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It is many and many a year since the hapless half-breed scooped out the stone to
catch the priceless drops, but to this day the tourist stares longest at that pathetic
stone and that slow dropping water when he comes to see the wonders of
McDougal’s cave. Injun Joe’s Cup stands first in the list of the cavern’s marvels;
even “Aladdin’s Palace” cannot rival it.

Injun Joe was buried near the mouth of the cave; and people flocked there in
boats and wagons from the towns and from all the farms and hamlets for seven
miles around; they brought their children, and all sorts of provisions, and
confessed that they had had almost as satisfactory a time at the funeral as they
could have had at the hanging.

This funeral stopped the further growth of one thing-the petition to the
Governor for Injun Joe’s pardon. The petition had been largely signed; many
tearful and eloquent meetings had been held, and a committee of sappy women
been appointed to go in deep mourning and wail around the governor and
implore him to be a merciful ass and trample his duty under foot. Injun Joe was
believed to have killed five citizens of the village, but what of that? If he had
been Satan himself there would have been plenty of weaklings ready to scribble
their names to a pardon-petition, and drip a tear on it from their permanently
impaired and leaky water-works.

The morning after the funeral Tom took Huck to a private place to have an
important talk. Huck had learned all about Tom’s adventure from the Welchman
and the widow Douglas, by this time, but Tom said he reckoned there was one
thing they had not told him; that thing was what he wanted to talk about now.
Huck’s face saddened. He said: “I know what it is. You got into No. 2 and never
found anything but whisky.

Nobody told me it was you; but I just knowed it must ‘a’ ben you, soon as I
heard ‘bout that whisky business; and I knowed you hadn’t got the money becuz
you’d ‘a’ got at me some way or other and told me even if you was mum to
everybody else. Tom, something’s always told me we’d never get holt of that
swag.” “Why Huck, I never told on that tavern-keeper. You know his You know
his tavern was all right the Saturday I went to the picnic. Don’t you remember
you was to watch there that night?” “O, yes! Why it seems ‘bout a year ago. It
was that very night that I follered Injun Joe to the widder’s.” “You followed
him?” “Yes-but you keep mum. I reckon Injun Joe’s left friends behind him, and
I don’t want souring on me and doing me mean tricks. If it hadn’t ben for me
he’d be down in Texas now, all right.” Then Huck told his entire adventure in
confidence to Tom, who had only heard of the Welchman’s part of it before.
“Well,” said Huck, presently, coming back to the main question, “whoever
nipped the whisky in No. 2, nipped the money too, I reckon-anyways it’s a
goner for us, Tom.” “Huck, that money wasn’t ever in No. 2!”

“What!” Huck searched his comrade’s face keenly. “Tom, have you got on the
track of that money again?” “Huck, it’s in the cave!” Huck’s eyes blazed.

“Say it again, Tom!” “The money’s in the cave!” “Tom,- honest injun, now-is it
fun, or earnest?” “Earnest, Huck-just as earnest as ever I was in my life. Will

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