they put it on him, you see; and while they was full of it, next day, back comes old Finn, and went boo-hooing to Judge Thatcher to get money to hunt for the nigger all over Illinois with. The judge gave him some, and that evening he got drunk, and was around till after midnight with a couple of mighty hard-looking strangers, and then went off with them.  Well, he hain't come back sence, and they ain't looking for him back till this thing blows over a little, for people thinks now that he killed his boy and fixed things so folks would think robbers done it, and then he'd get Huck's money without having to bother a long time with a lawsuit.  People do say he warn't any too good to do it.  Oh, he's sly, I reckon.  If he don't come back for a year he'll be all right.  You can't prove anything on him, you know; everything will be quieted down then, and he'll walk in Huck's money as easy as nothing.” “Yes, I reckon so, 'm.  I don't see nothing in the way of it.  Has everybody quit thinking the nigger done it?” “Oh, no, not everybody.  A good many thinks he done it.  But they'll get the nigger pretty soon now, and maybe they can scare it out of him.” “Why, are they after him yet?” “Well, you're innocent, ain't you!  Does three hundred dollars lay around every day for people to pick up?  Some folks think the nigger ain't far from here.  I'm one of them--but I hain't talked it around.  A few days ago I was talking with an old couple that lives next door in the log shanty, and they happened to say hardly anybody ever goes to that island over yonder that they call Jackson's Island.  Don't anybody live there? says I. No, nobody, says they.  I didn't say any more, but I done some thinking.  I was pretty near certain I'd seen smoke over there, about the head of the island, a day or two before that, so I says to myself, like as not that nigger's hiding over there; anyway, says I, it's worth the trouble to give the place a hunt.  I hain't seen any smoke sence, so I reckon may