"Silver Smudge" By Paul R. Zook (aka Peter Bunny) e-mail: critters2@hotmail.com ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Being a rather devout railfan, I one day happened on the idea of combining my love of trains and railroads with my love of Tiny Toons; the following action-comedy is an updated toony remake of the 1976 movie "Silver Streak," starring Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor - one of my favorite movies. A big thank you goes out to Mike Cote, and a special thanks goes to Renee Carter Hall, and (as always) to Kevin Mickel and Jamie Wilmoth, without whose talented help this wouldn't be possible. I'm always open to feedback - good and bad - so drop me a line and let me a line and let me know what you think! I'll answer all I can. Hope you enjoy it! Original Tiny Toon Adventures characters, their names and likenesses are (tm) & (c) Time-Warner Inc./Amblin Entertainment and are used without permission. Original Critters characters (Peter Bunny and April Rabbit), their names and likenesses are (tm) & (c) 1998 by Paul R. Zook. This file cannot be altered in any way but can be freely distributed electronically. Additionally, it cannot be archived on any commercial product (CD-ROM, etc.) without my express written consent, and any use in a commercial compilation is likewise verboten without my say-so. Please feel free to make private hard copies of this story iften it suits your fancy! ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Under a low September sun, a dark green Bluick sedan glided easily along the sweeping drive towards the train station. It ducked into a side parking lot, ambled a little down a row of cars, and quickly found a place to rest. Having found a spot, the driver pulled in, parked, and killed the motor. Three rabbits got out: the driver, a white one with long blue shorts and black suspenders; his passenger, a blue and white bunny wearing a red pullover; and a pretty light brown and white doe in the back seat, who had on a pink knit top and a gold bracelet on her right wrist. The driver walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. He grabbed two tan traveling bags while the girl took a third. Then he closed the trunk. As all three started walking towards that great stone edifice known as Tintoonati's majestic Union Terminal, last-chance conversation seemed to be in order. "It's a shame you couldn't stay any longer, Buster," the white one said to his guest. "There's really so much more we could see and do." "Yeah, but I only had so many personal days to use up," Buster said. "The train trip back to Acme Acres is going to use up what days I have left. 'Sides, you have school tomorrow anyway, don't ya, Peter?" "You needn't remind me, Buster," Peter said, screwing up his face. "Besides, if it weren't for that cushy job you lucked into getting, you'd be starting again, soon, too!" Buster grinned self-consciously. "You have one more year, don't you?" he asked. "Yeah. Hopefully I can actually convince some baby boomer to hire a guy right out of school and with none of the five-year's-experience that these schmucks always look at." "What if they won't?" "*Graduate school*!!" the girl chimed in. Buster grinned. "You can hide from gainful employment, but you can't hide from tuition debt," he said. "No, but you can *defer* it for a few years!" Peter said. "That's taking the term 'career student' a *little* too far, April," cracked Buster. "Career student - hmmmm.." April said thoughtfully, running her fingertips across her chin. "I *knew* there was a word for that! And I bet you thought graduate school was for furthering your education, didn't you?" The trio laughed as they walked along the curving walk to the rotunda building. Peter, April and Buster pulled the heavy nickel-and-glass doors to and entered the Terminal's cavernous lobby. Buster advanced a few paces and paused. The Terminal's Art Deco styling and its polished sandstone and marble construction impressed him, and he had to stop and take one final look. Spread out before him in a 180 degree arc were all of the Terminal's main attractions, all announced in nickel Art Deco letters: On his extreme left was the entrance to the Tintoonati History Museum; chairs and tables were spread out before the neighboring sidewalk café and bakery; directly opposite Buster and dividing the back wall was the yawning concourse entrance leading to the train platforms; next, a gift shop bustling with activity; and to Buster's extreme right, the entrance to the Tintoonati Museum of Natural History and Science. Along the curving back of the dome and placed above the café and gift shop were two huge 20-foot-high mosaic murals, one depicting the people who built Tintoonati from an early settlement to the present day, the other depicting the evolution of transportation from the humble river flatboat to the "modern" steam locomotive (or what was considered modern in 1929 when Union Terminal was built). And in the middle of the wide marble floor, a ticket and information booth sat like an island. As Buster took it all in, he asked sadly, "And you said they wanted to tear this place down because it was considered 'too old and useless?'" "Over ten years ago, yeah," Peter said. "But then Amtrak brought its trains back, and the two museums moved in and took up the remaining space. And lo and behold, the old shack had use after all!" "Which is more than I could say for *some* things," April added. "If they wanted to get rid of old, useless things we might first want to start with Marge Schott, Bob Dole and Bob Hope!" "*April*!" Buster said, chuckling. "That's not very nice.." "But it's *true*!" April insisted. Suddenly her nose found something good in the air. Sniffing it, she knew right where to go. "Mmmmmmmm, brownies!" she sighed hungrily, her eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Mmmm, I'll see you guys later," the girl announced and abruptly started off towards the bakery. "Aprilll..!" Peter called after his sweetheart but it did nothing to slow her down. As Buster watched April's white powder-puff tail hurry off towards the other side of the room, he felt more than a little jealous of his host. "You're a lucky guy to have someone like that," Buster said with just a tinge of loneliness and wanting. Peter smiled. "Yeah, I guess I am," he said softly, looking down at the floor. "How does she keep that figure of hers?" "She works out. Plus, whenever she eats any of that sweet stuff she only eats half." "Eats half? That's weird. What does she do with the other half?" "Gives it to me." Buster chuckled at that, which prompted Peter to add, "Why not? Nine times