dstock on the way. Short
distances have been covered at much greater rates of speed. The
Acadian couriers were usually a fortnight going from Oromocto to
Quebec in the summer and about double that time in the winter.

Like others of their race the Indians of the St. John were fleet
of foot and possessed of great endurance, qualities that are by no
means wanting in their descendants. Some forty years ago a Maliseet
Indian, named Peter Loler, gave a remarkable exhibition of speed
and endurance, which is still talked of by the older residents of
Woodstock. The circumstances, briefly stated, were these. One
pleasant summer morning Loler presented himself to the driver of
the old four-in-hand stage coach which was just about leaving the
hotel at Fredericton for Woodstock, the distance being rather more
than sixty miles. The Indian desired a passage and offered the
customary fare. The driver on the occasion was John Turner, one of
the most accomplished whips of the old stage coaching days, and
popular with all travellers. As the stage coach was pretty full and
the day promised to be very warm Turner, after a brief consultation
with the passengers, declined the Indian's money and upon Loler's
remonstrating, told him in plain Saxon that the other passengers
didn't like the smell of him, that his room was better than his
company. This angered Peter and he said, "All right, John! Me be in
Woodstock first!"

At 8 o'clock, a. m., Indian and stage coach left Fredericton together,
and together they proceeded and in spite of Turner's endeavor to throw
dust in the Indian's face the latter was always a little in advance.
He stopped at every place the stage stopped to change horses (this
occurred four or five times on the route) and took his dinner with all
the solemnity of his race in the kitchen of the "Half-way House" where
the passengers dined.

As they drew near their destination the Indian's savage nature seemed
to assert itself; he ran like a deer, waving his cap at intervals as
he passed the farm houses, and shouting defiantly. Turner now began to
ply the whip, for he had no intention of allowing the red-skin to beat
him out. The passengers began to wager their money on the result of
the race and grew wild with excitement. The Indian village, three
miles below Woodstock, was passed with Loler fifty yards in advance,
but the village was not Peter's destination that day. He saluted it
with a war-whoop and hurried on. It was sti