While Dean discounted hooligans as the source of his vandalism, he was more than happy to accept Brandon Westlake's timely rescue.

"I'm really glad to see you," Cynthia said with relief as a flash of lightning hastened them into his vehicle. They all squeezed into the front seat-the back seat was piled high with photographic equipment and camping gear. "If we weren't cooked by lightning, we'd be drowned before we got down this mountain."

"We'll get you back to town and fixed up. Bumpin' Bertha here doesn't make very good time but she's been getting the job done for a lot of years."

He started the Scout, and with a belch of smoke they began moving forward. Almost immediately, he hit the brakes. "If the air is just let out of your tires, do you think a bicycle pump might be enough to get you running? It would save you a trip back up here."

"It might take some work, but I should be able to fill the tire enough to get us down to town. You have a pump?"

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"Yup. I use it for my air mattress. I camp out sometimes, to get an early start. In my younger days I slept on the ground half the summer, but old age makes you stiff." He leaned over the seat and began rummaging through his backseat accumulation as the vehicle began to slide backwards. Dean tried to keep his voice calm as he pointed out their slow but frightening coast back down the mountain. The old man smiled as he stomped on the brake.

"Hand brake's been busted for ages. Mind keeping your foot on the brake pedal while I rummage?" Cynthia held the door handle, looking ready to jump while Dean contorted around the shift stick, barely able to press the pedal with his toe. Westlake twisted around the seat once more and after a struggle pulled out an old step pump. "It isn't much. I picked it up in a garage sale, for two dollars-with a bike tire patch kit tossed in."

A flash of lightning followed by an ear-splitting clap of thunder caused a squeak of protest from Cynthia Dean. "That storm is monstrous! Maybe we shouldn't go higher. . . " Cynthia looked to her husband for agreement but before he could second her suggestion, Westlake once again jammed the old vehicle in gear.

"Nonsense. Summer storms are as common as a fat man at a pie fair," he said as the ancient Scout lurched forward. "Been through a million of 'em." While Dean was anxious to retrieve his Jeep without having to make a round trip from town and pay a service station bill to boot, the wisdom of challenging the mother of all storms was looking less prudent by the second.




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