of speed never before achieved by stage horses.

Mr. Greeley, who had been bouncing from one end of the coach to the
other like an india-rubber ball, managed to get his head out of the
window, when he said:

"Do--on't--on't--on't you-u-u think we-e-e-e shall get there by
seven if we do--on't--on't go so fast?"

"I've got my orders!" That was all Henry Monk said. And on tore
the coach.

It was becoming serious. Already the journalist was extremely sore
from the terrible jolting, and again his head "might have been
seen" at the window.

"Sir," he said, "I don't care--care--AIR, if we DON'T get there at
seven!"

"I've got my orders!" Fresh horses. Forward again, faster than
before. Over rocks and stumps, on one of which the coach narrowly
escaped turning a summerset.

"See here!" shrieked Mr. Greeley, "I don't care if we don't get
there at all!"

"I've got my orders! I work for the California Stage Company, _I_
do. That's wot I WORK for. They said, 'git this man through by
seving.' An' this man's goin' through. You bet! Gerlong! Whoo-
ep!"