It was not easy to get money in those days, and the boys were often without it.  Once “Huck” Blankenship had the skin of a ’coon he had captured, and offered to sell it to raise capital.  At Selms’s store, on Wild Cat Corner, the ’coon-skin would bring ten cents.  But this was not enough.  The boys thought of a plan to make it bring more.  Selms’s back window was open, and the place where he kept his pelts was pretty handy.  Huck went around to the front door and sold the skin for ten cents to Selms, who tossed it back on the pile.  Then Huck came back and, after waiting a reasonable time, crawled in the open window, got the ’coon-skin, and sold it to Selms again.  He did this several times that afternoon, and the capital of the band grew.  But at last John Pierce, Selms’s clerk, said: 

“Look here, Mr. Selms, there’s something wrong about this.  That boy has been selling us ’coonskins all the afternoon.”

Selms went back to his pile of pelts.  There were several sheep-skins and some cow-hides, but only one ’coon-skin—­the one he had that moment bought.

Selms himself, in after years, used to tell this story as a great joke.

One of the boys’ occasional pastimes was to climb Holliday’s Hill and roll down big stones, to frighten the people who were driving by.  Holliday’s Hill above the road was steep; a stone once started would go plunging downward and bound across the road with the deadly momentum of a shell.  The boys would get a stone poised, then wait until they saw a team approaching, and, calculating the distance, would give the boulder a start.  Dropping behind the bushes, they would watch the sudden effect upon the party below as the great missile shot across the road a few yards before them.  This was huge sport, but they carried it too far.  For at last they planned a grand climax that would surpass anything before attempted in the stone-rolling line.

A monstrous boulder was lying up there in the right position to go down-hill, once started.  It would be a glorious thing to see that great stone go smashing down a hundred yards or so in front of some peaceful-minded countryman jogging along the road.  Quarrymen had been getting out rock not far away and had left their picks and shovels handy.  The boys borrowed the tools and went to work to undermine the big stone.  They worked at it several hours.  If their parents had asked them to work like that, they would have thought they were being killed.

Finally, while they were still digging, the big stone suddenly got loose and started down.  They were not ready for it at all.  Nobody was coming but an old colored man in a cart; their splendid stone was going to be wasted.

One could hardly call it wasted, however; they had planned for a thrilling result, and there was certainly thrill enough while it lasted.  In the first place the stone nearly caught Will Bowen when it started.  John Briggs had that moment quit digging and handed Will the pick.  Will was about to take his turn when Sam Clemens leaped aside with a yell: