cmo buscaban mis restos, y slo me faltaba algo que comer. Bueno, entonces se me ocurri pensar que siempre ponan mercurio en barras de pan y las echaban a flotar, porque suelen ir derechas adonde est el cadver del ahogado y se quedan all. As que voy y digo: Estar atento, y si alguna de ellas me pasa cerca flotando, lo intento. Me cambi al lado de la isla que daba a Illinois para ver qu suerte tena, y no me sali mal. Pas una hogaza grande flotando y casi la agarr con un palo largo, pero se me resbal un pie y sigui flotando. Naturalmente, yo estaba donde la corriente ms se acercaba a la ribera, porque saba que era lo mejor. Pero al cabo de un rato pas otra, y esta vez la enganch. Le quit el tapn para sacarle el trocito de mercurio y le hinqu el diente. Era pan de tahona: del que come la gente fina; nada de pan de borona barato.
Me busqu un buen sitio entre las hojas y me qued sentado en un tronco, mascando el pan y contemplando el transbordador, muy contento. Y entonces se me ocurri algo. Voy y digo: Ahora supongo que la viuda o el prroco o alguien ha rezado para que este pan me encontrase, y eso es lo que ha pasado. As que no cabe duda de que algo de verdad tiene esa historia: de que tiene algo de verdad cuando alguien como la viuda o el prroco rezan, pero conmigo no funciona, y supongo que slo funciona con cierta gente.
Encend una pipa y estuve un buen rato fumando mientras segua mirando. El transbordador flotaba corriente abajo y pens que tendra una oportunidad de ver quin iba a bordo cuando se acercase, porque se quedara casi al lado, igual que haba hecho el pan. Cuando avanzaron lo suficiente hacia m, apagu la pipa y fui adonde haba enganchado el pan y me escond detrs de un tronco en la ribera en un pequeo claro. Poda mirar por la parte en que el tronco se bifurcaba.
Al cabo de un rato llegaron, y el barco se acerc tanto que podan haber echado una plancha para bajar a tierra. En el barco estaban casi todos: padre y el juez Thatcher y Becky Thatcher, y Joe Harper, y Tom Sawyer y su vieja ta Polly y Sid y Mary y muchos ms. Todo el mundo hablaba del asesinato, pero el capitn va y les interrumpe y dice:

––Atentos ahora; aqu es donde ms se acerca la corriente y a lo mejor ha llegado flotando a la orilla y est enredado entre la maleza al borde del agua. Por lo menos, eso es lo que yo espero.
Yo no lo esperaba. Se amontonaron todos para mirar por encima de la barandilla, y casi me daban en la cara, y no hacan ms que mirar, mirar con todas sus fuerzas. Yo los vea de primera, pero ellos a m, no. Entonces el capitn grit: Aprtense!, y el can solt tal zambombazo justo a mi lado que me dej sordo del ruido y casi ciego del humo, y cre que me iba a morir. Si hubieran puesto algo de carga, calculo que habran conseguido el cadver que buscaban. Bueno, vi que no estaba herido, gracias a Dios. El barco sigui flotando y desapareci por la punta de la isla. De vez en cuando oa los caonazos, cada vez ms lejos, y al cabo de un rato, una hora o as, ya no los oa. La isla tena tres millas de largo. Pens que haban llegado al final y renunciaban; pero todava no. Dieron la vuelta a la isla y subieron a vapor ro arriba por el lado de Missouri, soltando caonazos de vez en cuando segn avanzaban. Pas a aquel lado y los mir. Cuando llegaron a la otra punta de la isla dejaron de disparar y fueron hacia la ribera de Missouri y volvieron al pueblo.

Ahora comprend que ya estaba a salvo. Nadie iba a venir a buscarme. Saqu las trampas de la canoa y me prepar un buen campamento en medio del bosque. Hice una especie de tienda con las mantas para poner mis cosas debajo de ella y que no las mojara la lluvia. Pesqu un pez gato, lo abr con el serrucho y hacia el anochecer encend mi hoguera y cen. Despus ech un sedal para pescar algo que desayunar.
