“And the world wouldn’t have any snake-bite ointment and you and I wouldn’t feel very happy about it,” I said.
“You don’t really believe that stuff, do you?”
“I guess I do,” I said. “Besides, didn’t you promise the old man that you’d play along with him?”
She laughed gaily. “You a newspaper man and you talk about promise,” she said. “That’s a laugh!”
I looked at her. “What do you want to do, double-cross the old geyser?”
“I’m nor even thinking about him,” she returned, slowing the car as we ran past a line of ancient, weatherbeaten houses and refreshment booths, with their awnings over the street.
“No one dictates my life. I’m just saying we could go on from here and not go back.”
The Cadillac began to mount again, leaving the small town behind. I had no idea what the name of the town was and cared less. We were heading for the wooded country and signs of human life began to thin out. The few Indians, jogging along the roadside, straddling the rumps of their burros, became fewer as we went on. Then suddenly she slowed down, swerved off the road and pulled up under the shadow of the forest fringe.
“Let’s get out,” she said.
I followed her as she moved away from the car, and sank down beside her on the parched, brown grass. She looked up at the brilliant sky, screwing up her eyes against the brightness of the sun, then she heaved a little, contented sigh.