I fetched the pig in, and took him back nearly to the table and hacked into his throat with the axe, and laid him down on the ground to bleed; I say ground because it was ground--hard packed, and no boards.

Well, next I took an old sack and put a lot of big rocks in it--all I could drag--and I started it from the pig, and dragged it to the door and through the woods down to the river and dumped it in, and down it sunk, out of sight.

You could easy see that something had been dragged over the ground.

I did wish Tom Sawyer was there; I knowed he would take an interest in this kind of business, and throw in the fancy touches.

Nobody could spread himself like Tom Sawyer in such a thing as that.
Well, last I pulled out some of my hair, and blooded the axe good, and stuck it on the back side, and slung the axe in the corner.