When that whistle sounded I wasn’t startled particular and I wasn’t much surprised. I just says to myself, “Here she comes,” meaning trouble. I looked at Mark, and maybe you won’t believe me, but he actually looked tickled. Like you would be if you got good news.
“Well?” says I.
“See what it is,” says he.
“I know,” says I; “it’s the feller with the vest. Come on.”
George Piggins looked some put out, and sort of startled-like and flabbergasted. Things was happening too rapid to make George happy. He wasn’t what you’d call quick at any time, and right now he was about seven minutes behind events without any chance of ever catching up. The last I see of him for a spell consisted mainly of open mouth, for Mark and I made a jump toward the shore.
When we got there Mr. Man was half-way across in some kind of a boat he had picked up.
“We kin hold him off,” says I; “there hain’t but one of him.”
“Maybe,” says Mark. “Scoot back and git that l-l-long pole layin’ near George.”
I done so and got there when Mr. Man was about fifty feet off, and then we all stood up and looked at him and waited. He had his back toward us and didn’t see us till he turned around to take his bearings, and then he turned ’way around and squinted and says, “Good mornin’.”
“Good mornin’,” says Mark.
“Campin’?” says the man.
“Not exactly,” says Mark.
“Anybody on the island?”
“We b-b-be,” says Mark.
“See a man sneakin’ around?”
“One in a rowboat,” says Mark, “with a f-f-fancy vest on.”
“Meanin’ me?”
“Calc’late so.”
“Say, young feller, you’re about the size and weight of somebody that sat on my stummick last night. By any chance was you him?”
“I was,” says Mark.
“You’ll excuse me for not recognizin’ your face,” says the man, cheerful-like, “but we was in the dark.”
“We hain’t in the dark now,” says Mark, like he meant more than he said.
“Meanin’, I s’pose, that you’ve found that Piggins feller? I hain’t clear what you want with him, nor why you’re mixin’ into private business, though I was warned to look out for a fat kid that stuttered.”
“Um!” says Mark.
“I’m comin’ ashore,” says the man.
“I hain’t sure you be,” says Mark.
“Jest watch,” says the man, and he began to row again.
I waited till he got close enough to reach with the pole and then I give him a good shove that made his rickety boat rock like the mischief. He turned sort of green and let out a bellow like a calf that seen some kind of a beef ghost.
“Hey! quit that! Want to drownd a feller?” he yelled.
“F-f-figgered on givin’ you a little swim,” says Mark.
“Gosh! boy, I can’t swim a stroke! Go easy there!”
“Um!” says Mark. “Can’t swim, eh? I want to know. Sure you can’t swim?”
“Give you my word. Honest Injun. Cross my heart.”
“Um!” Mark sat down on the mud bank and thought a second. “Let him l-l-land,” says he to me, which I done, not willing, but because a fellow has to obey orders even if he don’t agree with them.
Mr. Man got out on shore, and quick as a wink Mark jumped up and give his boat a shove out into the current. It went swinging off out of reach, and the man looked after it like somebody had just up and stole his best friend. He was mad, too.
“Say, what you mean, anyhow? How be I goin’ to git off’n this island?”
“Why,” says Mark, grinning friendly and cordial, “you kin w-w-wait till winter and walk off on the ice.”
“Hain’t there another boat?”
“There is,” says Mark, winking at me, “but there won’t be long.”
I got what he meant in a jiffy and off I scooted. It wasn’t five seconds before George’s boat was floating off down-stream and everybody on that island that couldn’t swim was marooned.
“Now,” says Mark, “let’s be c-c-comfortable.”
“Comfortable!” says the man. “What I want to know is what you mean by this, anyhow? What you mean by shovin’ my boat off? What for do you want to shut me up on this island?”
“Well,” says Mark, “we g-g-got important b-business goin’ on, and it looked like you might muss it up. You can’t muss up much so long as you’re right here, and right here you’re goin’ to stay, if we can m-make you, till our business is done.”
“Then Piggins is here?” says the man.
