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The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

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They took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just the same, and the whole town following, and I rushed and got a good place at the window, where I was close to him and could see in. They laid him on the floor and put one large Bible under his head, and opened another one and spread it on his breast; but they tore open his shirt first, and I seen where one of the bullets went in. He made about a dozen long gasps, his breast lifting the Bible up when he drawed in his breath, and letting it down again when he breathed it out—and after that he laid still; he was dead. Then they pulled his daughter away from him, screaming and crying, and took her off. She was about sixteen, and very sweet and gentle looking, but awful pale and scared. They took Boggs to a little drugstore, the crowd still pressing in around him and the whole town following behind. I rushed over and got a good spot at the window, where I was close to him and could see inside. They laid him on the floor with a large Bible under his head, tore open his shirt, opened another Bible, and then spread it on his chest. I saw where one of the bullets had entered his body. Boggs made a dozen or so long gasps, his chest lifting the Bible up as he drew in his breath, then letting it down again when he exhaled. After that he lay still. He was dead. Then they pulled his daughter from him and took her away, screaming and crying. She was about sixteen, and looked very sweet and gentle, but awfully pale and scared.
Well, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and scrouging and pushing and shoving to get at the window and have a look, but people that had the places wouldn’t give them up, and folks behind them was saying all the time, “Say, now, you’ve looked enough, you fellows; ’tain’t right and ’tain’t fair for you to stay thar all the time, and never give nobody a chance; other folks has their rights as well as you.” Pretty soon the whole town was squirming and shoving and pushing people aside to get a look through the window. But the people already in the good spots wouldn’t give them up. The folks behind them kept saying, “Come on now, you’ve seen enough, you guys—it isn’t right or fair for you to stay there the whole time. Give someone else a chance to see. Other folks have the same right to look as you have.”
There was considerable jawing back, so I slid out, thinking maybe there was going to be trouble. The streets was full, and everybody was excited. Everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened, and there was a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows, stretching their necks and listening. One long, lanky man, with long hair and a big white fur stovepipe hat on the back of his head, and a crooked-handled cane, marked out the places on the ground where Boggs stood and where Sherburn stood, and the people following him around from one place to t’other and watching everything he done, and bobbing their heads to show they understood, and stooping a little and resting their hands on their thighs to watch him mark the places on the ground with his cane; and then he stood up straight and stiff where Sherburn had stood, frowning and having his hat-brim down over his eyes, and sung out, “Boggs!” and then fetched his cane down slow to a level, and says “Bang!” staggered backwards, says “Bang!” again, and fell down flat on his back. The people that had seen the thing said he done it perfect; said it was just exactly the way it all happened. Then as much as a dozen people got out their bottles and treated him. There was a lot of talking back and forth, so I left, thinking there might be some trouble. The streets were full, and everyone was excited. Everyone who’d seen the shooting was telling others how it’d happened. There was a big crowd packed around each witness, everyone stretching their necks and listening. One long, lanky man with long hair, a big white fur stovepipe hat perched on the back of his head, and a cane with a crooked handle marked the places on the ground where Boggs and Sherburn had stood. People followed him around from place to place, watching everything he did, stooping down a little with their hands on their thighs to watch him mark up the ground with his cane, and nodding their heads to show they understood. He stood up straight and stiffly where Sherburn had stood, frowning with the brim of his hat down over his eyes, and cried out, “Boggs!” Then he brought his cane down slowly until it was level, and said, “Bang!” staggerd backwards, said, “Bang!” again, and fell down flat on his back. The people who’d witnessed the shooting said he’d reenacted it perfectly—they said that that was exactly the way it had all happened. Then as many as a dozen people pulled out their bottles and treated him to a drink.
Well, by and by somebody said Sherburn ought to be lynched. In about a minute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and yelling, and snatching down every clothes-line they come to to do the hanging with. Well, pretty soon someone said that Sherburn ought to be lynched. After another minute, everyone was saying it. Then they went off, angry and yelling and ripping down every clothesline they passed to hang him with.

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