“It’s p’ison. That’s what it is. You just swaller some of it once — you’ll see.”
So Tom unwound the thread from one of his needles, and each boy pricked the ball of his thumb and squeezed out a drop of blood. In time, after many squeezes, Tom managed to sign his initials, using
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the ball of his little finger for a pen. Then he showed Huckleberry how to make an H and an F, and the oath was complete. They buried the shingle close to the wall, with some dismal ceremonies and incantations, and the fetters that bound their tongues were considered to be locked and the key thrown away.
A figure crept stealthily through a break in the other end of the ruined building, now, but they did not notice it.
“Tom,” whispered Huckleberry, “does this keep us from ever telling — always?”
“Of course it does. It don’t make any difference what happens, we got to keep mum. We’d drop down dead — don’t you know that?”
“Yes, I reckon that’s so.”
They continued to whisper for some little time. Presently a dog set up a long, lugubrious howl just outside — within ten feet of them. The boys clasped each other suddenly, in an agony of fright.
“Which of us does he mean?” gasped Huckleberry.
“I dono — peep through the crack. Quick!”
“No, you, Tom!”
“I can’t — I can’t do it, Huck!”
“Please, Tom. There ’tis again!”
“Oh, lordy, I’m thankful!” whispered Tom. “I know his voice. It’s Bull Harbison.” *
Note: * If Mr. Harbison had owned a slave named Bull, Tom would have spoken of him as “Harbison’s Bull,” but a son or a dog of that name was “Bull Harbison.”
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“Oh, that’s good — I tell you, Tom, I was most scared to death; I’d a bet anything it was a stray dog.”
The dog howled again. The boys’ hearts sank once more.
“Oh, my! that ain’t no Bull Harbison!” whispered Huckleberry. ” Do , Tom!”
Tom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put his eye to the crack. His whisper was hardly audible when he said:
“Oh, Huck, IT’S A STRAY DOG!”
“Quick, Tom, quick! Who does he mean?”
“Huck, he must mean us both — we’re right together.”
“Oh, Tom, I reckon we’re goners. I reckon there ain’t no mistake ’bout where I’ll go to. I been so wicked.”
“Dad fetch it! This comes of playing hookey and doing everything a feller’s told not to do. I might a been good, like Sid, if I’d a tried — but no, I wouldn’t, of course. But if ever I get off this time, I lay I’ll just waller in Sunday-schools!” And Tom began to snuffle a little.
” You bad!” and Huckleberry began to snuffle too. “Consound it, Tom Sawyer, you’re just old pie, ‘longside o’ what I am. Oh, lordy , lordy, lordy, I wisht I only had half your chance.”
Tom choked off and whispered:
“Look, Hucky, look! He’s got his BACK to us!”
Hucky looked, with joy in his heart.
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“Well, he has, by jingoes! Did he before?”
“Yes, he did. But I, like a fool, never thought. Oh, this is bully, you know. Now who can he mean?”
The howling stopped. Tom pricked up his ears.
“Sh! What’s that?” he whispered.
“Sounds like — like hogs grunting. No — it’s somebody snoring, Tom.”
“That is it! Where ’bouts is it, Huck?”
“I bleeve it’s down at ‘tother end. Sounds so, anyway. Pap used to sleep there, sometimes, ‘long with the hogs, but laws bless you, he just lifts things when he snores. Besides, I reckon he ain’t ever coming back to this town any more.”
The spirit of adventure rose in the boys’ souls once more.
“Hucky, do you das’t to go if I lead?”
“I don’t like to, much. Tom, s’pose it’s Injun Joe!”
Tom quailed. But presently the temptation rose up strong again and the boys agreed to try, with the understanding that they would take to their heels if the snoring stopped. So they went tiptoeing stealthily down, the one behind the other. When they had got to within five steps of the snorer, Tom stepped on a stick, and it broke with a sharp snap. The man moaned, writhed a little, and his face came into the moonlight. It was Muff Potter. The boys’ hearts had stood still, and their hopes too, when the man moved, but their fears passed away now. They