Cuando oscureci del todo me qued sentado, fumando junto a la hoguera, y me sent muy satisfecho; pero despus de un rato empec a sentirme solo, as que fui a sentarme a la ribera a or el chapotear del agua y cont las estrellas y los troncos que bajaban a la deriva y las balsas y despus me acost; no hay mejor forma de pasar el tiempo cuando se siente uno solo; no se puede continuar as y al cabo de un rato se pasa.
Y as pasaron tres das con sus noches. Ningn cambio: siempre lo mismo. Pero al da siguiente fui a explorar toda la isla. Yo era el amo; todo era mo, como quien dice, y quera conocerla entera, pero sobre todo quera pasar el rato. Encontr montones de fresas, maduras y estupendas, y uvas verdes de verano y moras verdes, y ya estaban a salir las moras negras. Pens que todo me vendra muy bien con el tiempo.
Bueno, fui entretenindome por dentro del bosque hasta que me pareci que no estaba lejos de la punta de la isla. Haba llevado mi escopeta, pero no haba disparado contra nada; era para protegerme; pens que ya encontrara algo que cazar cerca de casa. Entonces casi pis una serpiente de buen tamao, que se fue reptando entre la hierba y las flores, y yo detrs de ella, tratando de pegarle un tiro. Iba a buena marcha cuando de repente me encontr con las cenizas de una hoguera que todava echaba humo.
Me dio un salto el corazn entre los pulmones. No esper a seguir mirando ms all, sino que arm la escopeta y fui en silencio de puntillas a toda la velocidad que pude. De vez en cuando me paraba un momento entre las hojas y escuchaba, pero respiraba tan fuerte que no poda or nada ms. Segu avanzando algo y volv a escuchar, y as una vez despus de otra. Si vea un tocn crea que era un hombre; si pisaba una ramita y la rompa, me senta como si alguien me hubiera cortado el aliento en dos y no me quedase ms que la mitad, y encima la ms corta.
Cuando llegu al campamento no me senta muy tranquilo ni muy valiente, pero voy y digo: No es momento para hacer el tonto. As que volv a meter todas mis trampas en la canoa para que nadie las pudiera ver, apagu la hoguera y esparc las cenizas por ah para que pareciese un campamento antiguo, del ao pasado, y despus me sub a un rbol.
Creo que pasara dos horas en el rbol, pero no vi nada. No o nada; slo me pareca haber odo y visto por lo menos mil cosas. Bueno, tampoco me poda quedar all eternamente, as que por fin me baj, pero segu en el centro del bosque y alerta todo el tiempo. No poda comer ms que moras y lo que quedaba del desayuno.
Cuando se hizo bien de noche tena bastante hambre, as que cuando estaba oscuro del todo me met en silencio en el agua antes de que saliera la luna y fui a remo a la ribera de Illinois: aproximadamente un cuarto de milla. Sal al bosque, me cocin algo que cenar y prcticamente me haba decidido a pasar all toda la noche cuando o un clip clop y me dije que venan caballos; y despus o voces de gente. Met todo en la canoa lo ms rpido que pude y me arrastr por el bosque a ver si me enteraba de algo. No haba avanzado mucho cuando oigo decir a alguien:
––Ms nos vale acampar aqu si encontramos un buen sitio; los caballos estn muy cansados. Vamos a mirar. No esper, sino que me apart y comenc a alejarme en silencio. Volv a amarrar en el sitio de antes y calcul que dormira en la canoa.
No dorm mucho. No s por qu, pero no poda, porque estaba pensando. Y cada vez que me despertaba crea que alguien me tena agarrado por el cuello. As que el sueo no me vali de nada. Al cabo de un rato voy y me digo: No puedo seguir viviendo as; voy a enterarme de quin est en la isla conmigo; o me entero o me muero. Bueno, inmediatamente me sent mejor.
As que agarr el remo y baj a slo uno o dos pasos de la ribera, y despus dej que la canoa se metiera sola entre las sombras. Brillaba la luna, y donde no haba sombra casi era como la luz del da. Estuve buscando casi una hora, en medio de un silencio como una tumba, mientras todo dorma. Bueno, para entonces ya haba llegado casi a la punta de la isla. Empez a soplar una brisa suave, rizada y fresca, que era como decir que estaba a punto de terminar la noche. Di un golpe de remo y acerqu la canoa a la ribera; despus saqu la escopeta y fui deslizndome hasta el borde del bosque. All me qued sentado en un tronco, mirando entre las hojas. Vi que la luna terminaba su turno y que el ro empezaba a ponerse oscuro. Pero al cabo de un rato vi una franja plida por encima de los rboles y supe que llegaba el da. As que saqu la escopeta y avanz hacia donde me haba encontrado con aquella hoguera, parndome a escuchar cada minuto o dos minutos. Pero no s por qu no tuve suerte; era como si no pudiera encontrar el sitio. Pero al cabo de un rato, por fin, vi un resto del resplandor del fuego entre los rboles. Fui hacia l, con mucho cuidado y calma. Poco despus ya estaba lo bastante cerca para echar un vistazo, y all haba un hombre tumbado en el suelo. Casi me da un telele. Tena la cabeza envuelta en una manta, justo al lado del fuego. Me qued sentado junto a unos matojos a unos seis pies de l sin parar de mirarlo. Ya estaba empezando a verse una luz gris del da. Poco despus bostez, se estir y se quit la manta, y era Jim, el de la seorita Watson! Vaya si me alegr de verle! Voy y digo:
––Hola, Jim! ––y sal de un salto.
l se levant de golpe y me mir con los ojos desorbitados. Despus se dej caer de rodillas, junt las manos y dijo:
––No me hagas dao, por favor! Yo nunca le he hecho dao a un fantasma. Siempre he sido amigo de los muertos y he hecho lo que poda por ellos. Vulvete al ro otra vez, que es tu sitio, y no le hagas nada al viejo Jim, que siempre fue amigo tuyo.
Bueno, no tard en hacerle comprender que no estaba muerto. Estaba muy contento de ver a Jim. Ya no me senta solo. Le dije que no me daba miedo que l dijese a la gente dnde me haba visto. Yo segua hablando, pero l continuaba all sentado, mirndome, sin decir ni una sola palabra. Entonces voy y digo:
––Ya es de da. Vamos a buscar el desayuno. Atiza bien la hoguera.
––De qu vale atizar la hoguera para cocinar fresas y cosas as? Pero t tienes una escopeta, no? As podemos comer algo mejor que fresas.
––Fresas y cosas as ––voy y digo yo––. Ests viviendo de eso?
––Es lo nico que encuentro ––dice l.
––Pero, cunto tiempo llevas en la isla, Jim?
––Vine la noche despus que te mataran.
––Cmo, tanto tiempo?
––S, seor.
––Y no has comido ms que cosas de sas?
––No, seor; nada ms.
––Bueno, debes estar murindote de hambre, no?
––Calculo que me podra zampar un caballo. De verdad que s. Cunto tiempo llevas t en la isla?
––Desde la noche que me mataron.
––No! y, de qu has vivido? Pero tienes una escopeta. Ah, s, tienes una escopeta. Est muy bien. Ahora t matas algo y yo hago una hoguera.
As que fuimos adonde estaba la canoa y mientras l organizaba la hoguera en un claro de la hierba entre los rboles, yo fui a buscar harina y tocino y caf, y cafetera y sartn y azcar y unas tazas de hojalata, y el negro se qued muy asombrado, porque pens que todo lo haca por brujera. Tambin atrap un buen pez gato y Jim lo limpi con su navaja y lo fri.
