I clutched the slip of paper proudly to my bosom. This, I knew, rated a special little trip. I must try my wings--or my wheels, rather--somewhere besides on Williams street and the downtown block around which the driving examiner had just accompanied me. Grant was taking care of the motel; Grandma was taking care of the children; everything had been arranged so that I'd be sure to have enough free time to take both my written and my driving tests, and to get my license. Duty wasn't calling me back to the motel; now that I was a licensed driver our insurance would fully cover any accident I might have. (Not that I contemplated having any; but visions of liability suits had danced through my head every time I had been inspired, by my growing aptitude at driving, to take a little spin away from the dull safety of Williams street.) So now I had some free time and a driver's license. And there was no place better to explore, I decided, than--the Indian reservation. "I hope they don't put a curse on me," I thought, zipping along the highway to, and past, our motel at twenty-five miles an hour. I turned left on Hathaway, the cross street east of our motel; Mrs. Clark had told me Hathaway led back into the hills where the reservation was. Less than a mile from the highway, Hathaway rose to a small peak on top of which was a cow guard, with metal grillwork extending across the road, the bars--between which cows would catch their hooves if they tried to cross--at right angles to it. A fence divided all the land past the cow guard from that on the side I was coming from; except for the open gateway at the road, there was no entrance to the land which a formidable-looking sign declared to be the Indian reservation. The sign thrust its large white face forward pugnaciously as it stated: WARNING! INDIAN RESERVATION The introduction of INTOXICATING LIQUOR into or its possession within this reservation, or its sale to Indians, is FORBIDDEN BY LAW under a penalty of fine and imprisonment NO TRESSPASSING OR HUNTING The fact that "tresspassing" was misspelled made the sign a trifle less awesome and pompous than it had seemed at first glance, but I brought the car to a complete stop and pondered for a while. Well, I wasn't "introducing" any liquor (from what I'd heard, most Indians didn't need an introduction) but to go into the reservation would be trespassing, I guessed. Still, the gateway was open and white people, I knew, drove through it frequently. Maybe by "tresspassing" in this case, they simply meant getting out of the car and going off the road. Anyway, I had looked forward to this a long time, and, having come this far, I wasn't going to let a misspelled sign stop me.