not forget that it was the detective who had procured the
sledge, the only means of reaching Omaha in good time; but some
presentiment induced him to remain quiet. However, Passe-partout would
never forget Mr. Fogg's devotion in rescuing him from the Indians.

The sledge still flew along. The plain and the streams were covered
with the mantle of snow. A great uninhabited island appeared to be
enclosed between the Union and Pacific Railroad and the branch-line
which unites Kearney with St. Joseph. Not a house was in sight. They
occasionally passed some gaunt tree, and sometimes flocks of wild
birds rose about them, or a band of starving wolves pursued the
sledge. On these occasions Passe-partout, revolver in hand, was ready
to fire on those which came too near. Had an accident happened, the
wolves would have made short work of the travellers; but the sledge
held on its course, and soon left the howling brutes behind.

At midday Mudge thought they were crossing the Platte River. He said
nothing, but he was sure that Omaha was only twenty miles farther on.
And in fact in less than an hour their skilful steersman left the helm
and hauled down his sails, while the sledge ran on with its acquired
impetus. At length it stopped, and Mudge, pointing to a cluster of
snow-covered houses, said, "Here we are!"

They had arrived at the desired station, which was in constant
communication with the Eastern States. Passe-partout and Fix jumped
down and stretched their stiffened limbs. They then assisted Mr. Fogg
and Mrs. Aouda to alight. The former paid Mudge handsomely.
Passe-partout shook his hands warmly, and then the whole party rushed
towards the railway-station.

A train was ready to start, and they had only just time to jump in;
though they had seen nothing of Omaha, they did not regret it, as they
were not travelling for pleasure.

The train rushed across the State of Iowa, past Conneil Bluffs, Des
Morines, and Iowa city. During the night they crossed the Mississippi
at Davenport and entered Illinois. Next day, the 10th, at four p.m.,
they reached Chicago, which had risen from its ashes, and, more
proudly than ever, was seated on the borders of the beautiful Lake of
Michigan.

They were still nine hundred miles from New York, but there were
plenty of trains. Mr. Fogg passed at once from one train to another,
which started at full-speed as if it knew he had no time to lose. It
crossed Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New J