I noticed how nicely manicured the lawns of the Shady Days Rest Home were as I pulled my Convert-a-Bike into a parking space at the side of the building. I also noted how the large windows in the front of the facility allowed ample sunlight to filter into the reception area as I stepped through the sliding glass doors.

I had asked Bugs if he wanted to accompany me on this trip but he flatly refused (or at least I interpreted his icy silence as such.) So after confirming that this was where Ol' Tack Pelham was living, I had left Doc in charge of bailing out Doomsday.

"Merry Christmas," the woman wearing the elf hat and poinsettia pin at the reception desk greeted me. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Tack Pelham," I explained.

"Oh yes, you called before," the woman remembered. "I told him you wished to speak with him and would be right over. He's sitting there, next to the Christmas tree."

I looked at the area where she had motioned and spotted the elderly man sitting in a chair near the tree. "Thank you," I said.

As I approached Ol' Tack Pelham I realized he had never lived up to his descriptive "Ol'" as much as he did now. He was sitting, hunched over, in the chair, wearing a bathrobe, striped pajamas and worn slippers. His right hand clutched the top of a multi-footed cane which stood by his side.

"Mr. Pelham?" I asked cautiously, as I wasn't sure if he were even awake.

The old man looked up at me without much enthusiasm. "Yes?" he asked.

"I'm very glad you could meet with me, sir," I said, sitting in the chair beside him. "I'm sure you don't remember me . . . "

"You work with the police," Tack stated. "I remember, because you help with the Christmas parade every year. But I'm sorry, I don't believe I know your name."

I was impressed and offered my hand to shake. "I'm surprised you remember me at all," I said. "My name is P.T., by the way."

"Uh huh," Tack said unenthusiastically. "Well, what can I do for you, Sonny? I'm missing 'As the World Turns' for this, you know."

"I'm sorry," I offered. "This won't take long. I just wanted to know the circumstances behind your son, Snaff, taking over Pelham Ranch this year."

A sad look came over the man's face. "Oh yes. Well, there isn't much to tell. Snaff took over because . . . well, because I wasn't up to caring for the ranch any more. I've outlived my usefulness."

"Oh, I'm sure that isn't the case," I said. "You are one of the most successful horse breeders in the county!"

"I was," Tack corrected me sharply. "I loved my work, even during the times it hasn't been all that profitable. Horses are my life. But no, that changed this year. Both my body and my mind failed me. And so here I am . . . eating re-hydrated pudding and watching soap operas with old biddies who wear too much perfume."

"Forgive my forwardness in saying so but your mind still seems as sharp as a tack, Tack," I pointed out.

"I can't believe it, either," Tack sighed, showing a little more energy now. "But maybe I was just fooling myself. Being on my own out there for so long . . . maybe I didn't realize how bad I was getting. When Snaff came home earlier this year to help run the ranch, that's when I realized how forgetful I was becoming."

"In what way?" I asked.

"I would put the horses in their stalls at night, then the next morning they would be in completely different stalls," Tack recalled. "And I would fill the water troughs only to find later that they were empty and I hadn't filled them at all. Things like that. I thought I was losing my mind. Snaff said he was worried about me, that I must be going senile. I didn't want to believe it. And then . . . " His voice trailed off.

"And then what?" I coaxed him anxiously.

"And then one day I was in the stables feeding the horses, something I'd done every day for the last forty years of my life," Tack sighed. "I turned around and fell over a bench, fracturing my hip. I still can't believe it. I swear that bench was never there before! But Snaff . . . he insisted it was always kept there. He was so concerned. When I had to go into a nursing home to recover, he assured me he would take over the running of the ranch. I was so surprised. He never showed any interest in the ranch before this year. But he's been there for me and for the ranch ever since."

"But how did you end up here?" I asked.

"Snaff kept insisting that running the ranch was just too much work for someone my age," Tack sighed. "He suggested I retire and enjoy the rest of my years in peace and quiet without having so much to worry about."

"And he would take over the ranch from you completely?" I asked.

"In a way, I was relieved," Tack admitted. "Not about leaving the ranch. No, I loved my horses and I hated to leave them. But I was happy to be able to give Snaff something to do that he could pour his heart and soul into. When he was young he didn't seem interested in the ranch at all. You see, he's been a boy without direction for so long. He went to college but dropped out. He didn't want to work that hard for that long to get rich. He was always looking for the next big thing that would make his fortune." Tack shook his head slowly. "I often wondered where I'd gone wrong with him. This was my chance to make it up to him."

"You signed over the ranch to him?" I asked worriedly. "Legally?"