out of ten I'm the one who ends up paying for it, anyway!" "Who's fault is that?" Buster asked teasingly. "Heh heh! *Listen*, pally," Peter advised with a little laugh, "Never forget that you *never* get between a dame and her chocolate, even as you *know* it's bad for her figure." "Why not?" "It's an unspoken female law," Peter said, grinning. "You know, I don't even smell brownies from here," said Buster as he sniffed the air. "I don't doubt it. April's very good about that. She can't see a car's warning light come on from one foot in front of her but she can smell brownies from a mile away." As both rabbits laughed an announcement came over the station PA: "Attention, please. Your attention, please. Train number 2161, the Silver Smudge, is now boarding on track Two for Acme Acres and all points west. The Silver Smudge is now boarding on track Two for Acme Acres and all points west. All aboard." "Come on, Buster," Peter said. "You don't want to miss your train." As they proceeded near the concourse entrance, Peter called over to his love, who was in a near-drooling state over the freshly-baked chocolate pastries displayed in the bakery's glass cases: "April! C'mon, Buster's going to miss his train!" "Buy me a brownie!" "C'mon.." "Please?" "Aprilll..!" April pursed her ruby-red lips into an irresistible little pout and started towards Peter and Buster. As she joined them, she had a sudden change in demeanor. "That's all right, Peter," she began with a voice as seductive as it was sweet. "You can buy me one on our way out." Peter was at once disarmed and taken off guard by her tone. "Buy you one on the way out..?" he asked, stalling. "That's right, you can buy me one on the way out. Please, Petey?" cooed April. "Uh..." "Pleaaase? Just a *little* one? Please, Petey? Pleaaase?.." "Oh, alright," Peter grumbled, giving in. Buster turned to look at Peter with an "Uh, HUH!" look on his face. Reading it, Peter blushed and grinned sheepishly. "Oh, shut up!" he mumbled. On track Two's open-air platform at the back of the station, the Silver Smudge waited impatiently for passengers. Leading Buster's train was a pair of EMD-built 1500hp FP7 locomotives, arranged back-to-back in what railroaders call an AA arrangement. Behind them, ten shiny lightweight aluminum cars: one baggage car, three Pullman sleepers, one kitchen/diner, one full diner, two more Pullman sleepers, one coach, a Vista- dome lounge car, and rounding out the train, an observation car for a rear-train view. The interior of the Silver Smudge was comfy and new, and soft, indirect or recessed lighting the length of the train was easy on passengers' eyes. The walnut and stainless steel construction of the Pullman sleepers, and the complimenting forest-green paint, had a home-like feel somehow, as did the following dining cars. There, spotless white cloth tablecloths and shining silverware and dishes covered each small table, and as a final touch, fresh colorful flowers made for a very pleasant dining experience. The coach car sported deeply-upholstered coral-colored seats, which, along with the oversized windows, offered passengers an excellent view of passing scenery in a very comfortable seat. The lounge and observation cars, like the coach car, boasted mahogany and brass construction, forest-green carpeted floors, and dark coral paint, as well as ultra-comfortable black leather chairs and live green plants. All in all, the Silver Smudge promised a very relaxing and laid-back cross-country train trip. Buster, Peter and April approached Buster's car where a green duck of a porter awaited them. "Do we have the right car?" asked Peter as Buster handed over his ticket. The porter looked at the ticket. "Yes, sir," he said pleasantly. "Take your bags for you?" Peter and April handed Buster's bags over to the avian, who then discretely took a few steps back and stood near the entrance to the Pullman car. "Well, I guess this is it," Peter sighed. "Good-bye time." "Yeah, I guess so," said Buster. "But thanks for your hospitality, and your food, and showing me around. Thanks for everything, you guys." "Our pleasure!" said April. "Next time you come I'll make sure you and cousin Belle are fixed up an' we'll all go out." Buster grinned as his face started to flush. "Okay, sure. I'd like that," he said. "You better get going, pal," Peter advised. Offering his hand he added, "You have a good trip home, hmm?" Shaking Peter's hand Buster said, "Thanks. Take care, Peter. So long, April." April gave Buster a quick hug. "See ya, Buster." As Buster turned to leave his porter did the same and boarded the train ahead of him. Buster climbed aboard but turned back one last time. "Talk to you guys online later?" he called out, waving. "You got it!" Peter and April called back, returning Buster's wave. Once inside his room, Buster's porter proceeded to show his new patron around. "Sir, if you don't need these bags I can go and put them in the baggage car," he said as he laid Buster's luggage on his bed. "Uh, that's fine," said Buster. "I just need these two. You can take that one away." Buster turned to his right and tried a door. "And what's in here?" "Your toilet and sink." "Nice big room," Buster mused out loud as he viewed the four-by-four cubicle which served as his restroom. "Put a phone in it and it could double as a very handy phone booth." The porter grinned. "Sorry 'bout that. If you think that's bad, I don't think you'll want to see your closet." As Buster nosed around his accommodations, his porter continued with the small talk: "You make out better than the others in Economy. I have to turn their beds down when they finally decide to turn in for the night." "Where does this door go to?" asked Buster, now standing at the other side of the room. "Oh, that opens to the next compartment. The whole wall can be slid back and the room turned into a suite. Say! That reminds me! There's a really cute girl rabbit next door. Maybe you'll get lucky and you'll-" "Woah, hold the phone," Buster interrupted politely. "I'm not interested in any kind of shipboard romances here. Mainly because I've never had much luck with them." "Oh, I see," the duck said. "Well, there's a certain loon I've had my eye on ever since we left Chicago..!" As his porter started to ramble on aimlessly about the object of his affections, Buster accidentally brushed up against the door and caused it to swing open. He immediately reached in to close it, but not before catching the attention of a pretty, blue- eyed pink and white doe first. While not normally a cause for great alarm, Buster's timing couldn't have been more inopportune; the girl had evidently just