“Hain’t it a good idee to find out if he’s here before we catch him? ’Cause if we pounce when there hain’t nobody to pounce onto we kind of waste work.” “He’s got to be here,” says Mark. “Everythin’ p-p-points that way. It wouldn’t be reasonable for him to be any place else.” “It’s all right to reason somethin’ out,” says I, “and maybe you can do it and feel sure in your mind it’s so; but for me, jest give me one peek at George Piggins and I’ll believe he’s here.” “Listen,” says Mark. “I kin p-p-prove it easy. Jest start out and skirmish around the island till you f-f-find his boat. It’ll be close to the shore, because he’s too lazy to pull it up far. When you find the boat you’ll know he’s here, won’t you?” “I’ll feel reasonably certain,” says I. “Then scoot,” says he. I took off as fast as I could go—that is, as fast as I could crawl on my stummick, for Mark said I had to go that way. Well, I hadn’t gone far, sort of poking my head in front of me regardless, when all of a sudden it brought up against a plank with a bump that made me see a Fourth of July celebration, and when I got so I could see what was going on, why, it was George’s boat! Sure enough Mark had reasoned it out right. I might have known he would. So I raised myself up to turn around to report. I just happened to look across the river to the mainland, and there I saw something moving. I watched, and in a second a man came into sight. He was a stranger. Right then I didn’t think much about it, because I didn’t know him, but I did notice he had on some kind of a fancy vest with a lot of color into it. He came out and looked across at the island, and I says to myself it was a city man looking for a place to fish. Then I crawled back to Mark and the fellows. “He’s here,” says I. “Huh!” says Mark. “Of course you knew it,” says I, “but don’t say so.” “Anyhow,” says he, “let’s go ahead with c-catchin’ him.” “Shoot,” says I. “I wish,” says he, “that we had a witness.” “What kind of a witness?” “A man over twenty-one, to s-s-sign that paper after George does,” says he. “I know where we kin git one,” says I. “Where?” says he. “Right across the river,” says I. “There’s a feller lookin’ for a place to fish. City feller. Kind of big, with a gaudy vest on him.” “What’s that?” says Tallow, sharp-like. “With a gaudy vest on him,” says I. “Why?” “All red and blue and orange and sich?” “Looked that way,” says I; “anyhow, it was mighty dazzlin’.” “Where was he?” I pointed. “Right over there.” “Mark,” says Tallow, “that was the feller I was followin’ yesterday. The man Wiggamore’s got lookin’ for George.” “The f-f-feller I sat on last night?” “Uh-huh.” “Might ’a’ known somethin’ disagreeable would h-happen,” says Mark. “I never yet see anythin’ come off plain and easy. Now I calc’late we’re in for a fracas with Wiggamore and his gang.” “Aw, let’s catch George,” says I, “and worry later.”