First we knowed, gabbling along that away, we was
right at the sycamores. The cold chills trickled down
my back and I wouldn't budge another step, for all
Tom's persuading. But he couldn't hold in; he'd GOT
to see if the boots was safe on that body yet. So he
crope in -- and the next minute out he come again with
his eyes bulging he was so excited, and says:
"Huck, it's gone!"
I WAS astonished! I says:
"Tom, you don't mean it."
"It's gone, sure. There ain't a sign of it. The
ground is trampled some, but if there was any blood
it's all washed away by the storm, for it's all puddles
and slush in there."
At last I give in, and went and took a look myself;
and it was just as Tom said -- there wasn't a sign of a
corpse.
"Dern it," I says, "the di'monds is gone. Don't
you reckon the thieves slunk back and lugged him off,
Tom?"
"Looks like it. It just does. Now where'd they
hide him, do you reckon?"
"I don't know," I says, disgusted, "and what's
more I don't care. They've got the boots, and that's
all I cared about. He'll lay around these woods a
long time before I hunt him up."
Tom didn't feel no more intrust in him neither, only
curiosity to know what come of him; but he said we'd
lay low and keep dark and it wouldn't be long till the
dogs or somebody rousted him out.
We went back home to breakfast ever so bothered
and put out and disappointed and swindled.
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