emerged from washing her ears, and hadn't yet put on her blouse! Aside from the white towel she had wrapped turban-style on her head, she wore only a lacy cream-colored bra and a greyish-purple skirt. Buster's sudden intrusion surprised the girl, but didn't really scare her. Buster, however, was not as collected. Upon seeing his semi-dressed neighbor, Buster's eyes grew to the size of saucers while his pupils shrank to the size of peas. He gasped. "Oh! I'm sorry!" he blurted out and immediately pulled the door shut. But the door's latch wouldn't close, and the door opened on him again. He tried to be discreet - lest the porter think him a pervert - and keep the door closed, but each time it would swing open, and put the girl into view. "I-I'm not doing this on purpose!" (slam) "Honest! (slam) "It's this-" (slam) "-stupid door!" (slam) "I think the-" (slam) "-latch is gimped!" (slam) "Please don't call the-" (slam) Finally the door stayed shut. "...Still, I dunno," continued the porter, completely unaware of what was going on around him, "what do you think?" Buster whirled around. Taken completely off guard, he was relieved that his faux pas went unnoticed, but had absolutely no idea what his porter was just talking about. Taking a stab in the dark, he said quickly, "Huh? Oh! Yeah. I completely agree with everything you just said." "You think cute furry animals should be given to Newt Gingrich as dinner appetizers?" "Uh, well, no, not *that*," Buster said, recovering quickly. "I meant everything before that." "Oh. Okay. Well, here's your room. If there's anything you need, you can buzz me with that red button next to the window." "Thanks, uh, uhh..." tried Buster as he reached into his furpants pocket. "Plucky Duck," the avian smiled. "Well, thanks, Plucky. Here," Buster said, extending his hand. In it were three one dollar bills. "Call me Buster." Not being used to having a passenger who tipped him well for his trouble, the pupils in Plucky's eyes suddenly spun, locked into a pair of dollar signs, and with a ring of a tinny bell, his bill shot out like that of a cash register's drawer. Grabbing the money, Plucky placed it in his "drawer," which snapped back into his head without even having to be pushed. "Thank *you*, Buster!" he enthused. "No, really, day or night, man, I'm your mallard! If there's anything - ANYTHING - you need, just call on ol' Plucky!" "Well, thanks just the same, Plucky. But I probably won't need you that much. All I'm looking for is a nice, relaxing, *boring* train trip back to Acme Acres." "On that we have you covered," said Plucky as he opened the compartment door to leave. "This trip won't be too exciting, but we'll get you there on time." Out on the station platform and standing a ways down the length of the train, the Silver Smudge's conductor checked his pocket watch with one hand, and raised the other one high to give a signal. "All abooOOOARD!!" he cried. From the roof of the lead locomotive, two long blasts of the air horns signaled the start of the train. Inside the cabin, the engineer sat with the train's working controls mounted on a cylindrical stand placed next to his left knee. First he placed his foot on the Dead Man's Pedal (so called because it would spring up and stop the train if the engineer should ever remove his foot due to illness or death). Then he moved the direction lever forward, released the brakes, and inched the throttle lever ahead a few notches. A small cloud of grey exhaust formed over the locomotives as the steady, deep-throated throb of the diesel engines increased, both in pulse and in volume. The throngs of family, friends and well-wishers gathered on the platform waved good-bye to their own as the Silver Smudge eased forward. Buster rapped on his window, and was able to wave to his friends Peter and April one last time before they slid from view. Buster was finally on his way. As the train threaded its way through the maze of tracks behind the Terminal building, Plucky poked his head out of an inter-car door and waved, too. But not to anyone in particular: "Good-bye, Tintoonati, good-bye! Pbbbbbt-" POW! Plucky leaned too far out from the train and paid for it by being smacked hard on the back of the head by an outstretched mail crane. "Woo-" he uttered, dazed. Stars and miniature mail cranes circled Plucky's aching noggin as he fell backwards out of view. Two hours later found Buster sitting in the crowded dining car for dinner. He was alone at his table, perusing the menu, when a sweet, female voice addressed him: "How's the latch?" Buster looked up and beheld an all-too-familiar face - the bunny he surprised before the train left the station! But the smile she wore let him know that all was forgiven. In addition to the greyish-purple skirt she had on when Buster last saw her, she also wore a yellow blouse and greyish-purple ear bows. Buster fumbled for a greeting. But the best he could come up with was, "Hmm?" "I said, how's the latch? We have connecting rooms, remember?" "Huh? Oh! Yeah. Well, I think it's still a little gimped. I'll have the porter look at it right away." "There's no rush...is there?" she asked coyly. Buster raised his eyebrows. "I mean," the girl continued, "just don't touch it and it'll be fine. No sense getting *Plucky* to look at it; he'd just want a big tip for doing so anyway. May I sit here and join you?" "Please!" Buster smiled. "I think I scared you more than you scared me before," said the doe playfully as she slid across from Buster. She watched as his face turned crimson red. "Sorry 'bout that. I really didn't mean to do that." "I know. I was just ribbin' ya," the girl reassured with a grin. "I'm Babs Bunny." "Buster Bunny. Hi." "*Bunny*?" asked Babs with surprised delight. "No relation?" "I don't think so," Buster said with a chuckle. "At least, I hope not." "Hee hee! Me, too. Otherwise *that* would be *totally* weird!" "Yeah!" Noticing the dinner menu still in Buster's hand, Babs asked, "So, what're you having?" Buster returned his attention to his menu. "I dunno, actually. I know from the trip over that there are certain items the FDA would suggest I shouldn't get. But I can't for the life of me remember what they are." "Let me see," Babs said as she plucked another menu from the holder placed behind a little glass vase of flowers. "They make a carrot cake that's absolutely to *die* for! Mmmm! And the brownie pie is good, too, as well as the Chocolate Death ice cream..!" "Yeah, but what about *dinner*?" "Oh, yeah," grinned Babs, "Sorry, Buster, but I couldn't help myself! Hmm. The Caesar salad isn't bad, and the pastas are good. But the roast beef looks like it was left