With the charge of armed robbery against him, Henry found himself back in the Fort Smith jail, and this time he went to court. Charlie Starr appeared once more to help his nephew out of trouble, but Henry was getting to be more and more expensive for Charlie. He could see that his uncle was losing his patience. When asked for his plea, Henry answered, “Guilty,” and a trial date was set along with a two-hundred-dollar bond. Uncle Charlie paid the two hundred. Henry assured his uncle that he would appear for the trial so that the bond would not be forfeited. He felt really guilty for the first time since his scrapes with the law had begun, not because he was in fact guilty of the robbery, but because he knew, even as he gave his assurances to his uncle, that he was lying. He had no intention of showing up for the sentencing.
When Henry got back in the vicinity of Nowata and the Todd Ranch, he looked up Milo on the cowboy’s day off. Milo had not been suspected. It had been known that two men had committed the robbery, but Milo had gotten his horse back in the corral and had managed to slip back into the bunkhouse undetected. Since the stolen money had been discovered in the saddlebags on the cut horse, no one seemed to be too much concerned about the identity of the other robber, and Henry had been mum on that subject.
The two cowboys arranged to meet at a line shack on the Todd Ranch. They knew that the shack was not being used at the time, so it seemed to be a safe choice. Even though Milo was not suspected of involvement in the robbery, Henry thought it prudent for Milo not to be seen with him just yet.
Inside the shack, Milo rolled a cigarette and offered the makings to Henry.
“No thanks, Milo,” said Henry. “I never use tobacco.”
“You know what folks are saying around Nowata, Henry?” said Milo as he licked his paper and gave Henry a sly look.
“What’s that?” said Henry. It was a polite response. He wasn’t really interested in what the good citizens of Nowata thought or felt.
“They’re saying you won’t show up for the trial.”
Henry looked at Milo and smiled.
“They’re right,” he said, and he felt a pang of guilt concerning his uncle.
Milo’s face registered surprise.
“You ain’t?”
“No,” said Henry. “I’d be a fool to show up for sentencing. I’m guilty, and I’ve already admitted to it. My role in life is cut out for me now, Milo. No more fooling around. I’m an outlaw. Anybody who doesn’t know it yet will know it pretty soon.”
Milo struck a match on the wall of the line shack and held the flame up to his damp and twisted cigarette. He sucked in the smoke.
“Henry,” he said, “you know that old farmer—I can’t ’call his name—just south of town?”
“Old white-haired fat man?” said Henry.
“Yeah. That’s the one. He was in the barbershop while back allowing that you just might be guilty because, he says, all Indians is just natural-born thieves. I was sitting there waiting my turn. I heard him say it. ‘All Indians is just natural-born thieves,’ he said. I heard him.”
Milo emptied his lungs of smoke with a long sigh and looked at Henry for the effect of this information.
“Well,” said Henry, after only a brief pause, “let’s help him maintain his position.”
“How we going to do that?”
“Milo,” said Henry, “you own your own horse and saddle?”
“You know I don’t. I have to ride Mr. Todd’s horses.”
“Well, I seem to recall a couple of pretty nice-looking saddle broncs at that old man’s farm.”
The early hours of the next day found Henry and Milo riding across the prairie on two newly acquired mounts with fairly decent saddles. By daylight they had reached the small town of Lenapah. Stores were just beginning to open. Henry led the way to a general store on the main street. Milo followed obediently. The store had just opened for the day. There were few people on the street and no customers in the store. The owner was alone, and he had the cash register opened as Henry stepped in through the front door with Milo close on his heels. The storekeeper looked up, expecting to greet an early customer, and he saw the pistol in Henry Starr’s hand.
“Just hand me all that stuff you’re counting there, and we’ll be on our way,” said Henry.
The storekeeper didn’t say a word. He took all the money from his cash drawer and laid it on the counter. Henry gestured to Milo, who quickly scraped it all up and stuffed it into his pockets. The two outlaws started to go back outside, but Henry hesitated.
“Wait up,” he said.
He moved over to a glass case that contained some pistols.
“Come here, mister,” he said.
The storekeeper obeyed.
“Let me have those two .45s.”
The man removed the revolvers from the case and laid them out on top for Henry.
“I’ll need several boxes of shells,” said Henry.
The storekeeper turned around and pulled the shells off a shelf against the wall. He put them down beside the .45s. Up on the same wall near the shelf with the shells some new rifles were displayed, and Henry gave them a quick look.
“Put out two of those .38–.56 Winchesters,” he said, “and some shells for them.”
Again the storekeeper did as he was told. He was nervous, but he was also efficient. He was a man who obviously had no intention of antagonizing a man with a gun.
“How much does all that come to?” asked Henry.
The poor storekeeper was so dumbfounded that he didn’t respond immediately, so Henry had to ask again.
“Well, how much? We are in a little bit of a hurry. I think you can understand that.”
The storekeeper did some hasty and nervous figuring.
“Let’s see,” he said. “These is seventeen dollars each. That’s thirty-four. And the rifles is forty. Forty and forty is eighty. And then the shells.”
“Sounds to me,” said Henry, “that it’s going to round off at about a hundred and fifty. That sound right to you?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, that’s pretty close.”
Henry gave Milo a quick glance.
“How much have we got?” he asked.
Milo was as dumbfounded as the storekeeper, but he tucked his pistol into his waistband and reached into the pocket where he had just a minute earlier stuffed the stolen money. He pulled it out, dumped it back onto the counter and, with some little difficulty, counted it.
“We got right at three hundred here,” he said.
“Pay the man his hundred and fifty,” said Henry.
Outside of town, riding cross-country once more, Henry called out to Milo.
“Milo, remember Carter’s Country Store?”
Milo was still feeling stupefied and was sulking just a bit because of it, but he answered Henry’s question.
“Yeah,” he said, “I know the place.”
“Well,” said Henry, “I think we better take a run over there and get some more cash. We spent too much back there in Lenapah.”
“Well,” said the slow-witted Milo, “what the hell did we spend it for anyway?”
“Milo,” said Henry, “stealing money is one thing. Buying guns is another.”