ld 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. Daddy Marcum was leaning on a
chair at the door, looking eagerly at each man as he passed.

"Hain't ye goin', Isom?"

Somebody was standing before him twirling a rifle on its butt, a boy
near Isom's age. The whirling gun made him dizzy.

"Stop it!" he cried, angrily. Old Daddy Marcum was answering the boy's
question from the door.

"Isom goin'?" he piped, proudly. "I reckon he air. Whar's yer belt, boy?
Git ready. Git ready."

Isom rose then--he could not answer sitting down--and caught at a bedpost
with one hand, while he fumbled at his throat with the other.

"I hain't goin'."

Steve heard at the door, and whirled around. Daddy Marcum was tottering
across the floor, with one bony hand uplifted.

"You're a coward!" The name stilled every sound. Isom, with eyes afire,
sprang at the old man to strike, but somebody caught his arm and forced
him back to the bed.

"Shet up, dad," said Steve, angrily, looking sharply into Isom's face.
"Don't ye see the boy's sick? He needn't go ef he don't want to. Time to
start, boys."

The tramp of heavy boots started across the puncheon floor and porch
again. Isom could hear Steve's orders outside; the laughs and jeers and
curses of the men as they mounted their horses; he heard the cavalcade
pass through the gate, the old man's cackling good-by; then the horses'
hoofs going down the mountain