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.