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 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!"