Oh, that cold hand! Did you ever touch a dead man's hand?
it's awful cold, you may depend.

Is there any marks on my face?
do you see the tracks of the fingers there ?' "'No, Sir,' sais I,' I can't say I do.' "'Well, then I feel them there,' sais he, 'as plain as any thing.' "'Stranger,' sais I, 'it was nothin' but some poor no-souled critter, like yourself, that was skeered a'most to death, and wanted to be helped out that's all." "'Skeered!' said he, 'sarves him right then; he might have knowed how to feel for other folks, and not funkify them so peskily; I don't keer if he never gets out; but I have my doubts about its bein' a livin' human, I tell _you_.

If I hadn't a renounced the devil and all his works that time, I don't know what the upshot would have been, for Old Scratch was there too.

I saw him as plain as I see you; he ran out afore me, and couldn't stop or look back, as long as I said catekism.

He was in his old shape of the sarpent; he was the matter of a yard long, and as thick round as my arm and travelled belly-flounder fashion; when I touched land, he dodged into an eddy, and out of sight in no time.