“The feller that d-d-does his worryin’ ahead of time is the f-f-feller that comes out on top. You got to f-figger what the other feller’s goin’ to do, and then do somethin’ first that’ll upset his plans. That’s the only way. Now I calc’late that man’s reasoned out like we did that George is here somewheres. Maybe he hain’t sure he’s on this island, but he will be. Then he’ll come rammin’ over and we’ll have him on our hands. If he gits to George before we git George all signed up, no tellin’ what’ll h-happen. Maybe he’ll have so much m-money he’ll jest wind George around his f-finger. See? So we got to head him off. We’ll have to p-plan.” He sat back and squinted some for a minute, and then he says: “Binney and Tallow stay here and keep w-w-watch. The first sign of him comin’ across, you whistle our whistle. You know. Keep out of sight.... I do wish I had a witness.” “You hain’t,” says I. “I know it,” says he. “Come on.” Well, we crawled in toward the middle of the island where the old dance-hall was, and got perty generally messy with the soft black muck that was everywheres, but we did it scientific, anyhow, like regular Injun scouts. We come so cautious we didn’t hardly realize we was getting anywheres ourselves, and that’s being perty cautious, I can tell you. At last we came to the old clearing and peeked out, and there sat George Piggins on a rickety step, a-smoking and a-whittling, about half asleep and the other half dozing. He looked happy, like a man that has got a job that just suits him. George had that kind of a job. The only anxiety he had at that minute was to keep himself from doing anything to make him tired. There wasn’t any place for him to run, and, besides, it would have taken him a couple of minutes to get up the energy to move, so Mark says, “Git him,” and we up and run at him for all that was in us. George didn’t notice us for a minute, and then he got up kind of dazed and put in a couple of seconds looking startled and scairt, and then there we were, standing one on each side of him. “Howdy, George?” says Mark. “Why,” says he, “I hain’t sure. Honest Injun, I hain’t sure exactly how I be, but seems like I was feelin’ middlin’ well a minute back.... Say, ’tain’t right to come rushin’ up on a feller and scare him so he jumps fit to crack his neck. Hain’t you got no consideration for folks’s feelin’s? Eh? And me a-settin’ so peaceable and not even thinkin’.” “Didn’t mean to s-s-scare you, George,” says Mark. “But we wanted to see you p’tic’lar.” “What on account of?” says George, nervous-like. “On account of two things—a chunk of land and a hog.” “Doggone that hawg!” says George. “I ’most wisht I hadn’t never heard of no hawg.” “George,” says Mark, “hain’t you ’m-most tired of l-livin’ out here?”