About midnight Tom arrived with a boiled ham and a few trifles, and stopped in a dense undergrowth on a small bluff overlooking the meeting-place. It was starlight, and very still. The mighty river lay like an ocean at rest. Tom listened a moment, but no sound disturbed the quiet. Then he gave a low, distinct whistle. It was answered from under the bluff. Tom whistled twice more; these signals were answered in the same way. Then a guarded voice said:

     "Who goes there?"

     "Tom Sawyer, the Black Avenger of the Spanish Main. Name your names."

     "Huck Finn the Red-Handed, and Joe Harper the Terror of the Seas." Tom had furnished these titles, from his favorite literature.

     "'Tis well. Give the countersign."

     Two hoarse whispers delivered the same awful word simultaneously to the brooding night:

     "Blood!"