in, leading a little
girl, glanced along the lines of trunks, put her hand on the one I was
looking at, and said:

"That's the one; yes; the little one. I want it checked to New York."

Just then, a little fellow with whiskers on his chin and a twinkle in
his eye came in and took charge of the trunk, the woman and the child,
and with the little one's arms around his neck, bid them good-by, and
got them into their seats in the sleeper.

I watched this individual with a great deal of interest; he looked like
my old friend, "Mormon Joe," only for the whiskers and the stockman
clothes.

Finally he jumped off the moving train, waved his hand and stood
watching it out of sight, to catch the last glimpse of (to him) precious
burden-bearer; he raised his hand to shade his eyes, and as he did so, I
saw that it was minus one thumb, and I remembered that "Mormon Joe" left
one of his under an engine up in Colorado--I was sure of him.

There was a tear in his eye, as he turned to go away, so I stepped up to
him and asked:

"Any new wives wanted down your way, Elder?"

He glanced up, half angry, looked me straight in the eye, and a smile
started at the southeast corner of his phiz and ran around to his port
ear.

"Well, John, old man, I don't mind being _sealed_ to one about your
size, right now. I've just sent away the best one in the wide world. Old
man, you're looking plump; by the Holy Joe Smith, a sight of you is good
for sore eyes!"

Well, we started, and--but there ain't no use in telling you all about
it--I went home with Joe, went up a creek with a jaw-breaking Spanish
name, for miles, to a very good cattle ranch, that was the property of
"Mormon Joe."

Joe only quit running some three or four years ago, and the ranch and
its neat little home represented the savings of Joe Hogg's life.

His wife and only child had just started for a visit to England where
she was born.

The next day we rode the range to see Joe's cattle, and the next we
started out for a little hunt. It was sitting by a jolly camp-fire, back
in the hills of New Mexico, that "Mormon Joe" told me the true story of
the robbery of the Black Prince mine and the romance of his life.

Filling his cob pipe with cut-plug, Joe sat looking away over space
toward our hobbled horses and then said:

"Old man, I reckon you remember all about the Black Prince robbery. I
don't forget you were the first man that came to the cooler to see me
while I was doi