got to _let on_ that a lantern's resky.  Why, we could work with a torchlight procession if we wanted to, I believe.  Now, whilst I think of it, we got to hunt up something to make a saw out of the first chance we get.” “What do we want of a saw?” “What do we _want_ of it?  Hain't we got to saw the leg of Jim's bed off, so as to get the chain loose?” “Why, you just said a body could lift up the bedstead and slip the chain off.” “Well, if that ain't just like you, Huck Finn.  You _can_ get up the infant-schooliest ways of going at a thing.  Why, hain't you ever read any books at all?--Baron Trenck, nor Casanova, nor Benvenuto Chelleeny, nor Henri IV., nor none of them heroes?  Who ever heard of getting a prisoner loose in such an old-maidy way as that?  No; the way all the best authorities does is to saw the bed-leg in two, and leave it just so, and swallow the sawdust, so it can't be found, and put some dirt and grease around the sawed place so the very keenest seneskal can't see no sign of it's being sawed, and thinks the bed-leg is perfectly sound. Then, the night you're ready, fetch the leg a kick, down she goes; slip off your chain, and there you are.  Nothing to do but hitch your rope ladder to the battlements, shin down it, break your leg in the moat--because a rope ladder is nineteen foot too short, you know--and there's your horses and your trusty vassles, and they scoop you up and fling you across a saddle, and away you go to your native Langudoc, or Navarre, or wherever it is. It's gaudy, Huck.  I wish there was a moat to this cabin. If we get time, the night of the escape, we'll dig one.” I says: “What do we want of a moat when we're going to snake him out from under the cabin?” But he never heard me.  He had forgot me and everything else.  He had his chin in his hand, thinking.  Pretty soon he sighs and shakes his head; then sighs again, and says: “No, it wouldn't do--there ain't necessity enough for it.” “For what?”  I says. “Why, to saw Jim'