We turned south just before Nageezi.  The pavement ran out five miles down the road.  Shortly afterward, I spotted a couple walking along through the afternoon haze.  I stopped to give them a ride.  She was Navajo, a weaver of rugs.  He was Pawnee, a teller of stories.  They had gone out to the highway to report the theft of the carburetor from their truck and were on their way back home - a dozen miles down the road toward Chaco.  Margaret climbed into the back of the RV to open the door for them, and told them to buckle their seatbelts.  He responded, somewhat disdainfully, that we were on Navajo land.  They lived, he said, in a home without TV or electricity, and they liked it that way.  We left them off at a fork in the road five miles from Chaco.