"Quick, Huck, snatch on your clothes--I've got it! Bloodhound!"

In two minutes we was tearing up the river road in the dark towards the
village. Old Jeff Hooker had a bloodhound, and Tom was going to borrow
him. I says:

"The trail's too old, Tom--and besides, it's rained, you know."

"It don't make any difference, Huck. If the body's hid in the woods
anywhere around the hound will find it. If he's been murdered and buried,
they wouldn't bury him deep, it ain't likely, and if the dog goes over
the spot he'll scent him, sure. Huck, we're going to be celebrated, sure
as you're born!"

He was just a-blazing; and whenever he got afire he was most likely to
get afire all over. That was the way this time. In two minutes he had
got it all ciphered out, and wasn't only just going to find the
corpse--no, he was going to get on the track of that murderer and hunt
HIM down, too; and not only that, but he was going to stick to him till
--"Well," I says, "you better find the corpse first; I reckon that's
a-plenty for to-day. For all we know, there AIN'T any corpse and nobody
hain't been murdered. That cuss could 'a' gone off somers and not been
killed at all."

That graveled him, and he says:

"Huck Finn, I never see such a person as you to want to spoil everything.
As long as YOU can't see anything hopeful in a thing, you won't let
anybody else. What good can it do you to throw cold water on that corpse