soul around. Said he believed the men chased the thieves so far into the woods that the thieves prob’ly seen a good chance and turned on them at last, and maybe they all killed each other, and so there wasn’t anybody left to tell. 

 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!

 “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. I warn’t ever so down on a corpse before. 

 

CHAPTER VIII. TALKING WITH THE GHOST 

 It warn’t very cheerful at breakfast. Aunt Sally she looked old and tired and let the children snarl and fuss at one another and didn’t seem to notice it 

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