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.