the end of which he worked his passage down to San Francisco to secure
his winnings on the race, and take charge of his peerless mare. It will
be observed that his notions concerning races were somewhat confused;
his experience of them had hitherto been confined to that branch of the
business requiring, not technical knowledge but manual dexterity. In
short, he had done no more than pick the pockets of the spectators.
Arrived at San Francisco he was hastening to the dwelling of his
clerical agent, when he met an acquaintance, to whom he put the
triumphant question, "How about Sally Meeker?"

"Sally Meeker? Sally Meeker?" was the reply. "Oh, you mean the hoss? Why
she's gone up the flume. Broke her neck the first heat. But ole Sim
Salper is never a-goin' to fret hisself to a shadder about it. He struck
it pizen in the mine she was named a'ter and the stock's gone up from
nothin' out o' sight. You couldn't tech that stock with a ten-foot
pole!"

Which was a blow to Mr. Stenner. He saw his error; the message in the
coat had evidently been sent to a broker, and referred to the stock of
the "Sally Meeker" mine. And he, Stenner, was a ruined man!

Suddenly a great, monstrous, misbegotten and unmentionable oath rolled
from Mr. Stenner's tongue like a cannon shot hurled along an uneven
floor! Might it not be that the Rev. Mr. Boltright had also
misunderstood the message, and had bought, not the mare, but the stock?
The thought was electrical: Mr. Stenner ran--he flew! He tarried not at
walls and the smaller sort of houses, but went through or over them! In
five minutes he stood before the good clergyman--and in one more had
asked, in a hoarse whisper, if he had bought any "Sally Meeker."