They concealed their keg of powder under some brush and spent an hour going after the tool, playing along the road both coming and going. Then they took turns in working, as they bored the hole. “Less load her up now and shoot off, and that’ll make an end of a perfect day,” Org remarked, quoting a part of a song he had heard his sister sing to Captain Kerlerac. “Dis ole cannon is gwine use up all our powder,” Little Bit declared, as he peeped up the hollow to where the light of the fuse-hole showed. “We don’t care,” Org laughed. “This powder don’t cost us nothing.” They placed their fuse properly, then emptied the contents of the keg into the muzzle of the log cannon. They rammed the charge home with a number of old sacks which they had been thoughtful enough to pick up in the barn and bring with them when they went after the augur. Then they added several hat-loads of leaves and grass which they mixed with mud from the branch. After that they charged the “cannon” to the very end with great quantities of sod torn up from the edge of the branch and rammed hard into the muzzle with the blunt end of a big stick. “Now she’s ready to shoot. Who’s going to light the fuse?” Org asked. “Not me,” Little Bit said positively. “I’m jes’ a little fool nigger, an’ ain’t to be trusted wid no important jobs.” “I’ll light the fuse,” Org announced. “Go up on the road and see if anybody is coming.” Little Bit ran up on the little frail wooden bridge which was about twelve feet long, made a survey, and announced that all was clear. Then he ran far over in the woods. Org lighted the fuse and followed his black companion at his best speed. When they reached what they thought was a safe distance, they paused and waited. The idea of the boys was that the powder would simply shoot the mud out of the log, just as a bullet is propelled from the muzzle of a gun. But blasting powder is not a propulsive force; it is something that rends and tears, exerting as much pressure in one direction as in another. Therefore the boys were very much surprised, when they heard the explosion, to see the frail wooden bridge which spanned the narrow branch rise in the air, break into a number of pieces, and scatter all over the place! The log cannon went to pieces also. The boys went somewhere else. They did not run. They could easily have overtaken and passed anybody that was merely running. They just went away from there. When completely overcome by exhaustion, they dropped down under a tree far away from the scene of their exploit. When, after a long time, they had somewhat recovered their composure and their breath, they began to plan for the future, when, as they thought, they would have to give an account of themselves. “What does the law do to a feller that busts up a bridge, Little Bit?” Org asked. “Ef he’s a nigger, like me, dey hangs him,” Little Bit shuddered. “But if he’s white?” Org inquired. “Dey shoots him,” Little Bit said.