"He was the purtiest child I'd ever seen; great black eyes, and eyelashes that laid right on to his cheeks; his hair, too, was black, and as curly as a young big-horn. I asked him what his name was, and he says, 'Paul.' 'Hain't you got no other name?' says I to him again, and he answered, 'Yes, sir,' for he was awful polite; I noticed that. 'Paul Dale,' says he prompt-like, and them big eyes of his'n looked up into mine, as he says 'What be yourn?' I told him he must call me 'Uncle John,' and then he says again, as he put his arms around my neck, his little lips all a quivering, and looking so sorrowful, 'Uncle John, where's mamma; why don't she come?' "Boys, I don't really know what I did say. A kind o' mist came before my eyes, and for a minute or two I didn't know nothing. I come to in a little while, and seeing Thorpe bringing up the mules from the river, where he'd been watering them, I says to Paul, to get his mind on to something else besides his mother, 'Don't you want to ride one of them mules when we pull out again?' The little fellow jumped off my lap, clapped his hands, forgetting his trouble all at once, child-like, and replied, 'I do, Uncle John, can I?' "After we'd camped there 'bout three hours, the cattle full of grass and all laying down chewing their cud, we concluded to move on and make a few miles before it grow'd too hot, and to get further from the Ingins, which we expected would tackle us again, as soon as they could get back from their camp, where we felt sure they had gone for reinforcements. "While the Mexicans was yoking up, me and Thorpe rigged an easy saddle on one of the mules, out of blankets, for the kid to ride on, and when we was all ready to pull out, I histed him on, and you never see a youngster so tickled.