When I was out West, last time, I got off the train at Santa Fe, and
when gunning through the baggage for my _kiester_, I saw a trunk,
bearing on its end this legend:
"MRS. JOS. HOGG."
While I was "gopping" at it, as they say down East, and wondering if it
could be my Joe Hogg, a very nice-looking lady came 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.
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