I told him I warn't afraid of _him_ telling the people where I was.  I talked along, but he only set there and looked at me; never said nothing.  Then I says: “It's good daylight.  Le's get breakfast.  Make up your camp fire good.” “What's de use er makin' up de camp fire to cook strawbries en sich truck? But you got a gun, hain't you?  Den we kin git sumfn better den strawbries.” “Strawberries and such truck,” I says. “Is that what you live on?” “I couldn' git nuffn else,” he says. “Why, how long you been on the island, Jim?” “I come heah de night arter you's killed.” “What, all that time?” “Yes--indeedy.” “And ain't you had nothing but that kind of rubbage to eat?” “No, sah--nuffn else.” “Well, you must be most starved, ain't you?” “I reck'n I could eat a hoss.  I think I could. How long you ben on de islan'?” “Since the night I got killed.” “No!  W'y, what has you lived on?  But you got a gun.  Oh, yes, you got a gun.  Dat's good.  Now you kill sumfn en I'll make up de fire.” So we went over to where the canoe was, and while he built a fire in a grassy open place amongst the trees, I fetched meal and bacon and coffee, and coffee-pot and frying-pan, and sugar and tin cups, and the nigger was set back considerable, because he reckoned it was all done with witchcraft. I catched a good big catfish, too, and Jim cleaned him with his knife, and fried him. When breakfast was ready we lolled on the grass and eat it smoking hot. Jim laid it in with all his might, for he was most about starved.  Then when we had got pretty well stuffed, we laid off and lazied.  By and by Jim says: “But looky here, Huck, who wuz it dat 'uz killed in dat shanty ef it warn't you?” Then I told him the whole thing, and he said it was smart.  He said Tom Sawyer couldn't get up no better plan than what I had.  Then I says: “How do you come to be here, Jim, and how'd you get here?” He looked pretty uneasy, and didn't say nothing for a minute.  Then he says: “Maybe I better