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He got to hanging around the widow’s too much and so she told him at last that if he didn’t quit using around there she would make trouble for him.
So he watched out for me one day in the spring, and catched me, and took me up the river about three mile in a skiff, and crossed over to the Illinois shore where it was woody and there warn’t no houses but an old log hut in a place where the timber was so thick you couldn’t find it if you didn’t know where it was. We lived in that old cabin, and he always locked the door and put the key under his head nights.
I don’t know how long I was asleep, but all of a sudden there was an awful scream and I was up. There was pap looking wild, and skip- ping around every which way and yelling about snakes.
He chased me round and round the place with a clasp-knife, calling me the Angel of Death, and saying he would kill me, and then I couldn’t come for him no more.
So he dozed off pretty soon. By and by I got the old split-bottom chair and clumb up as easy as I could, not to make any noise, and got down the gun. I slipped the ramrod down it to make sure it was loaded, then I laid it across the turnip barrel, pointing towards pap, and set down behind it to wait for him to stir. And how slow and still the time did drag along.
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