'skees' and slips for William Pemberton and the lonesome mountains.
People don't call a thing 'skee' unless they hev good reason for
it. Before I caught the hang of them durn disconnected bob-sleds I
saw where the 'skee' come in. The feller that loaned 'em to me
kindly explained that you slid down the hills on 'em, and it was
great sport. When I clumb the first hill and stood perspirin' on
top I felt entitled to a little sport. 'Hooray!' says I, and
pushed loose. It was a long, wide, high hill with trees and things
on it. Some time after I started, say about three seconds, I
thought I'd like to slack a bit and view the scenery. The way I
was travelin' the scenery looked like the spokes of a flywheel. I
left my stummick and my immortal soul about ten rods behind me.
You could play checkers on my coat-tail, as the sayin' is. Man!
And I pushed up a hurricane. It cut my eyes so I cried icicles a
foot long. _Roar-row-roor-s-s-wish_! we went in the open, and
_me-a-arrr_! we ripped through the timber. I crossed a downed log
unexpected and flew thirty foot in the air. Whilst aloft I see a
creek dead ahead of me. There wasn't nothin' to do but jump when I
come to it, so I jumped. I don't care a cuss whether you believe
me or not, dear friends and brothers, but I want to tell you right
now that I cleared the creek with something like one hundred and
eighty feet to spare! At which I took to throwin' summersaults. I
threw one solid quarter-mile of summersaults before that suddent
cravin' was satisfied.

"'Y-a-as,' says I when I picked myself up. 'Well, I reckon I've
done enough of this here skeedaddlin' for one mornin'. So after
that I went along quiet and dignified to William Pemberton's.

"I hit his cabin on Christmas Eve, findin' him very low-spirited.