In between the road was a broad highway, not good enough to let you forget the driving. One pass through the mountains kept Mrs. Saville-Sanders twittering for a long time, but most of the way was on flat ground with the mountains on either side and a long way ahead. He liked it better that way. They were not like California mountains. They were flat on top, and not so blue. Some of them were red and the other colour was a dull yellow. Once they met a man on horseback who was dressed like a Mexican but looked darker. A Navajo? Probably. Later they saw a flock of sheep, and Gwendolyn’s ecstatic cry called their eyes to the distant figure, herding them. Yes, it was a Navajo woman in full skirt. They passed a collection of brown buildings with huts like bee-hives scattered around them, and flaunting signs announcing that this was a Navajo trading-post where one could buy real genuine Navajo blankets and silver rings made right there on the premises. At this place they all sniffed, and Teddy stepped on the gas.
Towards Shiprock, the road turned bad. An hour of bumping and floating in the air above the back seat brought from Mary a flat decision that they would stay at Shiprock, if they ever got there.
“The Navajo may be very picturesque,” she said, “but we’ll do something dreadful to the car if we treat it like this. Don’t the springs give way sometimes? Oh, Teddy, didn’t you see that bump? No, Blake, we’ll stay at Shiprock. Goodness knows what we’d find beyond it, anyway.” She broke off and clutched at her hat, bouncing miserably.
Blake was in despair. He knew that it was no use to remonstrate: especially as even Teddy seemed to agree. Teddy was never any good in a free-for-all; he always took Mary’s side. Blake didn’t think of criticizing him for it. Teddy was simply sometimes a baffling adult and sometimes a companion. It was all in the way you caught him. He himself, still dependent on adult decisions, accepted his bad luck without question.
They found Shiprock at evening, and left Mary and Gwendolyn in their rooms while they strolled around the town, staring. It was thus they came across the truck-driver who was willing to take passengers into the country with him. He was chatting with the owner of one of the trading-posts, and he asked them about the roads.
“They were fine until we got here,” Blake said, aggrieved. “Now the trip’s over. He”—with a nod at Teddy—“backed out.”
The truck-driver pushed his hat back. “He’s got sense,” he said. “You don’t want to go driving these roads if you don’t know ’em. Where were you aiming to go?”
“Oh, around,” said Teddy. “To see the country. We’ve got a couple of women who want to stop, that’s the trouble. They think it’s just as good right here.”
“They think they’ve had their trip,” said Blake. “They want to rest here a few days.”
“Well, say,” said the driver. “Come on with me. I’ll drop you off at Clearwater, if you like, and you can catch the mail truck back on Wednesday. There’s plenty room in the car.”