"I don't know. We're in a deuce of a pickle, don't you see?" he
said.

"I can't say that I do see," she said. "Can't we drive back to the
creek?"

"We could if I could turn the confounded trap about. But how, in the
name of heaven, can I turn on a road that isn't wide enough for two
bicycles to pass in safety? Steep, unclimable hill on our left, deep
ravine on our right."

"And a narrow bit of a road ahead of us," she said. "It looks very
much as if the crooked and narrow path is the best this time."

That narrow road seemed to have no end and it never widened. The
driving at last became dangerous, and they realized that the tired
horse was drawing them up a long, gradual slope. The way became
steeper, and the road rough with rocks and ruts. Her composure was
rapidly deserting her, and he was the picture of impatience.

"If we should meet anyone else driving, what would happen?" she
asked, fearfully.

"We won't meet anyone," he answered. "Nobody but a mountain goat
would wittingly venture up this road. This poor old nag is almost
dead. This is a pretty mess! How do you like the way I'm taking you
to the train?"

"Is this another abduction?" she asked, sweetly, and both laughed