in the world betwixt me and sudden death but just them tattoo-marks.  If they didn't find them-- I couldn't bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn't think about nothing else.  It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the wrist--Hines--and a body might as well try to give Goliar the slip.  He dragged me right along, he was so excited, and I had to run to keep up. When they got there they swarmed into the graveyard and washed over it like an overflow.  And when they got to the grave they found they had about a hundred times as many shovels as they wanted, but nobody hadn't thought to fetch a lantern.  But they sailed into digging anyway by the flicker of the lightning, and sent a man to the nearest house, a half a mile off, to borrow one. So they dug and dug like everything; and it got awful dark, and the rain started, and the wind swished and swushed along, and the lightning come brisker and brisker, and the thunder boomed; but them people never took no notice of it, they was so full of this business; and one minute you could see everything and every face in that big crowd, and the shovelfuls of dirt sailing up out of the grave, and the next second the dark wiped it all out, and you couldn't see nothing at all. At last they got out the coffin and begun to unscrew the lid, and then such another crowding and shouldering and shoving as there was, to scrouge in and get a sight, you never see; and in the dark, that way, it was awful.  Hines he hurt my wrist dreadful pulling and tugging so, and I reckon he clean forgot I was in the world, he was so excited and panting. All of a sudden the lightning let go a perfect sluice of white glare, and somebody sings out: “By the living jingo, here's the bag of gold on his breast!” Hines let out a whoop, like everybody else, and dropped my wrist and give a big surge to bust his way in and get a look, and the way I lit out and shinned for the roa