Owen looked up in surprise, watching the white-haired, black-clad figure tramping solemnly down the grassy slope toward the creek. The County Judge was an old-timer in a young country; in 1880 he had been an official in David L. Payne's Boomer organization, advocating settlement of the unassigned lands in the Territory. Later he had supported the statehood lobby in Washington and had helped the Dawes Commission with the Indian land allotments.Like McKeever, Judge Lochland had a vision, and his faith in the future of Oklahoma was unshakable. But, the judge's vision was not tainted with personal greed. Now, as he approached Owen, Lochland smiled gently, his pale old eyes alive and sparkling.“That's fine-looking corn,” he said mildly, taking Owen's hand.“It's fine land,” Owen said. “And the rains were on time. What brings you so far from the courthouse, Judge?”Lochland's smile widened, but the expression was strangely without humor. “I think you can guess, Owen.”Toller's eyes narrowed slightly.
