By appointment, I met my cousin Brigham in Rabbit Valley, and accompanied him across the desert to New Mexico. Below Hanksville, we met Dan Dalton, who was freighting from the Henry Mountain. He told us there were two marshals at the ferry evidently waiting for someone. We passed on, and when by ourselves, Brigham asked, "What shall we do?" I replied, "You are the captain; as you direct, I shall act." "Well," he said, "I'll tell you: if you will drive the team I will do the fighting, and there are no two deputy marshals living that can take me back to Utah." When we reached the Colorado, we met Platte D. Lyman and L. H. Redd, the supposed marshals. They took our carriage apart and ferried us over the river in a small boat, swimming our horses. I went to Fruitland, New Mexico, with Brigham, then bought two scrub ponies and went back alone. In a seven days' ride on the desert, I met but three persons. The first two were Bishop Allan Taylor and Bishop Franzen, who were on the "underground," and later on I met a deputy marshal on this wise: There being no one at the ferry, I swam the Colorado, pack-horse and all; and passing through Hanksville in the night, I rode out on to the desert about fifteen miles, hobbled my horses and went to sleep. As soon as it was light in the morning I was moving. Presently I met two grey horses, hobbled, and evidently running away. Tying the greys to my pack-horse's tail I took them with me about three miles, when I met the owner. He was pleased with what I had done, and became communicative, telling me he was a deputy marshal; then, stopping suddenly, he asked my name. "Brown," said I. "What Brown?" "John." "Where are you from?" "Kanab." "What are you to Guernsey Brown?" "Cousin." That reassured him. He told me he had been to Kanab after "cohabs." By this time we had reached his camp. I took breakfast with him, and he continued to interest me by telling me he was after a fellow by the name of Young. I asked him what Young. He said "John R." I told him I had heard of him; but had never met him. He said Young had gone to New Mexico to hunt him a home; but would soon return by way of Blake, and he was going to wait for him. We rode together until we reached the San Rafael. There we parted, as I was going to the Iron Springs to look at a bunch of cattle I thought of buying. That night, about midnight, I reached my little home in Huntington, and found my wife Tamar very feeble. She had lost her babe, and was still suffering with her breast and mutilated hand, the result of her fainting and falling out of the wagon when fleeing to avoid arrest and imprisonment for having become a plural wife when there was no law making it a crime.