"Oh no," Tack insisted. "Although I did sign a document which he had a lawyer draw up that gave him power of attorney over my affairs. He said it was the only way he could run the ranch properly."

"Did you have a lawyer representing you when you signed these papers?" I asked.

"Why no," Tack said with surprise. "That would imply I don't trust my son!" He eyed me suspiciously. "Why are you so interested in all of this anyway?"

I thought quickly to come up with an excuse, not wishing to completely disillusion the man about his son. "Oh well, when Snaff brought Bob to town yesterday for her harness fitting . . . "

"Oh, Bob!" Tack sighed sadly, his eyes twinkling. "I miss her so much. Best horse I ever had. Do you know why I named her Bobbing for Apples?"

I shook my head no.

"When she was just a little filly I accidentally dropped an apple into the water trough and she just loved the challenge of bobbing around, trying to catch it and eat it," Tack laughed. "It became a little game with us. She's definitely one of a kind."

"Anyway," I continued, "Snaff wanted the city to pay him up front. I just wanted to be sure that you would be getting your share of the money."

Tack sat up quickly, his eyes full of fire. "Pay him for what?"

"For renting Bob for the Christmas parade," I explained.

"That little brat is charging the city rent for using Bob in the Christmas parade?" Tack yelled, causing everyone around us to look startled.

"Well, yes, but I thought you . . . "

"What else is the little degenerate doing?" Tack demanded to know. There was no sign of the feeble old man remaining in his disposition now.

"Doomsday is concerned that he's not taking proper care of the horses," I explained.

Tack pointed a finger at me. "That nice boy who talks to Bob every year?"

I nodded. "He was so concerned that he took Bob without permission."

"Oh pshaw!" Tack laughed. "I trust that boy with my horses any time! He has a natural way with animals. Snaff didn't give him any grief about it, did he?"

"Well . . . he had Doomsday arrested," I answered.

"He what?!" Tack shouted, jumping to his feet. "What is my son thinking?"

"I just thought that you would want to know," I said.

"And I thank you for that!" Tack insisted, actually helping me to my feet. "Imagine, Snaff pressing charges against that nice boy! And bilking money from the city! I shudder to think what kind of shape the ranch is in! I want to see it for myself!"

"I rode my bike here," I explained. "But my colleagues can pick you up in a little while and drive you to the ranch if you like. That would give you time to get dressed and . . . "

"You bet I like!" Tack insisted, throwing aside his cane and storming off down a hallway. "I'll be ready in no time flat! I'll wait for your friends in the lobby! To think I trusted that no-good, ne'er-do-well, excuse-for-a-son of mine . . . has probably run up a bunch of gambling debts again, the little creep . . . "

I hurried outside and took a seat upon my Convert-a-Bike as I unsnapped my C.A.P.E.R. band radio from my belt. "P.T. calling Doc. Come in, Doc!"

The radio crackled and I heard Doc's answer, "Doc here, P.T."

"What's the progress with Doomsday?" I asked.

"Sgt. Vinton is trying to hurry him through processing as quickly as possible," Doc explained. "It'll probably be another half hour or so."

"Okay, listen," I said. "I've spoken with Ol' Tack Pelham and it's not good. It appears that Snaff swindled his father out of the ranch. He even managed to cause the old man to break his hip to get him out of the way."

"I knew I didn't like that guy," Doc sighed.

"Listen, once you have Doomsday free on bail and Bugs hopefully ends his protest, take Doomsday home and make sure he stays put. I don't want him getting into any more trouble. He's got to stay as far away from this case as possible."

"That's not going to be easy," Doc pointed out.

"I know," I agreed. "But I trust you to convince him somehow. Then I want you and Bugs to come over here to the Shady Days Rest Home and pick up Tack and drive him out to the Pelham Ranch. I'm heading over there right now."

"I don't know, P.T.," Doc said worriedly. "I don't trust this Snaff guy. I'm not sure I like the idea of you going there by yourself."

"Doc, I promised Doomsday I wouldn't let anything happen to those horses," I insisted. "I certainly don't trust Snaff, either. But I'll just check out the situation to make sure everything's okay then wait for you guys to arrive."

"Okay, well . . . be careful," Doc warned.

"I will," I assured him. "See you soon. Over."


Pelham Ranch was located outside the city in a rural area of farmland on the south side of Northeast Southweston. As I pulled my Convert-a-Bike behind a large tree just inside the ranch perimeter and turned off the motor, I checked my watch. It was 11:40 a.m. It didn't seem possible that so much could have taken place in such a short amount of time. I quickly turned off my C.A.P.E.R. band radio so I wouldn't receive any unexpected calls which could alert Snaff to my presence.