over from the Nixon administration, and the steak will get up and run away from you." "Oh, come on," said Buster doubtfully. "I'm sure it can't be *that* bad." "Oh, no? I made the mistake of ordering it last night an' the bugger jumped right off my plate an' took off! Scratchy and I chased it the whole length of the train before we finally cornered it in the lounge car and caught it." "You're just making that up," said Buster, laughing. "Oh, yeah?" returned Babs. Nodding behind Buster she said, "Check out what's coming up behind you!" Buster turned around and saw a passenger running up the isle of the car, a knife in one hand, fork in the other. In front of him and gaining distance was a generous slice of blackish-brown meat running as fast as its little legs could carry it. Buster watched astounded as it ran past him, squealing a high-pitched, tinny scream. "Stop that steak!" hollered the hungry passenger. "Stop that steak! Don't let it get away..!" Babs sat back and smiled, a "Told you so!" look hung smugly on her face. "Okay, you win that point." A waiter dressed in black pants, white shirt, and black bow tie approached Buster and Babs' table. "Good evening! My name is Tom and I'll be your waiter. May I take your orders?" Buster and Babs looked at each other. "Um, we'll need a few more minutes," said Buster. "Okay, then. Can I get you something to drink while you're deciding?" "Uh, sure. I'll have a carrot soda, please." "Diet carrot soda for me," said Babs. "Thank you. Be right back." Both bunnies watched as their waiter hurried off, then turned their attention to each other. "So, what *are* we going to eat?" asked Babs as she looked at her menu. "I know I'm not getting steak," said Buster dryly. "You say the pastas are good? Hmmm. I think I'll have the Cheesey Parmesan Italiano." "Hm. That doesn't sound bad. But I'lll try... the Veggie Calzone." A short, rather uncomfortable pause followed. But Babs, being the quick thinker and conversationalist that she was, wasn't at a loss for words for long. "So! Where are you headed?" she asked. "Home. To Acme Acres." "Acme Acres?! No way!" said Babs with glee. "I'm from Acme Acres, too! My boss and I are both from Acme Acres! We're returning home from a lecture engagement in Chicago." "Wow, what a really cool coincidence!" said Buster. "It really is a small world! You say that you're returning home with your boss? Who's your boss?" "Dr. Otto Scratchansniff. Ever heard of him?" "Yeah! I've helped edit some of his work! I think his writings on the early days of the Warner Brothers animation studio is really fascinating stuff! Are you his secretary or something?" "Personal secretary, I guess," Babs said. "What do you do?" "I'm a Junior Assistant Editor for Emerald House Publishing." "That sounds kinda interesting. What kind of things do you junior assist edit?" "Oh, textbooks, how-to books, fiction, non-fiction...stuff like that," said Buster. "It started out as a summer internship, but they liked me so much they offered to hire me on permanently. It's a good job; I kinda lucked out in getting it. Now I'm kinda putting off school for a little bit until I get settled in." "Hm. To be honest, I don't even know how I got this job," said Babs. "I don't take shorthand, can't do dictation. I can't even read my own handwriting half the time." "How do you keep your job, then?" "Because I'm *cute*!!" Babs gushed, fluttering her eyelids. Buster grinned. "No, seriously. I guess I just have a great personality. Besides, at this point, I know where all his papers are; without me he'd never be able to find anything." Buster and Babs' waiter returned with their drinks, and set them on the table. "Have you decided what you'd like for dinner?" he asked. "Yeah, I think so," Buster said. "I'll have the Caesar Salad and Cheesy Parmesan Italiano." "And you, ma'am?" "I'll have a Garden Salad with French dressing, and the Veggie Calzone." "And what vegetables do you want in your calzone?" "I'll have...carrots, tomatoes, and green peppers." "Very good," the waiter smiled. "I'll be back in a little while with your salads." After a short pause Buster asked, "So, Dr. Scratchansniff is your boss, huh? Why are you guys taking a train? Is he afraid to fly?" "No," said Babs as she absent-mindedly fingered one of the yellow table carnations. "Scratchy's of the old school; you know, does things the traditional, old- fashioned way? It's fine with me. I like to travel, and I get paid to do this anyway. Not bad, eh?" "No! Geez, I wish *I* could travel and get paid for it like that!" Buster said. Babs chuckled. "I hadn't planned on staying this long - I go back to school next week - but Scratchy offered to pay me extra if I stayed on long enough to tag along for his little talk in Chicago. Who knows? I might even stay long enough to go to his auction date, too." "Auction date?" "Yeah. In Acme Acres this weekend. He's going sell some ultra rare and ultra valuable old Warner Brothers stationery at the Association of Animation Collectors Guild and hoity-toities' annual auction. Should be pretty boring but supposedly these papers will fetch *mucho* money. We're talkin' almost a mil, here! *That's* something I'd want to see!" "Have you ever seen them?" asked Buster. "No, actually," said Babs, "which is a mystery! I know where all his papers are, and I don't ever recall seeing any old Warner Brothers stationery. That's what he calls them - the Schlesinger Papers. I asked about them one time, but I never did get a straight answer out of him." Then, changing the subject somewhat, she asked, "So what are you on here for?" "I went to see an Internet friend of mine in Tintoonati," said Buster. "I had some personal days at work that I had to use up otherwise I wouldn't get paid for them. I figured, might as well take a mini vacation before having to return to work." "Why take a train? Afraid to fly?" Babs asked with a heavy dose of good-natured ribbing. Buster grimaced and rolled his eyes. His non-verbals said more than spoken words ever could. "You ARE scared to fly, aren't you?" Babs squealed with delight. "Oh, how cute!" "Hey, if planes could travel without leaving the ground I'd be very much in favor of air travel!" "If they wouldn't leave the ground then it wouldn't be called *air* travel!" Babs said and laughed. Buster himself had to chuckle at that. "But really," he said, "even if I wasn't afraid to fly, for this trip, I'd still want to take a train." "Why's that?" "I just want to be bored. I know it sounds crazy. But even if it's just for a little while, I'd just like to do...nothing - to just sit back and let life go by. It's something I'm so rarely able to do