"Don't be silly!" grunted Floyd.
"Let's go!" called his sister. "It's getting late, and according to this map it's ten miles yet to La Nogalique—which means twenty if we are going by past performances."
The car sped forward, the trail seeming to grow worse instead of better, as might be expected if they were approaching a town. Lurching from side to side, making sharp turns to avoid bowlders and holes, Floyd guided the machine. Now and then Rosemary would glance at her brother, after a particularly vicious jolt, but she said nothing.
"A good sport!" Floyd mentally voted his sister.
They topped a steep rise, and as they started down the other slope, making a turn, Rosemary pointed ahead and exclaimed:
"There! Now we're all right! La Nogalique!"
Nestling in a small valley was a smaller town, its few buildings showing plainly in the last rays of the sun which would soon set behind the mountains and hills.
"Guess we're not so badly off after all!" exulted Floyd. "We'll sleep in real beds tonight!"
"And I take back what I—er—thought about you!" laughed his sister.
"Thanks for not saying it!" chuckled Floyd. "I admit I was guessing myself a while back, for that trail looked as though it was heading straight for no place in particular. But we're all right now."