But we could not stay in Woodward. Not even the old gentleman could stand that. He took John down to Tecumseh and almost immediately was named a judge there. Frank and I went to the sheriff, Tob Olden, and told him we would wait. He was disappointed.
"May want to hit the bull's eye later, boys. When you reckon to bust them off, Tob Olden's house is yours."
CHAPTER VI.
In the outlaws' country; acquittal of the assassins; a brother's rage; false accusation; the father's denunciation; refuge in the outlaw's camp.
Nearly every range on the prairies sheltered and winked at outlaw gangs. From peeler to highway-man was a short step.
Frank and I went down to the Spike S to hang up till after the trial.
John Harliss owned the ranch. The Snake Creek and the Arkansas river ran through his 100,000 acres. It was an ideal haunt for fugitives. Harliss was hospitable. The Conchorda Mountains, like tremendous black towers, formed a massive wall on one side. The cliff came down to the creek. On the near side of the water the land rolled out in a magnificent sweep of low hills and valleys.
Once across the Snake Creek to the mountain side, and capture was almost impossible. Dogwood, pecan trees, briar and cottonwood matted together and pread like a jungle growth up the mountain and there wasn't a marshal in the State would set a horse toward it.
It was across the Snake Creek and up the Conchorda that I made my last race against the law, years later.
I went cow-punching there; Frank went over to Pryor's Creek, 20 miles distant.