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get their runaway nigger, but hadn’t got no answer, because there warn’t no such plantation; so he allowed he would advertise Jim in the St. Louis and New Orleans papers; and when he mentioned the St. Louis ones it give me the cold shivers, and I see we hadn’t no time to lose. So Tom said, now for the nonnamous letters.

      “What’s them?” I says.

      “Warnings to the people that something is up. Sometimes it’s done one way, sometimes another. But there’s always somebody spying around that gives notice to the governor of the castle. When Louis XVI. was going to light out of the Tooleries, a servant-girl done it. It’s a very good way, and so is the nonnamous letters. We’ll use them both. And it’s usual for the prisoner’s mother to change clothes with him, and she stays in, and he slides out in her clothes. We’ll do that, too.”

      “But looky here, Tom, what do we want to warn anybody for that something’s up? Let them find it out for themselves—it’s their lookout.”

      “Yes, I know; but you can’t depend on them. It’s the way they’ve acted from the very start—left us to do everything. They’re so confiding and mullet-headed they don’t take notice of nothing at all. So if we don’t give them notice there won’t be nobody nor nothing to interfere with us, and so after all our hard work and trouble this escape ‘ll go off perfectly flat; won’t amount to nothing—won’t be nothing to it.”

      “Well, as for me, Tom, that’s the way I’d like.”

      “Shucks!” he says, and looked disgusted. So I says:

      “But I ain’t going to make no complaint. Any way that suits you suits me. What you going to do about the servant-girl?”

      “You’ll be her. You slide in, in the middle of the night, and hook that yaller girl’s frock.”

      “Why, Tom, that ‘ll make trouble next morning; because, of course, she prob’bly hain’t got any but that one.”

      “I know; but you don’t want it but fifteen minutes, to carry the nonnamous letter and shove it under the front door.”

      “All right, then, I’ll do it; but I could carry it just as handy in my own togs.”

      “You wouldn’t look like a servant-girl then, would you?”

      “No, but there won’t be nobody to see what I look like, anyway.”

      “That ain’t got nothing to do with it. The thing for us to do is just to do our duty, and not worry about whether anybody sees us do it or not. Hain’t you got no principle at all?”

      “All right, I ain’t saying nothing; I’m the servant-girl. Who’s Jim’s mother?”

      “I’m his mother. I’ll hook a gown from Aunt Sally.”

      “Well, then, you’ll have to stay in the cabin when me and Jim leaves.”

      “Not much. I’ll stuff Jim’s clothes full of straw and lay it on his bed to represent his mother in disguise, and Jim ‘ll take the nigger woman’s gown off of me and wear it, and we’ll all evade together. When a prisoner of style escapes it’s called an evasion. It’s always called so when a king escapes, f’rinstance. And the same with a king’s son; it don’t make no difference whether he’s a natural one or an unnatural one.”

      So Tom he wrote the nonnamous letter, and I smouched the yaller wench’s frock that night, and put it on, and shoved it under the front door, the way Tom told me to. It said:

      Beware. Trouble is brewing. Keep a sharp lookout. Unknown Friend.

      Next night we stuck a picture, which Tom drawed in blood, of a skull and crossbones on the front door; and next night another one of a coffin on the back door. I never see a family in such a sweat. They couldn’t a been worse scared if the place had a been full of ghosts laying for them behind everything and under the beds and shivering through the air. If a door banged, Aunt Sally she jumped and said “ouch!” if anything fell, she jumped and said “ouch!” if you happened to touch her, when she warn’t noticing, she done the same; she couldn’t face noway and be satisfied, because she allowed there was something behind her every time—so she was always a-whirling around sudden, and saying “ouch,” and before she’d got two-thirds around she’d whirl back again, and say it again; and she was afraid to go to bed, but she dasn’t set up. So the thing was working very well, Tom said; he said he never see a thing work more satisfactory. He said it showed it was done right.

      So he said, now for the grand bulge! So the very next morning at the streak of dawn we got another letter ready, and was wondering what we better do with it, because we heard them say at supper they was going to have a nigger on watch at both doors all night. Tom he went down the lightning-rod to spy around; and the nigger at the back door was asleep, and he stuck it in the back of his neck and come back. This letter said:

      Don’t betray me, I wish to be your friend. There is a desprate gang of cutthroats from over in the Indian Territory going to steal your runaway nigger to-night, and they have been trying to scare you so as you will stay in the house and not bother them. I am one of the gang, but have got religgion and wish to quit it and lead an honest life again, and will betray the helish design. They will sneak down from northards, along the fence, at midnight exact, with a false key, and go in the nigger’s cabin to get him. I am to be off a piece and blow a tin horn if I see any danger; but stead of that I will baa like a sheep soon as they get in and not blow at all; then whilst they are getting his chains loose, you slip there and lock them in, and can kill them at your leasure. Don’t do anything but just the way I am telling you, if you do they will suspicion something and raise whoop-jamboreehoo. I do not wish any reward but to know I have done the right thing. Unknown Friend.

      Chapter XL.

       Table of Contents

      We was feeling pretty good after breakfast, and took my canoe and went over the river a-fishing, with a lunch, and had a good time, and took a look at the raft and found her all right, and got home late to supper, and found them in such a sweat and worry they didn’t know which end they was standing on, and made us go right off to bed the minute we was done supper, and wouldn’t tell us what the trouble was, and never let on a word about the new letter, but didn’t need to, because we knowed as much about it as anybody did, and as soon as we was half up stairs and her back was turned we slid for the cellar cupboard and loaded up a good lunch and took it up to our room and went to bed, and got up about half-past eleven, and Tom put on Aunt Sally’s dress that he stole and was going to start with the lunch, but says:

      “Where’s the butter?”

      “I laid out a hunk of it,” I says, “on a piece of a corn-pone.”

      “Well, you left it laid out, then—it ain’t here.”

      “We can get along without it,” I says.

      “We can get along with it, too,” he says; “just you slide down cellar and fetch it. And then mosey right down the lightning-rod and come along. I’ll go and stuff the straw into Jim’s clothes to represent his mother in disguise, and be ready to baa like a sheep and shove soon as you get there.”

      So out he went, and down cellar went I. The hunk of butter, big as a person’s fist, was where I had left it, so I took up the slab of corn-pone with it on, and blowed out my light, and started up stairs very stealthy, and got up to the main floor all right, but here comes Aunt Sally with a candle, and I clapped the truck in my hat, and clapped my hat on my head, and the next second she see me; and she says:

      “You been down cellar?”

      “Yes’m.”

      “What

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