Eventually we got the buck truck out and made it back to Burdock and what passed for civilization.
We laid low for about a week and managed to avoid the Judge. But finally, it was our dietary requirement for junk food that nearly done us in.
HM, ERnie, McIntyre, and myself were seated at a table at the Burdock dividingh our ration of pepperoni pizzia and murky green pop when suddenly the entire resataurant went silent.
Pondering what was going on we looked up to see the frame of the Judge filling the entrance. Other people tried to mind their own business or made excuses to exit quickly as the Judge sauntered through the restaurant and up to our very table.
"Good Afternoon, Gentlemen," the Judge said sternly with features chiseled from granite. Ernie choked on his green pop. WeenerMan checked to make sure his escape route out the back door was open.
But then one of the Judge’s whsjers began to twitch, and then he couldn’t hold it in any langer, and Judge Kippatrick’s face broke out into a sizeable grin.
Greg McIntyre spoke up, "Roads good?"
The Judge strums his fingers on a lapel, "Actually very good, after my wagon set down, I was able to tobogan my way on into the next township. The Clover County road crew had been out there and I had good road the rest of the way in. Made it with time to spare."
There was a collective sigh of relief on our part, then HM WeenerMan bothers to ask, "What bout the experimental towline?"
"Well, my technololgy-challenged friend," Judge Patrick imparted to the WeenerMan, "It appeared to me that the material your towline consisted of, pretty well was oxidizied into the thin air as I plummented along."
"Oxy-what?" Ernie asks.
The WeenerMan arches an eyebrow, "So I need a shift in materials, more modern, such as from bicycle intertubes next time."
The Judge’s moustache bows a frown a moment, "Well, friend WeenerMan, let’s just say that this time counts for the next time, if you get my drift."
All at the pizzia-diner table nod their heads at the wisdom imparted with in the Judge’s statement.
"Then it’s all and Well," Judge Kippatrick says generously for all to hear, "In the meantime gentlemen, good-day."
And with that, Judge Patrick exits the Burdock, whistling all the way.
Those of us at the table are catching our breath, then there is the clankof a metal pitcher of green p[op being plopped onto the table.
We look up and see that Paula, who worked in the Burdock on weekends those days was our benefactor.
"Gee thanks," I say, "What’s this for?"
Paula smiles, "For getting the Judge out and going tobagganing, that old fellow has needed a break from trying to keep things in this Township running smoothly."
Paula moves off to wait on other customers, and the four of us are left to consume our sudden boon of green pop.
"So it seems that all of our good effort did pay off in the end after it was all done and said," Greg McIntyre observes.
"Yeah," Ernie puts in, after he finishes off his mug of murky green pop, "And maybe we should bill the Judge for pulling him out while we’re at it."
And maybe there will be an reward for it too," HM WeenerMan observes, "For dumb idea of the day."
"A reward," Ernie chimes on, "Yeah, we’d deserve a reward like that."
There is a sudden shuffling of chairs, and Ernie takes off barreling out of the back of the Burdock Pizzia and Fine Eatting with the rest of us in hot pursuit.