Peter opined that it was at least a mile and a quarter. He was a Yankee, as O'Dowd had said, and he was not extravagant in estimates.
The passengers sat in the rear seat. Two small lamps served to light the way through the Stygian labyrinth of trees and rocks. O'Dowd had an electric pocket torch with which to pick his way back to Green Fancy.
"I can't, for the life of me, see why he doesn't put in a driveway straight to the road beyond, instead of roaming all over creation as we have to do," said O'Dowd.
"We foller the bed of the crick that used to run through here 'fore it was dammed a little ways up to make the ice-pond 'tween here an' Spanish Falls," supplied Peter. "Makes a durned good road, 'cept when there's a freshet. It would cost a hull lot o' money to build a road as good as this-un."
"I was only thinking 'twould save a mile and more," said O'Dowd.
"What's the use o' him savin' a mile, er ten miles, fer that matter, when he never puts foot out'n the house?" said Peter, the logician.
"Well, then," persisted O'Dowd testily, "he ought to consider the saving in gasolene."
Peter's reply was a grunt.
They came in time, after many "hair-pins" and right angles, to the gate opening upon the highway. Peter got down from the seat to release the pad-locked chain and throw open the gate.
O'Dowd leaned closer to Barnes and lowered his voice.