Joe's arrest fell like a thunder-clap among us. The Brotherhood men took it up right away, and I went to see Joe, that very night. It was said that Joe had visited the Black Prince, the day before, and had been seen carrying away a large package, the night before the robbery. Joe absolutely refused to say a word for or against himself. "The detectives got this scheme up and know what they are doing," said he; "I don't. When they get all through, you'll know how it'll come out." To all questions as to his guilt or innocence, to every query about the crime or his arrest, he replied alike, to friend or foe: "Ask the sheriff; he's doing this." He was in jail a long time, but nothing was proven against him and he was finally released. Neither of the Englishmen could fasten the crime on his partner, and they sold out and drifted away, one going back to England and the other to Mexico. Joe ran awhile on the road again and then took a job as chief-engineer of a big stamp-mill in Arizona, and going there he was lost to myself and the men on the road, and finally the Black Prince robbery passed into history, and nothing remained but the tradition, a sort of a myth of the mountains, like Captain Kidd's treasures, the amount only being increased by time. I believe that the last time I heard the story, it was calmly stated that thirty million dollars was taken. When I was out West, last time, I got off the train at Santa Fé, 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. 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.