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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 29, Página 3
“Who’s
ready
for
the
cave?”
Everyone
was.
They
grabbed
bundles
of
candles
and
raced
up
the
hill.
The
cave
entrance
was
on
the
hillside,
shaped
like
an
A,
with
a
massive
wooden
door
left
open.
Inside
was
a
small
chamber,
as
cold
as
an
icehouse,
with
walls
of
solid
limestone
that
were
damp
with
cold
moisture.
It
was
thrilling
and
mysterious
to
stand
in
the
dark
and
look
out
at
the
sunlit
green
valley.
But
the
awe
quickly
faded,
and
the
fun
began
again.
As
soon
as
someone
lit
a
candle,
there
was
a
rush
to
grab
it;
a
struggle
followed,
but
the
candle
was
soon
knocked
out
or
blown
out,
leading
to
laughter
and
another
chase.
But
all
things
must
end.
Eventually,
the
group
moved
down
the
steep
main
avenue,
the
flickering
lights
barely
illuminating
the
high
rock
walls
that
almost
met
sixty
feet
above.
This
main
path
was
only
about
eight
or
ten
feet
wide.
Every
few
steps,
other
high
and
narrower
passages
branched
off
on
either
side,
for
McDougal’s
Cave
was
a
vast
maze
of
twisting
paths
that
led
nowhere.
It
was
said
that
one
could
wander
for
days
and
nights
in
its
tangled
passages
and
never
reach
the
end
of
the
cave;
one
could
descend
deeper
and
deeper
into
the
earth,
and
it
would
be
the
same—labyrinth
after
labyrinth,
with
no
end.
No
one
“knew”
the
cave
completely.
That
was
impossible.
Most
young
people
knew
part
of
it,
and
it
wasn’t
common
to
go
beyond
this
known
area.
Tom
Sawyer
knew
as
much
of
the
cave
as
anyone.
The
group
moved
along
the
main
path
for
about
three-quarters
of
a
mile,
then
pairs
and
groups
began
to
slip
into
side
passages,
dart
along
the
dark
corridors,
and
surprise
each
other
where
the
paths
rejoined.
They
managed
to
avoid
each
other
for
about
half
an
hour
without
going
beyond
the
“known”
area.
Eventually,
one
group
after
another
returned
to
the
cave
entrance,
panting,
cheerful,
covered
in
candle
wax
drips,
smeared
with
clay,
and
thrilled
with
the
day’s
success.
They
were
surprised
to
realize
they
hadn’t
kept
track
of
time
and
that
night
was
approaching.
The
ferryboat’s
bell
had
been
ringing
for
half
an
hour.
However,
this
sort
of
end
to
the
day’s
adventures
was
romantic
and
thus
satisfying.
When
the
ferryboat,
with
its
wild
passengers,
pushed
into
the
stream,
nobody
cared
about
the
lost
time
except
the
boat’s
captain.
Huck
was
already
on
his
watch
when
the
ferryboat’s
lights
glimmered
past
the
wharf.
He
heard
no
noise
from
the
boat,
as
the
young
people
were
as
quiet
as
those
who
are
nearly
exhausted.
He
wondered
what
boat
it
was
and
why
it
didn’t
stop
at
the
wharf,
then
dismissed
it
from
his
mind
and
focused
on
his
task.
The
night
was
growing
cloudy
and
dark.
Ten
o’clock
came,
and
the
noise
of
vehicles
faded,
scattered
lights
began
to
go
out,
all
the
wandering
pedestrians
disappeared,
and
the
village
settled
into
sleep,
leaving
the
lone
watcher
with
silence
and
shadows.
Eleven
o’clock
came,
and
the
tavern
lights
went
out;
darkness
was
everywhere
now.
Huck
waited
what
felt
like
an
eternity,
but
nothing
happened.
His
faith
was
weakening.
Was
there
any
point?
Was
it
worth
it?
Why
not
give
up
and
go
to
bed?
A
sound
caught
his
attention.
He
was
alert
immediately.
The
alley
door
closed
quietly.
He
dashed
to
the
corner
of
the
brick
store.
Moments
later,
two
men
brushed
past
him,
and
one
seemed
to
be
carrying
something
under
his
arm.
It
must
be
the
box!
So
they
were
moving
the
treasure.
Why
call
Tom
now?
It
would
be
pointless—the
men
would
escape
with
the
box
and
never
be
found.
No,
he
would
follow
them
closely;
he
would
rely
on
the
darkness
to
stay
hidden.
Thinking
this
through,
Huck
stepped
out
and
silently
followed
the
men,
moving
like
a
cat,
barefoot,
keeping
just
enough
distance
to
remain
unseen.
They
walked
three
blocks
up
the
river
street,
then
turned
left
onto
a
side
street.
They
continued
straight
until
they
reached
the
path
leading
up
Cardiff
Hill;
they
took
it.
They
passed
the
old
Welshman’s
house,
halfway
up
the
hill,
without
pausing,
and
kept
climbing.
Good,
Huck
thought,
they’ll
bury
it
in
the
old
quarry.
But
they
didn’t
stop
there.
They
continued
to
the
summit,
entering
the
narrow
path
between
tall
sumach
bushes,
disappearing
into
the
darkness.
Huck
closed
the
distance,
for
they
wouldn’t
be
able
to
see
him
now.
He
trotted
for
a
while,
then
slowed
down,
worried
he
was
catching
up
too
quickly;
moved
a
bit
more,
then
stopped
completely;
listened;
no
sound;
nothing
but
his
own
heartbeat.
An
owl
hooted
over
the
hill—an
ominous
sound!
But
no
footsteps.
Was
everything
lost?
He
was
about
to
rush
forward
when
a
man
cleared
his
throat
just
four
feet
away!
Huck’s
heart
jumped,
but
he
swallowed
his
fear;
he
stood
there
shaking
as
if
gripped
by
a
fever,
so
weak
he
thought
he
might
collapse.
He
knew
where
he
was.
He
was
within
five
steps
of
the
stile
leading
into
Widow
Douglas’
grounds.
Fine,
he
thought,
let
them
bury
it
there;
it
won’t
be
hard
to
find.
Then
a
voice
spoke—a
very
quiet
voice—Injun
Joe’s:
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — B2 Inglés | Cuentana