The steps came creaking up the stairs--the intolerable distress of the situation woke the stricken resolution of the lads--they were about to spring for the closet, when there was a crash of rotten timbers and Injun Joe landed on the ground amid the debris of the ruined stairway.

He gathered himself up cursing, and his comrade said: "Now what's the use of all that?
If it's anybody, and they're up there, let them STAY there--who cares?
If they want to jump down, now, and get into trouble, who objects?
It will be dark in fifteen minutes -- and then let them follow us if they want to.

I'm willing.

In my opinion, whoever hove those things in here caught a sight of us and took us for ghosts or devils or something.

I'll bet they're running yet." Joe grumbled awhile; then he agreed with his friend that what daylight was left ought to be economized in getting things ready for leaving.
Shortly afterward they slipped out of the house in the deepening twilight, and moved toward the river with their precious box.
Tom and Huck rose up, weak but vastly relieved, and stared after them through the chinks between the logs of the house.