"Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "this is not a trifling matter. I must be there at 7!"
Again came the answer, "I've got my orders!"
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!" cried 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. "Git 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 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.