Slowly I made my way toward the center of the ranch where most of the buildings were located. Just ahead of me were the stables. It was a large, one story complex, although the ceilings were fairly high with rafters so hay could be stored above. There was a corral stretching out from the front of the building with water troughs lining the inside fencing. No horses were currently in the enclosure and the large double doors leading from the stables to the corral were closed.

A comfortable-sized house sat some distance away but well within view of the corral side of the stables. The area between the stables and home was dotted with various out-buildings, presumably used for storage and supplies. A large water tank stood on a platform nearby and there was also a well nearby. I could see the truck and trailer Snaff had been driving parked just outside the corral but it was clearly empty.

Cautiously I crept along, using the underbrush surrounding the area as cover. When I felt sure I could cross the open distance without being seen I hurried to the stables, approaching from the back. The side facing the untamed hillside and pasture also included large double doors, and I was able to sneak inside without any trouble.

It took my eyes several minutes to adjust to the darkness but it took much longer for my poor nose, Seymour, to adjust to the smell. Now granted things like farms and stables, which may naturally smell unpleasant to some people, are always overwhelming sensory inundations for Seymour. But this went far beyond that. This was a stench unlike any I'd ever experienced. I could already tell the stables hadn't been cleaned with any seriousness for some time.

The building was comprised of eight stalls on each side with simple dirt floors. A wide pathway led between the stalls to the double doors which led to the corral. It was cluttered with hay and equipment, giving it a look of complete disarray. I could see the heads of about ten to twelve horses leaning over the open gaps above the doors of their enclosures. They huffed and sniffed at me curiously, some shying away nervously as I stepped slightly forward. Bob whinnied at me from her stall, which was located closest to the doors through which I'd entered. She was still wearing the bridle and reins, which Snaff hadn't bothered to remove.

I walked over to Bob and patted her on the nose as she sniffed at my shirt, undoubtedly looking for an apple. "I'm sorry I didn't bring you anything," I apologized.

I then walked the length of the stables, stopping to look at the different horses in the dim light. They were beautiful animals but they all had a lethargy and sadness about them. They seemed grateful for the slightest bit of affection; a simple pat on the nose or a few kind words. As I stopped at one stall I saw some hay laying on the ground just out of one poor animal's reach. I stooped down to pick it up and offered it to the horse. I couldn't believe how desperately the horse gobbled down the small handful of hay, as if it were the first thing it had eaten in days.

"Oh Bob," I sighed. "This is worse than I thought. I'm so sorry I made you come back here."

Bob whinnied as if she understood.

I continued my inspection of the stalls on both sides until I had once again reached the back doors. As I turned from the stall opposite Bob's my foot hit something which made a strange metallic sound. It was sloppily concealed beneath a piece of cloth, which I pulled away to reveal two gasoline cans.

"That's strange," I thought to myself. "Why would anyone store gasoline in a stable?"

A terrible thought crossed my mind but was interrupted when the door beside me started to creak. I stepped back into the corner, pressing myself into the darkness as far as I could as the door slowly swung open. I held my breath, ready to spring on the intruder if necessary.

"Oh geez, it stinks in here!" a soft voice complained.

"Mr. Klinsinger?" I asked with surprise.

Kurt Klinsinger wheeled with fright, letting out a loud gasp of shock as he tried to see through the darkness. "Who's there?" he asked nervously.

"It's me, P.T.," I said, stepping forward.

"What are you doing here?" Klinsinger asked.

"I was about to ask you the same question," I said, eyeing the small Super 8 camera in the reporter's hand. "I thought Snaff Pelham made it perfectly clear he didn't want you to do a follow-up story."

"Which is exactly why I'm doing one!" Klinsinger explained. "I suspect there's more going on here than he's letting on!"

"Well, for once your reporter's instincts are completely correct," I assured him.

"They are?" Klinsinger asked with surprise.

"Snaff Pelham is letting the ranch fall into ruin," I explained. "He isn't putting any money into it at all. Which includes not properly caring for the horses. That's why Doomsday took Bob, because Bob told Doomsday the horses were being neglected."

"Wow!" Klinsinger gasped excitedly. "What a story!"

"Mr. Klinsinger, if you could film the state the horses are in, it could help clear Doomsday!" I pointed out. "It will prove he had just cause in taking Bob!"

"You're right!" Klinsinger realized. "Boy, I wish my film crew had come with me."

"Don't worry," I said, motioning to the Super 8 camera. "That will do fine. Here . . . open the doors back here to let in more light."

Klinsinger and I each opened one of the large back doors and the stables were immediately brighter. I then led him around the area, showing him the deplorable state the horses were in as I explained how Snaff had duped his father out of the ranch in hopes of cashing in on a fortune. I paused in my explanation at the far end of the stables to open one of the doors to the corral and let in more light. As we completed our circle of the building, I stopped at the cloth on the ground and uncovered the gasoline cans.

