By 1870 the Indians had for the most part abandoned all that part of
Texas east of the Colorado River. However, a few scattered bands still,
on occasions, roamed over the territory east of the river, plundering
lonely settlements and, when an opportunity presented itself, killing
the pioneers. There is a story connected with one of these Indian raids
into what is now Palo Pinto County.
Some four miles west of the town of Palo Pinto is a rough and beautiful
ground covered with immense boulders. The enormous rocks have been left
in an arrangement that reminds one of the streets of a badly surveyed
old town. Vegetation of all colors and sizes grows on top of the old
rocks and hangs down over the edges. Occasionally a tree rooted in some
deep crevice reaches up thirty or forty feet, brushing the tops of the
rocks. One has but to start climbing over the roots and gulches and
through the breaks to think of what a good place it is to hide in. More
than one man has found it to be such a place.
In the early seventies a man by the name of Lover was camped on a
prairie near the place, loose herding a bunch of cattle. He had taken
the bridle off his horse and was letting him graze out a short distance
with the saddle on, when along late in the afternoon he was suddenly
aware that the horse had stopped chewing and was watching something.
Lover looked in the direction towards which the horse was pointing his
ears. Just beyond the rigid animal, he saw a band of Indians coming at
a long gallop through the soft grass. They were so close and were so
increasing their speed that he did not have time to catch his horse.
There was but one thing for him to do. He made for the rocks.
Running with the superhuman speed of deathly fright, he managed to
reach them a little ahead of the Indians; but the Indians were so near
that they would be upon him before he could climb down the side of the
boulder that he had run up on from the sloping side. If he jumped, he
was likely to kill or cripple himself. For the fraction of a second he
wavered. Then he saw a tree below him. He leaped, caught a branch, and
slid and swung to the ground. When less than two minutes later the
warriors peered over the edge of the cliff, he was not to be seen.
In the little time that remained till night, Lover managed to dodge
them. Then for hours he knew that they were watching for him to move.
But when morning came, probably thinking that he had somehow slipped
out past them, the Indians left, and Lover was safe. Since that time
the place has been known as Lover’s Retreat.
The old tree that Lover is said to have slid down still stands,
although it has been dead for several years and has fallen over against
the bluff from which Lover made his desperate leap.