Whut d' I tell ye, boys? " he asked, triumphantly. "Don't believe ye
more 'n half believed me."

Three more horsemen rode up to the gate and came into the light.
Every man was armed, and at Isom's puzzled look, Steve caught
the lad by the arm and led him around the chimney-corner. He
was in high spirits.

"'Pears like ole times, Isom. I'm a-goin' fer thet cussed ole Steve
Brayton this very night. He's behind Crump. I s'picioned it afore;
now I know it for sartain. He's a-goin' to give Eli a mule 'n' a
Winchester fer killin' me. We're goin' to s'prise him to-night. He
won't be look-in' fer us-I've fixed that. I wus jus' about to
sen' fer ye. I hain't fergot how ye kin handle a gun." Steve laughed
significantly. " Ye're a good frien' o' mine, 'n' I'm goin' to show ye
thet I'm a frien' o' yourn."

Isom's paleness was unnoticed in the dark. The old throbbing
began to beat again at his temple; the old haze started from his
eyes.

"Hyeh's yer gun, Isom," he heard Steve saying next. The fire was
blazing into his face. At the chimney-corner was the bent figure of
old Daddy Marcum, and across his lap shone a Winchester. Steve
was pointing at it, his grim face radiant; the old rnan's toothless
mouth was grinning, and his sharp black eyes were snapping up at
him.

"Hit's yourn, I tell ye," said Steve again. I aimed jes to lend it to ye,
but ye've saved me frum gittin' killed, mebbe, 'n' hit's yourn