So he hoped he wasn't hurt bad. But laws," he says, "it was only just fear that gave him that last little spurt of strength, and of course it soon played out and he laid down in the bush, and there wasn't anybody to help him, and he died." Then the old man cried and grieved, and said he was a murderer and the mark of Cain was on him, and he had disgraced his family and was going to be found out and hung. But Tom said: "No, you ain't going to be found out. You DIDN'T kill him. ONE lick wouldn't kill him. Somebody else done it." "Oh, yes," he says, "I done it-nobody else. Who else had anything against him? Who else COULD have anything against him?" He looked up kind of like he hoped some of us could mention somebody that could have a grudge against that harmless no-account, but of course it warn't no use-he HAD us; we couldn't say a word. He noticed that, and he saddened down again, and I never see a face so miserable and so pitiful to see. Tom had a sudden idea, and says: "But hold on!-somebody BURIED him.