these days." Buster took a quick look around the car. "Where is Dr. Scratchansniff?" he asked. "I'd *love* to meet him." "You'll have to wait until tomorrow," Babs explained. "He's probably in bed by now with his honey and hot tea." "Already?" "Dr. Scratchansniff wakes and sleeps with the sun. I've never known him to sleep later than 6:00 in the three years I've worked for him - even on his *weekends*! Not only that, but he's also a health nut - no meat, no salt, no coffee, no caffeine of any kind. None of that stuff... Makes me kinda sick." "Poor guy. We really should pity him. With that kind of lifestyle he's going to live a long time," Buster quipped. Babs chuckled. "So... Where's your girlfriend?" "I don't have one, currently." "What? Why not? Did you break up her, she break up with you? Mutual thing?... She beat you up? Surely a bunny like yourself isn't at a loss for someone for long," Babs said with a light air. Suddenly Buster's face fell. A hurt look slowly crept into its features as he turned to look out the window. Outside, dusk's gloom had all but overtaken the western Indiana countryside. From up front, the locomotive's mournful air horns wailed out a rural crossing. It hurt him to remember. Buster turned to look back at Babs. "My friends all told me that I was too good for Ramona, but I wouldn't listen to them. Then, after a year and a half of dating her, I could see that my friends were right." _Oh no!_ thought Babs. _Now I did it! Just when things were going so well!_ She quickly corrected herself: "Oh, Buster, I'm so sorry! I-I didn't know!" Buster smiled. "It's okay. How could you have known? Anyway, that was a long time ago." Babs noticed, however, that while he shrugged that off with an easy wave and a smile, the pain clearly showed in his eyes. "Well, your ex made off better than mine, at least." "What happened to him?" "He spontaneously combusted." "He *what*??" "Spontaneously combusted. It's a very rare though fully natural condition where your body burns itself completely to ashes, but without any flame," Babs explained. "Yeah, I know what it is," said an incredulous Buster. "I helped edit a book on weird stuff like that. He just burned..." "All the way through his bed and onto the floor," Babs finished. Buster didn't fully believe her until she said, "I have a clipping out of the paper about it." "*Newspaper* clipping?!" This was getting more bizarre by the second! "Yeah! Right here," Babs said as she reached into her skirt pocket. Producing a small linen pocketbook, she snapped it open and proceeded to pick through its contents and place them on the table: A tube of lipstick. A credit card and Acme Looniversity student I.D. A piece of peppermint candy. Tissues. Coins and paper money carefully and tightly folded.. "I know it's in here somewhere," Babs said. Buster, meanwhile, was wondering just how much miscellany Babs' "purse" could contain. "Ah!" Babs said as she pulled out two newspaper clippings. She looked one over, then opened the other. "Here it is," Babs said as she handed the piece of newsprint across the table. "You can read for yourself." "You keep the story of your ex's death with you??" asked Buster in disbelief as he took the clipping. "Well, sure! I'm quoted in the story!" Buster did a double take at her before he looked at the paper. He read the text aloud: "Acme Looniversity Student Dies Mysteriously. Coroner Rules Death The First Of Its Kind In Acme Acres. An Acme Looniversity student died last night from what the Coroner's Office calls the first documented case of spontaneous mammal combustion in Acme Acres. 19-year-old Hector Hare, of- " "Read the highlighted part," Babs interrupted, as she stuffed the contents of her pocketbook back into it. "...Babs Bunny, former girlfriend of the deceased student, is taking things in stride. 'Hector always was a hothead,' said Ms. Bunny, also of Acme Acres. 'I guess his head got a little too hot for him this time.' "This is pretty sick, you realize that," said Buster with a wry smile. "Hey, I couldn't help myself," chuckled Babs. "I was in the paper, what can I say? He *was* a hothead. He was also a neat freak, which makes this whole thing so ironic." "Why's that?" "Because of the mess he made." Babs suddenly switched voices, and did a good Johnny Carson impersonation as she said, "We have some pretty wild, weird stuff!" Returning to her normal voice she continued: "There was this greasy black soot covering the upper walls and ceiling of his dorm room, and everything - especially in his bedroom - looked like it had been subjected to a great deal of heat. In fact, there was a plastic glass sitting on a nightstand next to his bed that had melted into a little plastic puddle!" "Did you...see Hector?" asked Buster hesitantly. "Uh, uh. There was a sheet covering his bed. But the bed itself, although it looked like it had started to char, wasn't really burned or anything." Buster had had enough. "Ugh! Let's change the subject," he said at last. "I'm sorry about Hector." "Oh, you needn't be sorry," said Babs casually. "We were in the process of breaking up, anyway. He was just too much of everything for my taste." "Well, my condolences, anyway," said Buster. "Wait a minute. When did this happen, and why didn't I hear of it?" "I don't know. It was on the news, too. It happened sometime last summer." "I dunno," said Buster. "I'm just trying to remember. It had to have happened when I was on vacation, and away from the news." "Darn, then I guess you didn't see me on TV, either," added Babs with a wide, devilish grin. The rabbits' waiter appeared at their table with their salads on his silver serving tray. Carefully he set before them their respective orders: "Cesaer salad for you. And the Garden Salad with French for you. Is there anything else I can get for you?" Both bunnies replied in the negative. "Okay, then. I'll be back with your dinners in a little while." After their waiter departed Babs raised her glass of soda. "To new friendships?" she offered hopefully. "To new friendships," Buster said and touched her glass with his. As they toasted, Babs smiled knowingly back to him. The Silver Smudge raced on across the darkened land, visible only by the locomotive's headlight, number boards, and lights from the car windows. In the dimly-lit baggage car located immediately behind the locomotives, a lone figure dressed in brown tried to find himself under the weak light of one of the car's two bare light bulbs. He looked around carefully, then pulled a cellular phone out of his sport coat pocket. Unbeknownst to him, he was being watched by two figures carefully concealed in the shadows of swaying