Cuando el desayuno estuvo listo nos tumbamos en la hierba y lo comimos mientras estaba calentito. Jim se puso a comer con mucha gana, pues estaba medio muerto de hambre. Cuando nos quedamos bien llenos, descansamos y nos tumbamos.
Poco despus va Jim y dice:
––Pero, oye, Huck, a quin mataron en la cabaa si no fue a ti?
Entonces le cont toda la historia y me dijo que haba sido muy astuto. Dijo que Tom Sawyer no poda inventarse un plan mejor que el mo. Despus voy yo y digo:

––Y, cmo es que ests t aqu, Jim, cmo has llegado? Pareci ponerse nervioso y no dijo nada durante un minuto. Despus va y dice:
––A lo mejor ms vale que no te lo cuente.
––Por qu, Jim?
––Bueno, hay motivos. Pero t no te chivaras si te lo contara, verdad, Huck?
––Por stas que no, Jim.
––Bueno, te creo, Huck. Me... me he escapado.
––Jim!
––Pero acurdate que dijiste que no lo diras... sabes que dijiste que no lo diras, Huck.
––Bueno, es verdad. Dije que no y lo mantengo. De verdad de la buena. La gente me llamar maldito abolicionista y me despreciar por no decir nada, pero no me importa. No voy a acusarte y de todos modos nunca voy a volver all. As que ahora cuntamelo todo.

––Bueno, mira, pas as. La moza vieja, o sea, la seorita Watson, se pasa el tiempo metindose conmigo y me trata muy mal, pero siempre dijo que no me vendera en Orleans. Pero he visto que haba un tratante de negros que pasaba mucho tiempo por casa y empec a ponerme nervioso. Bueno, una noche me acerco a la puerta muy tarde y la puerta no estaba cerrada del todo y oigo a la moza vieja que dice a la viuda que me va a vender en Orleans, aunque no quera, pero que me poda sacar ochocientos dlares, y era tanto dinero que no poda resistirse. La viuda trat de hacer que prometiese que no, pero yo no esper a or el resto. Te aseguro que me march a toda velocidad.
Me largu zumbando cuesta abajo, con la esperanza de robar un bote en la orilla, en alguna parte por arriba del pueblo, pero todava haba gente despierta, as que me escond en el taller viejo del tonelero que est medio derrumbado en la orilla, a esperar que se fueran todos. Bueno, all me pas la noche. Siempre haba alguien. Hacia las seis de la maana empezaron a pasar botes, y hacia las ocho o las nueve todos los botes que pasaban contaban que tu pap haba venido al pueblo a decir que te haban matado. Estos ltimos botes estaban llenos de seoras y de caballeros que iban a ver el sitio. A veces amarraban a la orilla para descansar antes de empezar el cruce, y me enter de tu muerte por lo que decan. Sent mucho que te hubieran matado, Huck, pero ahora ya no.
Me qued all escondido todo el da, debajo de las virutas y el serrn. Tena hambre, pero no miedo, porque saba que la moza vieja y la viuda iban a ir al sermn del campamento poco despus del desayuno y faltaran todo el da, y ellas saban que yo sala con el ganado al amanecer, as que no esperaran verme por la casa y no me echaran de menos hasta despus de la oscurecida. Los otros criados tampoco, porque se iban a ir de fiesta en cuanto las viejas no estuvieran en casa.
Bueno, cuando oscureci sub por la carretera del ro, unas dos millas o ms hasta donde ya no haba casas. Haba decidido lo que iba a hacer. O sea, si trataba de escaparme a pie, los perros me encontraran; si robaba un bote para cruzar, lo echaran de menos, comprendes, y sabran que iba a dar al otro lado y dnde buscarme la pista. As que digo: Lo que necesito es una balsa; eso no deja huellas.