Then the planter would rouse himself, and glance at the passengers and out of the window in the endeavor to keep his mind free from the annoyances. For a few moments he would succeed, but days and nights of exertion, horror and excitement were telling upon him; once more he would succumb and once more the fantastic shadows thronged about him, and the voice, mingling strangely with the grating roar of the coach's wheels, smote on his ear: "Search, search, search! Your task's not over! Your task's not over!" "Where shall I search?" "Ah, where?" "You don't seem to be well, friend," remarked a fellow-traveler, observing the startled and restless manner of Mr. Tompkins. "Yes, I am well; that is--no, I am not; I am somewhat wearied," Mr. Tompkins answered. "So are we all," rejoined the passenger. "This journey has been enough to wear out men of iron, and the prospects for the night are far from cheering." "I had expected to reach home to-night," said the planter, "but I shall fail by a good dozen miles." "You live in this State?" "Yes, sir," answered Mr. Tompkins, settling himself in his corner. The gentleman, evidently a Southern man, seeing that Mr. Tompkins was indisposed to carry on any further conversation, relapsed into silence. With another effort Mr. Tompkins conquered the stupor which, with all its fantastic concomitants, was once more overcoming him, and sat bolt upright in his seat. "This has been a fearful week," he soliloquized, "but I have done all I could." The gentleman by his side, catching the last part of the remark, and supposing it had reference to the present journey, remarked: "Yes, it is not the fault of the passengers, but of the managers of this line. They should be prepared for such emergencies, and have a supply of fresh horses." Observing that his exclamation, though misinterpreted, had arrested attention, Mr. Tompkins, to guard against its recurrence, lest he should divulge the subject of his disturbed thoughts, aroused himself and resisted, with determination, the stupor that was overcoming him. It was while thus combating the fatigue that weighed him down that the stage-coach came to a very sudden stop. The driver, pressing his face to the aperture at the top of the coach, cried out: "Here we are at Lander's Hill, and I be hanged if the hosses are able to drag ye all up. They are completely fagged out, so I guess ye men folks'll hev to hoof it to the top, an' occasionally give us a push, or we'll stick here until mornin'." "How far is it to where we can stop over night?" asked the passenger who had endeavored to draw Mr. Tompkins into conversation. "After we git on top of the hill it's only 'bout three miles to Jerry Lycan's inn, where we'll stop for the night, an' it's down hill 'most all the way," replied the driver.