baggage and stowed cargo. The man dialed a number, and after a moment, spoke softly into the receiver. "They're here, on this train," he said. At that moment, the two figures lunged forward. The surprise was complete. "So! You're finally making your move, are you?!" barked one as he stepped into the light. The second, much larger man moved into the light but stepped behind the one with the phone. The caller gasped when he saw the men who had confronted him. The one in front was a rather slight man, but no less threatening. He wore a tailored grey suit with a light green shirt on his body, a nasty, mean-spirited sneer on his oversized face. The one behind was a huge, muscular white pit bull, standing over six feet tall and wearing a navy blue blazer. The stare on his face was one of cold indifference, but in his smallish black eyes the man could find little, if any, compassion or warmth of emotion. The gig was up. The toon in grey stepped forward, boldly took the phone from the caller's hand, and listened into it. "Yeah? Well, why don't you GUESS where we are, Girard?!" he snarled, then laughed as he hung up. "What are you up to, Max?!" the man asked, his voice breaking with fear. "Me? Oh, let's just say Montana Max is adding to his collection." "You can't get away...Either of you," the cornered toon said hoarsely as he sized up the hulking fellow guarding his back. "We've been tailing you ever since Chicago. It'll be the end of the line for you two soon enough!" "Oh, YEAH?" Monty grinned. "Speaking of such, *yours* has just arrived!! Arnold?" The man looked behind him, and saw the pit bull effortlessly holding a huge steamer trunk over his head. With that same unfeeling gaze, Arnold dropped the trunk on the man's head, completely squashing him to the car floor! He lifted the heavy trunk off his victim, revealing a man telescoped flat as a piece of paper. He remained like that for several moments, then sprang up to his former self, looking far worse for wear. "Pardon me, boy - Ish thish the Chattanooga Choo Choo..?" he slurred in a painful daze. Monty walked over and slid the baggage car door open. Outside, harvest-ready corn blurred past before being suddenly punctuated by the passage over a short trestle. "Yeah!" he rasped in sadistic delight. "Track 29! And here's your *stop*!! AH HA HA HA HA!" "RrrRRRAUS!!" Arnold snarled as he pitched the man off of the train and into the night. Monty reached down and picked the cel phone off the floor. Drawing a handkerchief out of his pants pocket, he sighed as he carefully wiped the phone off. Arnold moved to close the car door but was stopped by Monty. "Wait a minute," he said, then promptly pitched the phone outside. "Okay, go ahead." As Arnold slid the door shut Monty wiped his brow with his handkerchief. "You know, that guy's been nothing but a *pain this entire trip*!!" Arnold chuckled. "Ja," he said pleasantly. "But I don't think ve have anythink to vorry about now. Ven are ve goink to meet vith Herr Phillips again?" "Tomorrow afternoon, in Oklahoma City. Until then we keep a low profile." "Jawohl..." Later in the evening, Buster and Babs continued to enjoy each other's company in the dining car. The dessert dishes had long been cleared from their table, and now they sat alone with their glasses, oblivious to the empty car around them. "...Another thing in common!" Buster said after swallowing the last of his drink. "Let's take a tally here. We both go to the same school. We have the same likes and dislikes. We live in the same city - the same part of town, even! Why are we only meeting now?" "Fate?" suggested Babs. "I guess! Gee, are there any ways we're different?" "The size of our families for one," Babs said. "But other than that there doesn't seem to be many." After a pause, she added, "I thought that that was really nice how you captured that lady's steak." "Why, shucks, ma'am," Buster returned in his best cowboy voice. "Twarn't nothin'. A cowboy what cain't wrangle a critter like thet ain't worth his salt in Chiner!" Babs laughed. "You're a funny guy," she sighed. "Thanks," grinned Buster. "But you're not so bad yourself with all those voices and impersonations you do!" Looking around, he suddenly realized that they were all alone. "But I don't think these kitchen guys think we're so funny. I think they want to close the car." Babs looked around and realized how deserted things were. "Wow, I didn't realize we had the place to ourselves," she said. "Geez, it's twelve-thirty!" Buster exclaimed as he looked at his watch. "Woah! No wonder our server kept coming back every ten minutes asking if we needed anything!" "Well, should we call it an evening?" Buster asked. "I think so, or else we get thrown off the train or something," said Babs. "May I walk you back to your compartment?" Babs picked the flower she had been fingering out of the vase, held it to her nose, and smiled coyly behind it. "You may," she cooed sweetly. As they got up to leave, Buster and Babs spied their waiter and the kitchen cook chatting idly in the car's vestibule. The bunnies waved as they turned to leave. With a look of great relief, the kitchen staff waved back with a hearty "Thank you! Good night!" "You think it'd be cruel if we suddenly changed our minds and sat down again?" Buster joked quietly to Babs. A short time later, Buster and Babs stood in the narrow hallway outside Babs' door. "Well, here's your room," said Buster. "Yeah." "Thanks for joining me for dinner. It was fun." Babs smiled. "Yes, it was." "Could I join you for breakfast tomorrow?" Babs' heart jumped. "Sure! I'd like that very much!" "Okay, then. It's a date," said Buster. Inside, his own heart leaped for joy. Things looked good. But all of a sudden, however, words seemed to evaporate for the both of them. A period of silence elapsed, wherein neither rabbit seemed to know what to say. "Kinda late," said Buster softly, lacking anything better. "Uh, I'm sorry?" Buster cleared his throat. "Kinda..late," he repeated, somewhat unsurely. "But it looks like a beautiful night out." "Oh! Yeah," said Babs. She giggled uneasily, and unconsciously played even more with her flower. "It really does. The moon looks so big and full and romantic." "Yeah." A second, longer (and more painfully noticeable) lapse of time ensued. Both rabbits smiled awkwardly at each other as it became clear that pre-farewell small talk would become an impossibility. Both bunnies guessed and second-guessed each other for the right move to make. It was time for good-nights. But how to say good-night when you're more than reasonably sure that that person could become someone special? Both Buster and Babs