"And this is the most shocking thing of all!" I said.

"It's just a couple of gas cans," Klinsinger sighed with disappointment. "They use those on farms all the time to fill tractors and such."

"But why are they stored here in the stables?" I asked. "Knowing Snaff Pelham, I'm afraid he may very well have the intention of burning the place down."

"But why?" Klinsinger asked. "If what you say is true and he so desperately wants money, then why burn the only thing he owns?"

"For the insurance," I explained, covering the cans again. "Of course, I hope I'm wrong about that."

Klinsinger turned off the camera. "That's the end of the cartridge," he announced. "But I've got plenty here to expose Snaff Pelham's abuse of these animals."

"Mr. Klinsinger, could you go back to town and get this film developed and give it to Sgt. Vinton right away?" I asked.

"Absolutely!" Klinsinger bragged proudly. "The power of the press will not fail! My motorbike is hidden just down the road a ways. Let's go!" He turned to leave then stopped when he realized I wasn't following. "Aren't you coming?"

"No, I'm staying here to keep an eye on the horses," I explained. "Doc and Bugs will be coming as soon as Doomsday is released and they're bringing Ol' Tack Pelham with them."

"Okay, well, I'll make sure this film gets to Sgt. Vinton!" Klinsinger stated, and he scurried off as I closed the back stable doors behind him.


Bugs' legs were starting to cramp but he tried his best to ignore the pain. He was getting a little frustrated that no one was bearing witness to his defiant and uncomfortable stance. After all, what was the point of staging a sit-in when no one was paying any attention? Finally he uncrossed his legs and stretched them with a satisfying sigh of relief.

The door of the room suddenly flew open and Ginny burst in, looking around. She spotted Bugs on the floor and hurried over to him as he quickly tried to re-cross his legs, causing them to cramp even worse than before.

"Is it true?" Ginny cried. "Has Doomsday really been arrested for stealing Bob?"

"I'm afraid so," Bugs confirmed.

"I don't believe it!" Ginny gasped. "It's not possible! Doomsday wouldn't harm a fly let alone a horse!"

"Doomsday wouldn't even harm a horsefly," Bugs agreed. "But he's been arrested."

Ginny sat down on the bench, looking shocked. "How could this happen?"

"Well, technically Doomsday did steal the horse," Bugs admitted. "But he had a very good reason!"

"It must have been a good reason for Doomsday to break the law," Ginny nodded.

"Bob told Doomsday that the horses at Pelham Ranch are being neglected," Bugs explained.

"You mean Doomsday was trying to help save the poor horse from abuse and they still arrested him?" Ginny cried.

"Yep," Bugs sighed.

"But where are P.T. and Doc?" Ginny asked. "They must be as outraged about this as we are!"

"I think they're out raising Doomsday's bail or something," Bugs answered. "And as for being outraged, P.T.'s the one who returned Bob to Snaff Pelham, even after Doomsday told him he was being mean to her!"

"What?" Ginny cried. "Oh, I don't believe that!"

"P.T. said something about having to follow the letter of the law," Bugs sighed with frustration. "He said he didn't want Doomsday to get into worse trouble."

"What's worse than being in jail?" Ginny cried, getting up and pacing back and forth in front of Bugs. "This is such a travesty of justice!"

"Yeah, a travesty!" Bugs agreed heartily.

"It's an abomination!" Ginny cried.

"Yeah, an abomination!" Bugs echoed with enthusiasm.

"Worthy of open scorn and brickbats!" Ginny cried.

"Yeah . . . ! Wait, you want to attack the station with bricks and bats?" Bugs asked with confusion.

"Well, something has to be done!" Ginny insisted. "I mean, how can you stand for this?"

"I'm not standing. I'm sitting," Bugs pointed out.

"Then how can you take this sitting down?" Ginny asked.

"That's kind of the whole point of a sit-in," Bugs noted. "I'm staging a peaceful protest."

"Oh, pooh on peaceful protests!" Ginny scoffed. "This whole thing is just wrong! Don't you want to do something about it?"

"I am doing something," Bugs insisted. "I'm putting my legs to sleep!"

Ginny leaned down over Bugs and asked, "What would Bruce Lee do in this situation?"

"Well, he probably practiced sitting like this a lot more than me, so his legs probably wouldn't be cramping," Bugs speculated.

"Bruce Lee wouldn't sit around staging a peaceful protest!" Ginny insisted. "He would be getting out there and taking action to put things right!"

"That's true," Bugs realized.

