"kinder sorry for myself, too. You see, I reckoned on goin' over
to Skinner's to-morrow, to fill up the pork bar'l and vote for
Mesick and the wagon-road. But Skinner can't let me have anything
more until I've paid suthin' on account, as he calls it."

"D'ye mean to say thar's any mountain man as low flung and mean as
that?" said Uncle Dick indignantly.

"But it isn't HIS fault," said Collinson gently; "you see, they
won't send him goods from Sacramento if he don't pay up, and he
CAN'T if I DON'T. Sabe?"

"Ah! that's another thing. They ARE mean--in Sacramento," said
Uncle Dick, somewhat mollified.

The other guests murmured an assent to this general proposition.
Suddenly Uncle Dick's face brightened.

"Look here! I know Skinner, and I'll stop there-- No, blank it
all! I can't, for it's off my route! Well, then, we'll fix it this
way. Key will go there and tell Skinner that I say that I'LL send
the money to that Sacramento hound. That'll fix it!"

Collinson's brow cleared; the solution of the difficulty seemed to
satisfy everybody, and the close-shaven man smiled.

"And I'll secure it," he said, "and give Collinson a sight draft on
myself at San Francisco."

"What's that for?" said Collinson, with a sudden suffusion on each