We was out and gone the minute the rain stopped. It was just broad day
then. We loafed along up the road, and now and then met a person and
stopped and said howdy, and told them when we come, and how we left the
folks at home, and how long we was going to stay, and all that, but none
of them said a word about that thing; which was just astonishing, and no
mistake. Tom said he believed if we went to the sycamores we would find
that body laying there solitary and alone, and not a 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!"

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.