WhOOOOO! On a roll.

    Next morning we reluctantly leave Gallup, going West alongside the railway. We won't turn South away from the line until tomorrow. Along the highway I spot a sign on a casino that says, "Discounts for Senior Citizens and Truckers".
    We come upon the establishment of Frank Yellow Horse. It's a big souvenir shop sprawling below a fantastic pink and yellow cliff overhang. On ledges above his group of shops is a tableau of plaster animals. A fierce Grizzly and a snarling Cougar are poised in a stand-off over a dead Pronghorn. Above them on his own ledge is an Eagle, silently watching. There are Owls and Horses and more Deer. There is seemingly no thought of artistic placement of the figures here, and the proportions are out of whack, but the whole thing has a sort of Kitsch appeal. Inside the shop we meet Mr. Frank Yellowhorse himself. There's a portrait of him on the wall, painted when he was young. It shows him in the full feathered bonnet of a Plains Indian. The Navaho People are entrepreneurial and have managed to incorporate popular images and artifacts, from all over the country, into their tourist souvenir businesses. It makes for some interesting combinations. I'm wearing the tiered skirt I bought in Gallup. It features Pueblo and Zuni Kachinas. These Spanish-inspired, tiered skirts are called Navaho skirts, although they are worn by Zuni and Pueblo women as well. Mr. Yellowhorse offers to autograph his card and encourages us to take his photo in front of his portrait. He insists that I stand with him for the picture. His card says we can visit him and his people on their website - the home of the "Friendly Navahos". We thank him for his hospitality and promise to visit again if we ever pass by.
    Outside the shop a little boy - "as cute as a button", as Hildebrand says, wishes me, "Buenas Tardes". Tardes? I wonder. "Afternoon" says my True-Love. "Good afternoon". This pretty child is perched on a fence-post shooting imaginary bullets, from his index fingers, at a colony of ants. "Pkhkow! pkhkow!"