THE STORM. 149 



across a low swampy piece of ground, I saw the great 

 holler trunk of a sickamore that had fallen, and I put 

 across, thinkin' I could crawl in there, and be safe 

 from the rain and fallin' timber. As I struggled 

 through the swamp, I sunk knee deep into a kind of 

 clay, white as paint, and my boots were plastered by 

 it, as if I'd run my legs into a tub of batter. I crawled 

 away into the log, and let me tell you, boys, it warn't 

 a bad place to be in just then. I lay there snug 

 enough for about half an hour, the storm ragin' all the 

 time harder'n harder, and as I heard it roarin' and 

 surgin' around me, I made up my mind that a holler 

 log was a good place in sich a storm. All at once the 

 hole I came in at was darkened, and something came 

 gruntin' and squeezin' in towards where I lay. ' ' Human 

 nater I" tho't I, "what's that?" After a little, I saw 

 by the light that streamed in, in little streaks by him, 

 that 'twas a huge bear. I wasn't scared, for I knew 

 he didn't know I was there, and besides, a bear allers 

 goes into a holler log backwards, so that the end he 

 bites with wasn' towards me. I didn't care about 

 havin' a fight with him just then, and if I killed him 

 in the log, I didn't exactly see how I was to get out 

 by him. So I drew up my legs, as he came backin' 