"Remember 'Fist of Fury?'" Ginny asked.

"Yeah!" Bugs said, slowly getting to his feet. He had to hop slightly to get his legs to stop tingling. "And my fists can be just as angry as Bruce Lee's!"

"Bruce Lee confronted injustice head on!" Ginny said dramatically. "Righting wrongs! Defending the defenseless!"

"Yeah!" Bugs said, getting worked up. "I can right wrongs! I can defend the defenseless!" He opened a drawer in the desk and rifled around, finally pulling out a piece of paper. Picking up a pen, he began to fill out the form in earnest.

"What are you doing?" Ginny asked with confusion.

"I'm filing a formal complaint with the department," Bugs explained. "Are there one or two 'f's in defenseless?"

Ginny grabbed the paper from the desk and wadded it up. "Bruce Lee wouldn't get bogged down in bureaucracy!"

"You're right!" Bugs agreed, slamming his hand down on the desk. "This isn't a time for red tape! This is a time for action!"

"That's the spirit!" Ginny cheered. "So . . . what are we going to do?"

"I know exactly what we're going to do!" Bugs said seriously.


Klinsinger had departed only a short time before and I had crossed the stables to close the door leading to the corral. I stood, wondering what I could do before the others arrived. I wanted so much to open all the stalls and the doors and let the horses run free in the corral but I couldn't risk alerting Snaff to my presence.

Suddenly I heard someone approaching. I had just enough time to duck behind an empty stall door when the two large doors at the back of the stables flew open and Snaff entered in a rage.

"What's going on in here?" he shouted to no one in particular.

The man stood silhouetted in the doorway, looking around suspiciously as the horses all whinnied and threw their heads back in distress.

"Shut up!" Snaff shouted, storming down the walkway. I remained hidden behind the stall door and watched as Snaff inspected the large doors leading to the corral. "I could have sworn I saw this open from the house," he said to himself.

With an angry grunt, he turned and headed toward the back doors, looking up at the hay lofts and checking every corner. One horse reached out with its nose toward him as he passed as if asking for food.

"Get back, you annoying nag!" Snaff snarled, lunging at the animal angrily. "You're all such a bother. But not for long. Day after tomorrow I'll be rid of you."

He walked to Bob's stall and reached out to pat her nose. "All except for you, Bob. I can still make money off of you."

As Snaff reached towards her, Bob gave an angry huff and then bit him sharply on the arm. Snaff pulled away and cried out with fury. He immediately reached up to retrieve a horse whip that was hanging on the wall. "I'll teach you some respect!" he snarled, advancing on Bob menacingly.

"Stop!" I shouted, bolting from my hiding place and rushing at Snaff. He wheeled around just as I reached him and I grabbed the arm holding the whip, pulling it away from Bob. Snaff immediately fought back and we wrestled toe-to-toe for a moment, each trying to get the upper hand.

"You have no right to be here!" Snaff snarled.

"And you have no right to hurt these horses!" I countered.

We fell to the ground in a serious wrestling match, rolling over and over across the dirt floor. The horses around us neighed and stomped their hooves; their hot breath snorting with excitement and anxiety over the sudden melee.

As we rolled over again Snaff ended up on top of me. He was a big guy and definitely no weakling. I realized I had probably jumped into the fray a little too quickly. I desperately reached around me for anything I could grab. I realized Snaff had dropped the whip close to my head so I managed to get a hold of it and slapped him sharply across the face, which made him recoil.

I quickly rolled over onto my stomach and tried to crawl away but Snaff's body suddenly slammed into me, knocking me flat to the ground. I felt his knee dig into my lower back, holding me down at a disadvantage as he grabbed my left arm and pulled it sharply behind my back. He must have managed to grab some rope from somewhere and I felt him winding several coils around my wrist.

Realizing I was in serious trouble, I grabbed at my C.A.P.E.R. band radio with my right hand and quickly tried to turn it on to call for help.

"Oh no, you don't!" Snaff scolded, knocking the radio from my hand and grabbing my right wrist, which he quickly pulled behind my back. Within seconds my wrists were bound together tightly.

Snaff climbed off me and backed away, breathing heavily from the struggle. I managed to sit up and then, using one of the stable doors to lean against, I managed to get to my feet. I panted with exhaustion as Snaff rubbed the red welt across his cheek with the back of his hand. He eyed me worriedly as he reached for a lasso that was looped around a nail on a nearby post.

"At least I learned something useful from the old man," Snaff sneered, swinging the lasso over his head as he advanced on me.

