Some time in July, 1862, I received a letter from the last-named place. A few months earlier I had written to my wife, begging her to come to me, and giving her directions how to cross the Plains. This letter was from her. She had immediately complied with my wishes, and requested me to meet her as soon after she left Salt Lake as might be possible. It would be impossible to express the delight which I felt in knowing she was so near me. None of those who have not experienced the pleasures of a life with little female society, and no near female relative to whom they can unbosom all their joy as well as all their weariness, discomfort, and trouble, can realize it. In the excess of my gratification, I fear I must have exposed myself to the laughter and jocularity as well as the envy of many of my comrades, as I cannot doubt but that, in my first moments of well-nigh delirious pleasure, I must have made a complete fool of myself. Almost immediately, I left Susanville for Virginia City, Nevada. Thence, I went to Dayton. Here I met an overland stage-driver. From him I heard that he had passed a train at Austin, in which I might find my wife. Accordingly, I purchased a horse and side-saddle from the keeper of the hotel, who was named Jaquish, and on the succeeding day was again in the saddle. Dan Vanderhoof, a friend of mine whom I had known for several years, accompanied me portion of the way to Carson City. I went to this place with the view of meeting Colonel P. E. Connor with his command of California Volunteers. My friend introduced me to him and Major Gallagher, and I was asked to accompany them some eight miles down the Carson River to Reed's Station. It was to talk upon "business." Otherwise, I should have certainly declined deviating from the road, so increasingly anxious was I to see the little woman from whom I had so long been separated. This business was, after the evening meal, speedily arranged. They needed a guide and scout through Idaho and Utah, in the Fall. My qualifications as the last, would counterbalance any deficiency I might have as to the first-named. The necessary details were quickly agreed upon, and early on the next morning I was crossing the Desert towards the big bend of the Carson River. On the day following this, I came upon a large train of stock, and one of the guides told me a larger train was then some four miles behind them, at a distance of something more than a mile from the main track. Pushing on at once, in less than half an hour I came in sight of the encampment. While I was riding up to it, my wife recognized me. How she was able to do so, has, on thinking the matter over, always astonished me. The tan of exposure on the frontier, fuller muscle, and the general style of my dress and equipment, had so thoroughly changed my personal appearance. However, she certainly did know me. As for her, I should have recognized her features, even had she been dressed in the unsightly garb of an Esquimaux.