“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered. “Don’t get in a row of collards whatever you do, they’ll wake the dead.”
"Spit on it", whispered Dill
“You’ve got us in a box, Jem,” I muttered. “We can’t get out of here so easy.”
“Nothing. Curtains. There’s a little teeny light way off somewhere, though.”
“What’d you see?”
Then I saw the shadow. It was the shadow of a man with a hat on. At first I thought it was a tree, but there was no wind blowing, and tree-trunks never walked. The back porch was bathed in moonlight, and the shadow, crisp as toast, moved across the porch toward Jem.
Halfway through the collards I tripped; as I tripped the roar of a shotgun shattered theneighborhood.
We ran across the schoolyard, crawled under the fence to Deer’s Pasture behind our house, climbed our back fence and were at the back steps before Jem would let us pause to rest.