Crump's face stiffened with such terror that Steve broke into a
laugh.

Well, ye air a skeery critter! " he said, contemptuously. "I hain't
goin' to hurt him, Uncl' Gabe, but he must be a plumb idgit,
a-talkin' 'bout folks to thar face, 'n' him so puny an' spindlin'! You
git!

Crump picked himself up trembling-"Don't ye ever let me see ye
on this side o' the river agin, now "-and shuffled out, giving
Marcum one look of fear and unearthly hate.

Convicted '! " snorted Steve. " I heerd old Steve Brayton had hired
him to waylay me, 'n' I swar I believe hit's so."

"Well, he won't hev to give him more'n a chaw o' tobaccer now,"
said Gabe. " He'll come purty near doin' hit hisseif, I reckon, ef he
gits the chance."

Well, he kin git the chance ef I gits my leetle account settled with
ole Steve Brayton fust. 'Pears like that old hog ain't satisfied
shootin' me hisself." Stretching his arms with a yawn, Steve
winked at Isom and moved to the door. The boy followed him
outside.

"We're goin' fer ole Brayton about the dark o' the next moon, boy,"
he said. "He's sort o' s'picious now, 'n' we'll give him a leetle time
to git tame. I'll have a bran'-new Winchester fer ye, Isom. Hit ull
be like ole times agin, when Rome was hyeh. Whut's the matter,
boy?" he asked, suddenly. Isom looked unresponsive, listless.