now-yourn, boy, fer keeps."

Steve was holding the gun out to him now. The smooth cold touch
of the polished barrel thrilled him. It made everything for an
instant clear again, and feeling weak, Isom sat down on the bed,
gripping the treasure in both trembling hands. On one side of him
some one was repeating Steve's plan of attack. Old Brayton's
cabin was nearly opposite, but they would go up the river, cross
above the mill, and ride back. The night was cloudy, but they
would have the moonlight now and then for the climb up the
mountain. They would creep close, and when the moon was hid
they would run in and get old Brayton alive, if possible. Then-the
rest was with Steve.

Across the room he could hear Steve telling the three new-comers,
with an occasional curse, about Crump's blind, and how he knew
that old Brayton was hiring Crump.

Old Steve's meaner 'n Eli," he said to himself, and a flame of the
old hate surged up from the fire of temptation in his heart. Steve
Marcum was his best friend; Steve had shielded him. The boy had
promised to join him against old Brayton, and here was the
Winchester, brand-new, to bind his word.

"Git ready, boys; git ready."

It was Steve's voice, and in Isom's ears the preacher's voice rang
after it. Again that blinding mist before his eyes, and the boy
brushed at it irritably. He could see the men buckling
cartridge-belts, but he sat still. Two or three men were going out.