But the speed was not increased, and Mr. Greeley chafed away another
half-hour; when, as he was again about to remonstrate with the driver,
the horses suddenly started into a furious run, and all sorts of
encouraging yells filled the air from the throat of Henry Monk.
"That is right, my good fellow," said Mr. Greeley. "I'll give you ten
dollars when we get to Placerville. Now we are going!"
They were indeed, and at a terrible speed.
Crack, crack! went the whip, and again "that voice" split the air, "Get
up! Hi-yi! G'long! Yip-yip."
And on they tore over stones and ruts, up hill and down, at a rate of
speed never before achieved by stage horses.
Mr. Greeley, who had been bouncing from one end of the stage 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 from
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 fer the California Stage Company, I do.
That's wot I _work_ fer. They said, 'Get this man through by seving.'
An' this man's goin' through, you bet! Gerlong! Whoo-ep!"
Another frightful jolt, and Mr. Greeley's bald head suddenly found its
way through the roof of the coach, amidst the crash of small timbers and
the ripping of strong canvas.
"Stop, you--maniac!" he roared.