Remembering the absolute invisibility of these sunken canons until the rider is almost directly over them, and also the extreme roughness and remoteness of the district, I could see that the spot was admirably adapted to concealment.
"There's quite a yarn about the gang that held this hole," said Jed Parker to me, when I had ridden back to him "I'll tell you about it sometime." We climbed the hill, descended on the Double R, built a fire in the stove, dried out, and were happy.

After a square meal--and a dry one--I reminded Jed Parker of his promise, and so, sitting cross-legged on his "so-gun" in the middle of the floor, he told us the following yarn: There's a good deal of romance been written about the "bad man," and there's about the same amount of nonsense.

The bad man is justa plain murderer, neither more nor less.

He never does get into a real, good, plain, stand-up gunfight if he can possibly help it.

His killin's are done from behind a door, or when he's got his man dead to rights.
There's Sam Cook.