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.
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