fumbled for the right words and actions. "Well, I guess this is good-night," Babs said at last. "I guess so," said Buster. After an eternity of pondering her next move, Babs suddenly offered her hand. "See you tomorrow?" Instantly, an idea formed in Buster's brain. Taking her hand, Buster brought it up to his lips, and kissed it softly. "Good-night, Babs," he said, looking deep into her pale blue eyes. By early afternoon of the next day, the Silver Smudge paused in Oklahoma City for passengers and a change of engine crew. Buster and Babs were too late to join Dr. Scratchansniff for breakfast, but they were able to join him for lunch, much to Buster's delight. As he found out, Babs' employer was far more fascinating in real life than in his writings, and it wasn't long before he felt very honored for the privilege of meeting such a distinguished gentleman. As for Buster and Babs themselves, the friendship that had started last night only grew by leaps and bounds throughout the day. Soon they became inseparable. And joining them when he was able, was their porter, Plucky. The bunnies delighted in giving him mindless errands to run. But beneath all the grumbling, however, he really didn't mind the work, as long as there was friendly conversation by job's end. Indeed, as an objective passenger might have opinioned, Buster, Babs and Plucky really did appear to be best of friends. In the Vista Dome lounge car, Buster and Babs shared a couch as they enjoyed one of Buster's picture books. Sunlight streamed in through the overhead skylight, making the car's interior look very airy and warm. Buster looked up from his book and observed the crowds of people milling about on the station platform. Suddenly, one person caught his attention. He stared harder. "Babs! Look at this guy!" he exclaimed. "Huh?" Buster knelt in his seat and pressed his finger against the window. "Quick! Look at this guy here!" Babs turned around and also knelt in her seat. Outside, casually walking by on the platform, was a man dressed in a tan herringbone sport coat, white shirt, beige-colored pants, and shiny black shoes. In one hand he carried a large black Roland keyboard hardcase, and in the other a grey suitcase. "Does this guy look familiar?" asked Buster. "Shave his head, give him a pair of cokebottle glasses, and take away the cigarette, he'd be a dead ringer for your boss!" "Wow, that's pretty weird," remarked Babs. "He *does* look like Scratchy!" Buster and Babs continued to watch the man until he disappeared from view. Turning back around in their seats, Babs said, "I wish my girlfriend Harriet could've seen that." Babs looked over and spotted a telephone on the wall at the end of the car. Suddenly she got an idea. "Where are you going?" Buster asked as Babs stood up and started walking away. "I wanna make a call..." Unfortunately for Plucky, he chose just that moment to walk through. "HEY! Plucky!! You're our porter. Come over here and port!" Babs called out. "You know," said Plucky, annoyed, as he walked over to her, "Amtrak doesn't pay me enough to deal with passengers like you. *Now* whaddaya want?" "How do I use this phone?" "It's very easy. Even you can figure it out. Dial 1-800 CALL ATT and listen to give your number." "What?!" Babs protested playfully. "But that's a collect call!" "Certainly it's a collect call!" Plucky said. "Y' don't expect the *railroad* to pick up *your* phone bill, do you?" "Awwww," Babs uttered. She promptly dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Seeing Buster, Plucky plopped down next to him on the couch. "I don't know what you see in her," Plucky told Buster. Buster giggled. "She has such soft fur... Bluest blue eyes... The greatest personality.." he sighed winsomely. "Methinks you like her..!" A silly grin started to cross Buster's face. "Ah, HA! For a guy not looking for shipboard romances you certainly seemed to have found one." The grin on Buster's face grew even larger, and a blush was added to it. "Ooh! Speaking of romances," Plucky brightened as he looked at the car's wet bar, "I see *mine* right over there!" With that, Plucky sprang up and started for the bar. Buster turned and let his eyes follow his friend as he sauntered over to the counter. It was then that Buster could see the object of Plucky's affections: a pretty white loon dressed in a salmon-colored top delicately sipping from her glass of herbal tea. In her shock of blonde hair there appeared a matching pink bow. She looked content there, sitting all alone, and hardly noticed Plucky as he not-so-subtly sat down next to her. Buster watched as Plucky talked to the girl. He couldn't hear what Plucky was saying, but evidently it had little effect; the girl's head nodded up and down as if she were listening to him, but only half-heartedly so. Then Plucky leaned in closer to her and said a few more words. Suddenly, the girl's head jerked around, a piercing angry glare locked on her face. Plucky smiled a toothy, defensive smile, then watched with trepidation as the opaque aura of the girl removed itself from her body. It grabbed Plucky by the wrist and flung his full length to the floor. Then it hurled him over its head and slammed him face-first to the floor. Then back. Then forward. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Satisfied that Plucky was sufficiently disciplined, the loon's aura gently placed Plucky back on his stool, dusted its hands, and melded back into her body. As the girl returned to her drink, Plucky just sat there, dazed and battered. Coming to his senses at last, Plucky slowly and very painfully rotated himself on his stool, stood up, and walked unsteadily towards Buster. "Don't shweeat it, pal-ll. She's-sh crazshy about me," Plucky slurred as he staggered past him down the aisle. By now Babs had made her connection, and Buster couldn't help but eavesdrop on her call: "Harriet! Hieeeee! Guess where I'M calling from?... No... The train!... Yeah!... I dunno. Hey, hold on a second.." Plucky staggered past Babs on his way out. "Hey! Plucky! Where are we right now?" she called out. "In pain.." managed Plucky as he tottered out to the car's vestibule. "I dunno," Babs continued as she turned around. "Somewhere in Oklahoma. Oklahoma City, I think. Hey, guess what I just saw?... Naw, something better than that - some guy who looks just like Scratchy!!... On the station platform! Yeah, it was weird! The only difference was that this guy had hair and no glasses... I don't know, but if he is, this could get scary in a hurry!... Yeah. No, he's fine. I'm thinking of staying on till the auction. Hey, guess what? I met this guy... No, he didn't burn up yet - don't be