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Well, heah I is. In de nick o� time, too! Little mo' an' it'd be blacker'n de ace of spades heahabouts. [He pulls a bandana handkerchief from his hip pocket and mops off his perspiring face.] Sho'! Gimme air! I'se tuckered out sho' 'nuff. Dat soft Emperor job ain't no trainin' fo' a long hike ovah dat plain in de brilin' sun. [Then with a chuckle.] Cheah up, n****r, de worst is yet to come. [He lifts his head and stares at the forest. His chuckle peters out abruptly. In a tone of awe.] My goodness, look at dem woods, will you? Dat no−count Smithers said dey'd be black an' he sho' called de turn. [Turning away from them quickly and looking down at his feet, he snatches at a chance to change the subject−solicitously.] Feet, you is holdin' up yo' end fine an' I sutinly hopes you ain't blisterin' none. It's time you git a rest. [He takes off his shoes, his eyes studiously avoiding the forest. He feels of the soles of his feet gingerly.] You is still in de pink−−on'y a little mite feverish. Cool yo'selfs. Remember you done got a long journey yit befo' you. [He sits in a weary attitude, listening to the rhythmic beating of the tom−tom. He grumbles in a loud tone to cover up a growing uneasiness. ] Bush niggers! Wonder dey wouldn' git sick o� beatin' dat drum. Sound louder, seem like. I wonder if dey's startin' after me? [He scrambles to his feet�, looking back across the plain.] Couldn't see dem now, nohow, if dey was hundred feet away. [Then shaking himself like a wet dog to get rid of these depressing thoughts.] Sho', dey's miles an miles behind. What you gittin� fidgety about? [But he sits down and begins to lace up his shoes in great haste, all the time muttering reassuringly.] You know what? Yo' belly is empty, dat's what's de matter wid you. Come time to eat! Wid nothin' but wind on yo' stumach, o� course you feels jiggedy. Well, we eats right heah an' now soon's I gits dese pesky shoes laced up! [He finishes lacing up his shoes.] Dere! Now le's see. [Gets on his hands and knees and searches the ground around him with his eyes.] White stone, white stone, where is you? [He sees the first white stone and crawls to it−with satisfaction.] Heah you is! I knowed dis was de right place. Box of grub, come to me. [He turns over the stone and feels in under it−in a tone of dismay.] Ain't heah! Gorry, is I in de right place or isn't I? Dere's 'nother stone. Guess dat's it. [He scrambles to the next stone and turns il over.] Ain't heah, neither! Grub, whar is yqu? Ain't heah. Gorry, has I got to go hungry into dem woods−all de night? [While he is talking he scrambles from one stone to another, turning them over in frantic haste. Finally, he jumps to his feet excitedly.] Is I lost de place? Must have! But how dat happen when I was followin' de trail across de plain in broad daylight? [Almost plaintively.] I'se hungry, I is! I gotta git my feed. Whar's my strength gonna come from if I doesn't? Gorry, I gotta find dat grub high an' low somehow! Why it come dark so quick like dat? Can't see nothin'. [He scratches a match on his trousers and peers about him. The rate of the beat of the far−off t0m−tom increases perceptibly as he does so. He mutters in a bewildered voice.] How come all dese white stones come heah when I only remembers one? [Suddenly, with a frightened gasp, he flings the match on the ground and stamps on it.] Nigger, is you gone crazy mad? Is you lightin' matches to show dem whar you is? Fo' Lawd's sake, use yo' haid. Gorry, I'se got to be careful! [He stares at the plain behind him apprehensively, his hand on his revolver.] But how come all dese white stones? And whar's dat tin box o� grub I had all wrapped up in oil cloth?

O’Neill, Eugene. “The Emperor Jones�, Three Great Plays: The Emperor Jones, Anna Christie, and The Hairy Ape, Dover Publications Inc., 2005, pp.15-6.