gg, greatly to the delight of Passe-partout, who would not
leave his master alone with Fix.

The detective's thoughts would be difficult to guess. Was his
conviction shaken by Fogg's return, or did he still regard him as a
scoundrel who hoped to be safe in England on his return? Perhaps Fix's
opinion concerning Fogg had altered; but he would do his duty,
nevertheless; and he would do his duty and hasten his return to
England as much as possible.

At eight o'clock the sledge was ready. The passengers took their
places, the sails were hoisted, and the vehicle sped over the snow at
forty miles an hour. The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as
the crow flies, is two hundred miles at most. If the wind held they
could reach Omaha by one o'clock, if no accident happened.

What a journey it was! The travellers huddled close together, unable
to speak in consequence of the intense cold. The sledge glided over
the snow like a boat on a lake, and when the wind rose it was almost
lifted off the ground. Mudge steered in a straight line, and
counteracted the occasional lurches of the vessel. They hoisted all
sail, and certainly could not be going less than forty miles an hour.

"If nothing carries away," said Mudge, "we shall get there in time."

Mr. Mudge had an interest in accomplishing the journey, for Mr. Fogg,
as usual, had promised him a handsome reward.

The prairie was as flat as possible, and Mudge steered perfectly
straight, taking the chord of the arc described by the railroad, which
follows the right bank of the Platte River. Mudge was not afraid of
being stopped by the stream, for it was frozen over. So the way was
free from all obstacles, and there were but two things to fear--an
accident or a change of wind. But the breeze blew steadily in the same
direction, and even increased in force. The wire lashing hummed like
the chords of a musical instrument, and the sledge sped along
accompanied by a plaintive harmony of peculiar intensity.

"Those wires give us the fifth and the octave," said Mr. Fogg.

These were the only words he spoke throughout the passage. Mrs. Aouda
was well wrapped up in furs. Passe-partout's face was as red as the
setting sun, and, with his usual confidence, began to hope again.
Instead of reaching New York in the morning they would get there in
the evening, perhaps before the departure of the steamer for
Liverpool. Passe-partout had a great desire to clasp Fix by the hand,
for he did