"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. Again answered Henry Monk:-- "I've got my orders! _Keep your seat, Horace!_" At Mud Springs, a village a few miles from Placerville, they met a large delegation of the citizens of Placerville, who had come out to meet the celebrated editor, and escort him into town. There was a military company, a brass band, and a six-horse wagon-load of beautiful damsels in milk-white dresses, representing all the States in the Union. It was nearly dark now, but the delegation was amply provided with torches, and bonfires blazed all along the road to Placerville. The citizens met the coach in the outskirts of Mud Springs, and Mr. Monk reined in his foam-covered steeds. "Is Mr. Greeley on board?" asked the chairman of the committee. "_He was, a few miles back_!" said Mr. Monk. "Yes," he added, looking down through the hole which the fearful jolting had made in the coach-roof, "Yes, I can see him! He is there!" "Mr. Greeley," said the chairman of the committee, presenting himself at the window of the coach, "Mr. Greeley, sir! We are come to most cordially welcome you, sir!--Why, God bless me, sir, you are bleeding at the nose!" "I've got my orders!" cried Mr. Monk. "My orders is as follows: Git him there by seving! It wants a quarter to seving. Stand out of the way!" "But, sir," exclaimed the committee-man, seizing the off-leader by the reins, "Mr. Monk, we are come to escort him into town! Look at the procession, sir, and the brass-band, and the people, and the young women, sir!" "_I've got my orders_!" screamed Mr. Monk. "My orders don't say nothin' about no brass bands and young women. My orders says, 'Git him there by seving.' Let go them lines! Clear the way there! Whoo-ep! Keep your seat, Horace!" and the coach dashed wildly through the procession, upsetting a portion of the brass band, and violently grazing the wagon which contained the beautiful young women in white.