1 We started through the woods on a run.
2 The nigger run off the very night Huck Finn was killed.
3 He kept me with him all the time, and I never got a chance to run off.
4 WELL, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter now.
5 Well, there's five niggers run off to-night up yonder, above the head of the bend.
6 He drank and drank, and tumbled down on his blankets by and by; but luck didn't run my way.
7 I jumped into the canoe and run back to the stern, and grabbed the paddle and set her back a stroke.
8 By and by she come along, and she drifted in so close that they could a run out a plank and walked ashore.
9 This second night we run between seven and eight hours, with a current that was making over four mile an hour.
10 So I took my gun and slipped off towards where I had run across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two to listen.
11 I thought it all over, and I reckoned I would walk off with the gun and some lines, and take to the woods when I run away.
12 I run the canoe into a deep dent in the bank that I knowed about; I had to part the willow branches to get in; and when I made fast nobody could a seen the canoe from the outside.
13 I couldn't see but a little ways, but I went poking along over rough ground for a quarter of a mile or more, and then I run across a big old-fashioned double log-house before I noticed it.
14 I crawfished as fast as I could about two yards, but the boat slanted so that I couldn't make very good time; so to keep from getting run over and catched I crawled into a stateroom on the upper side.
15 Thinks I, it won't do to paddle; first I know I'll run into the bank or a towhead or something; I got to set still and float, and yet it's mighty fidgety business to have to hold your hands still at such a time.
16 Well, the second night a fog begun to come on, and we made for a towhead to tie to, for it wouldn't do to try to run in a fog; but when I paddled ahead in the canoe, with the line to make fast, there warn't anything but little saplings to tie to.
17 The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die; and the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn't make out what it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me.
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