I backed away, not sure what I could do at this point. He pretty much had me where he wanted me. I then noticed that he was standing underneath a lift on a pulley which must have been used to hoist hay up to the rafters. The rope holding the lift was near me, held in place by a pin. I quickly lunged at the pin, pulling it out with my teeth and releasing the lift, which came crashing down.

Snaff anticipated the move by mere seconds and was able to jump out of the way to avoid being crushed. I had actually only hoped for a few moments of distraction as I made a run for the back doors.

Just as I reached the doors I barely caught sight of the lasso as it flew over my head. A second later it tightened around my arms and waist, pulling tight and jerking me roughly off my feet.

"Not so fast there!" Snaff scolded as he approached, pulling the rope's slack in. I had fallen onto my side but he pulled me up into a sitting position and quickly wound the rope around my midsection and arms several times before tying it off.

I continued to struggle as Snaff dragged me over to the hoist, quickly unclipping the hook from the lift and then kneeling down to fasten it to the ropes around my middle. He then casually walked to the rope hanging from the pulley and started pulling. I felt myself hoisted into the air until I was dangling a few feet above the ground. Snaff then replaced the pin and brushed his hands together as if satisfied with a job well done.

The horses were all in a frightful state at this point, bucking and throwing their heads back and neighing. Snaff walked past me and started pacing nervously.

"You won't get away with this!" I said angrily.

"Shut up!" Snaff yelled viciously. "I have to figure out what to do now."

"It's not too late to come clean and own up to your wrongdoings," I suggested.

"I said shut up!" Snaff growled. He paced some more, then stopped suddenly. I saw he was eyeing an old-fashioned kerosene lamp which was hanging on a post outside of one of the stalls. These lamps were actually placed all along the length of the stables but looked like they hadn't been used in years. He looked over at the cloth which I knew concealed the gasoline cans and then turned back to me, giving me a look I didn't like at all.


" . . . and that should do it," Sgt. Vinton sighed with relief as Doc signed the last of the paperwork and handed back the pen. "Doomsday is free to go."

"Thank you for hurrying this through," Doc said.

"I'm just sorry it took as long as it did," Sgt. Vinton offered. "Darn paperwork. Such a bother. Well, come on." He picked up a ring of keys from the desk. "Let's go spring the poor boy."

Sgt. Vinton led the way as they headed toward the far corner of the building where the jail cells were located. "It made me sick to have to arrest Doomsday," he sighed. "Sometimes the law can be so frustrating."

"I can understand your position," Doc assured him. "And I'm sure Doomsday understands, too."

"He's been a model prisoner," Sgt. Vinton smiled as he opened a door leading to the row of cells. "I mean, I know Doomsday would never break the law unless he had a darn good reason."

Doc stopped when he entered the area and stared in disbelief. "Well, I can't wait to hear what it is this time!" he sighed.

Sgt. Vinton turned around and was immediately shocked. The cell which had previously held Doomsday was empty. Several of its bars were bent outward, creating ample space for a boy Doomsday's size to slip through them.

"He's gone!" Sgt. Vinton gasped needlessly.

"Oh, Bugs," Doc sighed with frustration. "What have you done?"

"That's it!" Sgt. Vinton realized. "This is Bugs' doing, isn't it? He broke Doomsday out of jail! And now I'm going to have to arrest him, too!"

"Now wait a minute, let's think about this," Doc suggested, trying to calm Sgt. Vinton down. "I was back here not five minutes ago and Doomsday was still here. Which means the chances are Bugs got him out after I'd already paid for his bail. Which means Doomsday was legally free to go. So it's not so much that Bugs pulled off a jailbreak as he just . . . broke the jail."

"Someone's got to fix this!" Sgt. Vinton insisted. "I can't have a jail cell with bent bars!"

"I'll see what I can do," Doc said, pulling out his C.A.P.E.R. band radio. "Doc calling Bugs! Pick up, Bugs! Now!"

Inside the cab of Ginny's water delivery truck, Doomsday heard Doc calling over Bugs' C.A.P.E.R. band radio. "Oh hey, it's Doc!" Doomsday smiled, and he pulled the radio off Bugs' belt to answer it. "Hi, Doc!"

Bugs, who was sitting between Ginny and Doomsday, snatched the radio from Doomsday's hand. "Yeah, what d'ya want?" Bugs asked sharply.

"Bugs, you'd better get back here and put these bars back in place right now!" Doc yelled. "I'm not paying to have this fixed!"

"Tough!" Bugs said gruffly. "We broke Doomsday outta the joint! And now we're gonna prove he's innocent!"

"And you lousy coppers can't stop us!" Ginny added, using the same gruff voice.

"Is that Ginny?" Doc asked with surprise. "Are you the one who's getting Bugs all riled up?"