“Maybe so and maybe not. That’s s-somethin’ you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
“I got it in mind to make all of you kids find out what it feels like to get a blamed good thrashin’,” says the man, getting madder than ever.
“’Twouldn’t f-fetch your boat back,” says Mark.
“How long you calc’late on keepin’ me?”
“Hain’t got no idee—plenty long, though.”
“How do we eat?” says the man.
Mark looked at him and then at me, and then he winked. “You’ll have to l-look out for your own eatin’,” says he. “We don’t undertake to pervide food.... Now, fellers, this gentleman most l-likely wants to set down and f-figger. Let’s walk away and leave him be and not disturb him. Maybe he’ll want to move around himself and look for George Piggins.”
The man sat down and looked kind of miserable. We walked off.
“We got to keep him and George apart,” says Mark, “till I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?” says I.
“Oh,” says he, “I got a sort of a kind of a s-scheme.”
He said it with that kind of a way he has that means he ain’t going to tell and there’s no use to ask him. All of us knew him well enough not to waste breath on questions. So we went along till we came to George Piggins, still gaping at the money Mark gave him and staring every little while at the shore as if he had something on his mind and didn’t know just exactly what.
“Man just l-landed,” says Mark.
“Who?” says George.
“Detective feller,” says Mark.
“Eh?” says George. “What’s that? What you tryin’ to tell a feller? What’s a detective a-doin’ on this island, I want to know? Eh? Say.”
“He let on he was interested in hogs,” says Mark.
“Sufferin’ boozle-jams!” says George. “S’pose he’s a-lookin’ for me? Eh? Got any idea I’m the feller he’s detectivin’ around after?”
“He asked if we’d seen you,” says Mark.
“What you tell him? You didn’t go and give me away, did you? You didn’t tell on pore old George Piggins?”
“I should s-s-say not. Why, hain’t we here to pertect you from the consequences of that hog? Hain’t we agreed you should go free and clear of that, and be allowed to come back home jest l-l-like there wa’n’t never no hog at all? Sure we have. And we’re a-goin’ to. And now we’re warnin’ you about that f-feller, and advisin’ you to keep out of his way.”
“Thankee,” says George. “I’ll remember it of you, I will. I hain’t calc’latin’ to fergit sich friends as you be, and I’m a-goin’ to hide me. I know a place and that there detective kin look for me till he turns pink all the way from his chin to his ears before he finds me.”
“Kin you s-swim?” says Mark.
“Swim? Naw. What I want with swimmin’? Ketch me workin’ like that! What? You hain’t got no idee how swimmin’ tires a feller! No, sir, I hain’t never learned to swim, and I don’t figger I ever will.”
Mark sort of scowled. “B-better hide quick, then,” says he, and off scooted George. Then Mark says to us: “Too much l-laziness is a dum’ nuisance. I f-figgered we’d git George and swim ashore and leave that man to set and watch us. It would have f-fixed everything all right. We could have taken George right to his sister’s and got her to sign that option, and found some witnesses, and then we wouldn’t have had any worry, but now here we be, shut up on an island with George and the detective, and jest at this minnit I don’t see how we’re ever goin’ to git off it with what we want. But we will,” says he, and he snapped shut his jaws. “I hain’t a bit d-discouraged. Jest watch and see. I’m a-goin’ off to think it out.”
“If we jest had that witness,” says I, “we could swim off and leave both of ’em.”
“Um!...” says Mark. “Um!...” Then he turned perty sudden and walked over to a board and sat down.
“Wish I knew how the mill was gettin’ along,” says I to Tallow. “Maybe it’s busted by this time.”
“Bet it hain’t,” says he.
“Anyhow, I wisht we had this thing over and was back to work. I kind of liked workin’ around that mill.”
“Huh!” says he. “Only ones of us four I ever see workin’ was Binney and me.”
“Oh, that!” says I. “Anybody can do what you was doin’, but it takes brains to work the way Mark and me did.”
“If it does,” says he, “then ne............