One evening we rode into a ranch that a couple of Irish brothers owned and asked them to stay overnight. They said, “Sure, you’re welcome as the flowers in May.” Neither of them had ever been married and did their own housekeeping and cooking. The evening we got there they had just butchered a beef. We helped them hang it up in the barn and went to the house to cook supper. It was sure a dirty looking joint and the brother that cooked supper had his hands all stained with blood and dirt from butchering the beef. He had to make bread for supper and didn’t wash his hands, but mixed up the bread with his hands—blood, dirt and all. But we hadn’t had anything to eat all day and were plenty hungry, so we ate it and thought it was fine. We hunted horses all next day and along in the evening came to what looked like an old deserted ranch where nobody was home. After making a lot of noise and shouting, a man came out of the cabin. He was a Mormon and was living alone on this old ranch. Said he was sick and had been in bed three days and that there was no food on the place and that he couldn’t keep us overnight. It looked like a bad storm coming up and we didn’t know any place to go. We told the man we were going to stay anyway, and as we both had six-shooters he didn’t argue too much with us. We put our horses in the old barn and went to the house. The Mormon went back to bed. We went to the kitchen to see if we could find anything to eat. It was the dirtiest looking outfit I ever saw in my life. The frying pans and kettles didn’t look like they had been washed for six months. We got a fire started and cleaned up things a little and looked through all the old boxes and found some beans, dried apples and flour. By ten o’clock that night we had what we thought was a pretty good meal. I went to the Mormon’s bedroom and asked him if he wanted anything to eat. He didn’t answer me, but began getting out of his dirty blankets. He hadn’t even taken his clothes off. We got him to sit down at the table and he ate more than both of us. After we got him filled up on food he got to talking quite friendly. He said he had been a Mormon missionary in some jungle country and had spent several years converting natives into the Mormon religion. In listening to his experience as a missionary I couldn’t help wondering what kind of a job he did, because if there is anything in the old saying that cleanliness is next to holiness he was sure a flop. The next morning was very cold and stormy, but we were anxious to find our horses and our quarters were none too comfortable, so we bade our Mormon friend goodbye and rode away. He was about 40 miles from any town and we didn’t see any means of transportation around there, so we often wondered what ever became of him.