It's the one that the Lord sent him here fur.

Now, Paul, help me strip off his huntin' shirt." They took off Braxton Wyatt's hunting shirt, leggins, and cap, and Paul put them on, his own taking their place on the form of the gagged youth.
"Now, Paul," said Shif'less Sol, "you're Braxton Wyatt--for a little while, at least, you've got to stand it--an' he's you.

Help me roll him up thar on your bed o' skins, an' he kin sleep in calm an' peace until they bring him his breakfast in the mornin'." They put Wyatt on the couch, and his eyes glared fiercely at them.

He struggled to speak, but they did not care to hear him.

Sol took the weapons from his belt and gave them to Paul.
"Good-night, Braxton," said Shif'less Sol pleasantly.