'“An empty bar'l!” says I, “why,” says I, “a spy-glass is a fool to your eyes. How can you tell it's an empty bar'l?” He says—
'“I don't know; I reckon it ain't a bar'l, but I thought it might be,” says he.
'“Yes,” I says, “so it might be, and it might be anything else, too; a body can't tell nothing about it, such a distance as that,” I says.
'We hadn't nothing else to do, so we kept on watching it. By and by I says—
'“Why looky-here, Dick Allbright, that thing's a-gaining on us, I believe.”
'He never said nothing. The thing gained and gained, and I judged it must be a dog that was about tired out. Well, we swung down into the crossing, and the thing floated across the bright streak of the moonshine, and, by George, it was bar'l. Says I—
'“Dick Allbright, what made you think that thing was a bar'l, when it was a half a mile off,” says I. Says he—
'“I don't know.” Says I—
'“You tell me, Dick Allbright.” He says—
'“Well, I knowed it was a bar'l; I've seen it before; lots has seen it; they says it's a haunted bar'l.”