“It's a dead man.  Yes, indeedy; naked, too.  He's ben shot in de back. I reck'n he's ben dead two er three days.  Come in, Huck, but doan' look at his face--it's too gashly.” I didn't look at him at all.  Jim throwed some old rags over him, but he needn't done it; I didn't want to see him.  There was heaps of old greasy cards scattered around over the floor, and old whisky bottles, and a couple of masks made out of black cloth; and all over the walls was the ignorantest kind of words and pictures made with charcoal.  There was two old dirty calico dresses, and a sun-bonnet, and some women's underclothes hanging against the wall, and some men's clothing, too.  We put the lot into the canoe--it might come good.  There was a boy's old speckled straw hat on the floor; I took that, too.  And there was a bottle that had had milk in it, and it had a rag stopper for a baby to suck.  We would a took the bottle, but it was broke.  There was a seedy old chest, and an old hair trunk with the hinges broke.  They stood open, but there warn't nothing left in them that was any account.  The way things was scattered about we reckoned the people left in a hurry, and warn't fixed so as to carry off most of their stuff. We got an old tin lantern, and a butcher-knife without any handle, and a bran-new Barlow knife worth two bits in any store, and a lot of tallow candles, and a tin candlestick, and a gourd, and a tin cup, and a ratty old bedquilt off the bed, and a reticule with needles and pins and beeswax and buttons and thread and all such truck in it, and a hatchet and some nails, and a fishline as thick as my little finger with some monstrous hooks on it, and a roll of buckskin, and a leather dog-collar, and a horseshoe, and some vials of medicine that didn't have no label on them; and just as we was leaving I found a tolerable good curry-comb, and Jim he found a ratty old fiddle-bow, and a wooden leg.  The straps was broke off of it, but, barring that, it was a good enough leg