"We weren't about to let Doomsday stew in the joint!" Ginny insisted.

"We weren't letting Doomsday 'stew in the joint,'" Doc insisted. "In fact, I just posted his bail!"

"Maybe we should go back," Doomsday said worriedly.

"What? And let those dirty, rotten screws throw you back in the hole?" Ginny asked.

"Ginny, I can almost guarantee you won't ever be asked to join C.A.P.E.R. if you call us dirty, rotten screws!" Doc pointed out.

"Yeah? Well, I don't want to belong to a group that doesn't advocate justice!" Ginny insisted.

"Yeah!" Bugs agreed. "Top o' the world, Ma!"

"Look, this isn't some Jimmy Cagney movie!" Doc complained. "And what are you supposed to be anyway, Ginny? Bugs' moll?"

"Better a moll than a dirty copper!" Ginny remarked.

"Look, I'm not gonna say it again," Doc scolded. "You guys get back here and I mean now!"

"Nothing doin'!" Bugs argued. "We're on our way to the Pelham Ranch to find the evidence to prove Doomsday was justified in taking Bob!"

"And to help those poor horses!" Ginny added.

"Over and out!" Bugs concluded, turning off his radio.

"Great," Doc sighed. "Now we have Bonnie and Clyde on our hands. I'd better pick up Tack Pelham and get out to the ranch. Don't worry, Sgt. Vinton, I'll make sure Bugs straightens these bars when we get back!"

Doc hurried out of the precinct and jumped into the Big Bologna, heading toward the Shady Days Rest Home. Just as the Big Bologna pulled away from the curb, Kurt Klinsinger pulled up on his motorbike.

"Sgt. Vinton! Sgt. Vinton!" Klinsinger shouted as he ran into the station.

"Oh, what is it now?" Sgt. Vinton sighed as he entered the reception area. "I don't think I can take much more today."

"I have the goods on Snaff Pelham!" Klinsinger explained. "It's all right here on this film! I just need to get it developed and it's going to blow the lid off this whole case!"

"Okay, okay, slow down," Sgt. Vinton urged. "Take it easy and tell me . . . slowly now . . . just what you're talking about."


"Are you sure you're really thinking this through?" I asked, trying my best to keep my growing sense of fear from becoming obvious in my voice.

Snaff was moving quickly, distributing gasoline from one of the red metal cans in a reckless and haphazard fashion. There wasn't any apparent rhyme or reason in where he was pouring the stuff, although he seemed to be focusing mainly on the wooden parts of the stable. Earlier he had taken the first can and poured it around the outside of the building. It was clear from his actions that he was just trying to carry out what was in his mind as quickly as possible.

I had to crane my neck to keep the man in my sight, since the hoist I was dangling from was constantly turning. "You won't get away with it," I warned as I struggled futilely against my bonds. "Kurt Klinsinger was here before you came and he filmed the conditions of the stables. He even filmed the gasoline cans! They're going to know you used an accelerant!"

Snaff laughed heartily as he set down the empty can next to the other one by the open doors leading to the corral. "You'll have to do better than that. That stupid reporter wouldn't have the nerve to come out here. He couldn't find a story if it was written in a book!"

"But it's true," I insisted. "He was taking the film over to Sgt. Vinton. Everyone's going to know you're the one who started the fire!"

Snaff just shook his head with a smile as he picked up both cans and carried them out to his truck.

The smell of gasoline was causing the horses to become even more agitated. I could see in their eyes they knew something was wrong. Bob pawed at the ground with her hoof anxiously and let out a worrisome whinny.

I continued to struggle but it was no use. I was bound too tightly and being suspended was becoming more painful by the minute.

When Snaff returned he took down one of the antique lanterns from its hook and shook it, satisfied at the slight sloshing sound inside.

"I can't believe it," I said, my voice finally trembling. "I can't believe you'd be willing to burn all of these horses alive."

"They're worth more to me dead," Snaff explained in a callous tone. "I can collect the insurance and cash in right away instead of spending years trying to make anything off this place."

"All your father's hard work," I sighed.

"My father cares more about these horses than he ever did about me!" Snaff shouted. "All that mattered to him were these stupid animals! Everything was horses! All the time!" He looked at me with knitted brows and asked, "What kind of man names his son Snaffle? Seriously?"

"You're wrong," I said. "Your father cares about you very much. He only wants what's best for you. That's why he was willing to sign over the running of the ranch to you. He wanted to give you something to live for and believe in."

"That's a lie!" Snaff said angrily. "He never cared about me! And I don't care about him!" He laughed. "The old fool . . . he thought he was only signing over power of attorney to me. He had no idea he was also signing away the deed to the ranch!" His face grew serious. "But ha ha, the joke was on me! All these years I thought my father was making a fortune from this place. But it's a money pit! These horses are a waste of time! Bob's the only one I can really make any profit on, selling her as a broodmare."

