by Mark Twain
The last time I saw Tom he was wearing the bullet around his neck and was mighty proud of it. He started talking about him and I going out and having adventures, and maybe drifting into injun territory for a couple of weeks or two, maybe put down a bunch of Zum, and I said sure, sure, when you’re all better, but I don’t think so. He’ll always be a pal of mine, and someone I’ll remember till the day I die and they cut off my head, but I believe there’s plenty of adventures to be had without trying to make them harder. I reckon I got to light out for the territories again, alone, because Aunt Sally and the rest of ‘em say they want to adopt me and civilize me, and I can’t stand the thought of it. I’m moving out for places I never seen before, and I only wish that Jim was alongside me.
