“A Mormon or a robber?”
“Well, we only know he’s a Mormon.”
“He doesn’t look twenty. Has he many wives yet?”
“Oh, they keep that thing very quiet in these days, if they do it at all. The government made things too hot altogether. The Bishop here knows what hiding for polygamy means.”
“Bishop who?”
“Meakum,” I thought he answered me, but was not sure in the rattle of the stage, and twice made him repeat it, putting my hand to my ear at last. “Meakum! Meakum!” he shouted.
“Yes, sir,” said the driver.
“Have some whiskey?” said my friend, promptly; and when that was over and the flat bottle passed back, he explained in a lower voice, “A son of the Bishop’s.”
“Indeed!” I exclaimed.