"You just don't understand," I sighed, trying to shift my weight to take the pressure off my arms. I knew had to keep Snaff talking as long as possible.

"You think I don't know what I'm doing," Snaff sneered. "Well, I know exactly what I'm doing! See, my original plan was to set it up so the fire would start while Bob and I were at the Christmas parade. Oh, what a horrible tragedy it was going to be when we returned to the ranch to find the stables had caught fire and all of the horses were gone!"

"They're living creatures, not things!" I cried.

"Everyone would be so sympathetic about my heartbreaking situation," Snaff said with mock sadness. "Of course, the authorities might have questioned how the fire started. And then the insurance company would have probably asked for an investigation. I worried about that. I even wondered if I could really go through with it . . . could I really get away with it?"

"Of course not!" I insisted.

"But that was before!" Snaff said excitedly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a lighter as he lifted the glass part of the lantern to light it. "This . . . this is perfect!"

Snaff finished lighting the lantern and pocketed the lighter. "You see, Bob and I didn't come back here right away. We stopped at the riding trails down the hill. I wanted to give her some exercise, so I rode her for a couple of hours. But then . . . then I saw smoke coming from the direction of the ranch. Still, it took me a while to get back to the trailer, load Bob and drive out here."

Snaff's voice took on that sickeningly mock sad tone tinged with underlying glee. "We found the stables completely engulfed in flames. All the horses had perished. There was nothing anyone could do. But it was a much more heartbreaking tragedy than anyone suspected. You see, a young police intern had illegally entered the property. His heart was in the right place, but . . . well, you know what they say about good intentions . . . .

"He entered the stables but it was dark. So he lit one of these lanterns." Snaff was moving in an animated fashion, almost acting out the scenario. "He entered one of the stalls. It was all so unexpected. He probably didn't even know what happened when the horse kicked him. The lantern fell into the adjoining stall . . . the fire spread so quickly. It was all so . . . pointless."

"They'll never believe it," I shouted desperately. "Like I said, Klinsinger was here! He has the film! He'll tell them what he saw!"

Snaff set the lantern on the ground and walked over to a disorderly pile of tools lying nearby. As I struggled, the rope swung me around again so I had to strain to see that Snaff was stooping down to pick up something.

"Of course, there's the little problem of the horse kick to work out," he sighed, standing up and turning back to me. "But then . . . sometimes one just has to improvise."

I was rotating back around to face Snaff and only had a second to react when I saw him grasp the handle of the shovel with both hands and swing it at my head. I instinctively cringed as there was a loud crack and I felt myself spinning as everything went black.


"To think, I honestly believed he had changed! Ha! What a fool I was! You know, for years I made excuses for him. I thought I had been a bad father. Maybe I spent too much time with the horses. Maybe I didn't give him enough attention. His mother, God rest her soul, she kept telling me it wasn't my fault. That there was just something not right with that boy. That he didn't seem to have any sense of compassion or sympathy. But I kept thinking there must have been something I could have done . . . something that would have made a difference . . . "

As he drove the Big Bologna, Doc was listening with interest to Ol' Tack Pelham. Doc had originally planned to park the vehicle and go inside to help wheel the elderly man outside. He certainly hadn't expected the senior citizen to come sprinting across the lawn the minute he drove up, asking if he were the one who was supposed to take him out to the ranch.

Tack eyed Doc with a slight look of sadness. "You boys are so nice," he sighed. "Not like my son. He never seemed to care about anyone but himself. Where did I go wrong?"

"Sometimes these things are just out of our control," Doc offered. "I'm sure you tried to set a good example."

"I thought ranching was a good experience for every young man," Tack said. "But Snaff, he just never took to it. I should never have trusted him with the ranch. If anything happens to those horses . . . "

"Try not to worry," Doc said. "We'll be at the ranch soon. Hopefully we'll find that nothing too terrible has transpired."


"But wait!" Kurt Klinsinger cried as Sgt. Vinton pulled him out of the police station and toward his patrol car. "Don't you want to see the film? I can have it developed in no time flat!"

"No, I want to get out to the Pelham Ranch right away and see what's going on there for myself!" Sgt. Vinton insisted, climbing into the driver's seat. When he saw Klinsinger wasn't getting into the car quickly enough, he shouted, "Well, come on!"

Klinsinger reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat. "But can't I just call my film crew to meet us out there?" he pleaded. "I mean, this could be a big story!"

Sgt. Vinton simply ignored the reporter as he sped away from the curb.