gross!... His name is Buster and he's really cute..." Buster wasn't paying that much attention to Babs until she mentioned his name. Now it became interesting! "Yes. Well, he has light blue and white fur. He's kinda shy but he's *really* nice. He's from Acme Acres, too, and we have about everything in common!... (Heh heh heh heh!) Yes... Mmm! Yeah!... (Heh heh!) *Uh* HUH!..." Buster noticed two things which made him think: the tone that Babs' voice had taken, and the hungry look she had in her eyes as she looked him up and down. It was all very curious to him. He wasn't sure *what* she and her friend were talking about, but he determined that he wasn't going to make too much out of it. Anyway, whatever her feelings for him, they would play out soon enough... Far off to the northeast, activity flurried about a dry Indiana creek bed and the black steel railroad trestle that ran over it. The tranquility of the pastoral setting was broken by the swarms of agents and officers from the Federal Marshal's office and the county sheriff's office which were scouring the area. Some were on and around the trestle, while scores of others combed the surrounding cornfields. But standing center stage in the action was the man leading the investigation - a man dressed in a black cashmere overcoat with red scarf, blue jeans, white-striped maroon tie and a tweed sport coat. His black hair was close-cropped and neatly arranged, his face rugged. In his brown eyes was a look of strong determination. The man in the overcoat stood in the creek bed with another man dressed in black from the coroner's office. At their feet lay a stretcher, and on that lay the body of the hapless toon thrown off the Silver Smudge the night before, in an unzipped black body bag. "...Okay, we'll take it from here," said the man from the coroner's office. "Your name again, please?" "United States Federal Marshal Samuel Girard." "Thank you, sir." Then, turning to two of his assistants standing nearby, the one in black said, "Okay, guys. Let's take him away." "But I'm not dead yet," admonished the man in the body bag. Girard and the three men from the coroner's office looked down. "Yes, you are," Girard reminded, somewhat surprised. "I'll be alright. Really!" "Sir, you were thrown out of a fast-moving train, fell 25 feet, and landed in this creek bed. You're dead!" Girard said. "It was just a little fall. Happens to people all the time." A *little* fall? Two stories?! Upon impact with the ground, the back of your skull was caved in by a rock! Now what do you call that?" "It's just a flesh wound. A mere woogie on my noggin!" Girard was near the end of his rope. "A *woogie*?! Joseph, what have I told you about using real words around me? 'Woogie' is not a real word. Use real words!! Now *look*, you were thrown off a train doing 70 miles an hour, fell two stories into a creek, and got your brains dashed out when you landed! Oh, no - you are dead! Get it? *Dead*!" "But-" "Okay, boys," Girard sighed. As one of the coroner's men closed the bag's zipper in over Joseph's head, his words to become mumbled: "But I'm not dead yet! Mmmp mmtm mmm..." As the coroner's office left with its newest arrival, Girard suddenly felt a little sad. _Damn, what a waste! He had a wife and kids..._ he thought to himself. But he wouldn't be alone with his thoughts for long. Another man came running up to Girard. "Sam! Sam! I think I got something!" he called out. "What is it, Cosmo?" Girard's subordinate was dressed in a rumpled grey suit and a black tie loosened generously at the top. His hair was brown and cut short like Girard's, and a scrub brush of a goatee grew on his face. But unlike his boss Girard, who's face held the tough, grizzled look of a top-notch investigator, Cosmo's face was smoother, younger, and more bookish. "I just talked to some railroad workers," he said, breathless from the run over. "I think I know what train Montana Max and Arnold Pit Bull are on." "Go on." "Those tracks up there are owned by the Norfolk Southern and CSX, with trackage rights shared by the Illinois Central. But Amtrak and the SF/BN also use those tracks for their passenger traffic. Now, between those two, five trains have runs west. And of those five, only two take a southern route to California: Amtrack's 'Silver Smudge' and the SF/BN's 'Forty-Niner.' I called both railroads for a passenger list, and our boy appears on both lists, which tells me he must have been following Max and Pit Bull, and they intended to change trains at the very last minute. Which they could have done considering how close the two timetables are. *And*, look at this." Cosmo unfolded two faxed lists of names and gave them to Girard. "There're another two names that appear on both lists, too - Fred Fowlby and Neal Klummer, who paid for a ticket - in Tintoonati - anonymously, with cash, the same day of departure, on the Forty-Niner. Assuming both trains were running at or about on schedule, the times they were through here would have been consistent with the preliminary time of death." "So you're saying Max and Pit Bull are on one of these two trains," Girard said. "Precisely!" said Cosmo, beaming. "Where are the trains now?" asked Girard, his dour demeanor brightening somewhat. Cosmo looked at his faxed timetables. "Uhh... According to these, and assuming both trains are running on time, almost to the Texas Panhandle." "And you said both roads use these tracks? How long do they follow each other?" "Uhh... Off and on until Wyatt, Arizona. Both trains do whistle stops there. Then the tracks split and the trains go their own separate ways; the Silver Smudge to Acme Acres, and the Forty-Niner to San Francisco. Should I call local law and have the trains stopped?" Girard turned and walked a few paces, scratching his chin as he thought. "No," he said, turning back. "Let 'em go. I want them myself, and one thing I don't need is some backwoods Wyatt Earp botching my investigation. No, no, no. Let 'em enjoy the ride, let them settle in, thinking they're home free. In the meantime, we're heading out to Arizona. We'll call county for help when we get there. Good boy, Cosmo! You get a gold star!" The county sheriff assisting Girard in Indiana walked up to him and Cosmo as they were talking. "Yes, Sheriff?" Girard asked. "Other than that cell phone we've found nothing yet." "Well, thank you, Sheriff, but we'll be taking it from here. Thanks for your help," said Girard. Then, turning his attention to the agents and officers in the immediate area, he yelled out in a booming voice, "ALRIGHT, PEOPLE, LISTEN UP! OUR SUSPECTS, MONTANA MAX AND ARNOLD PIT BULL, ARE ON TWO POSSIBLE TRAINS HEADING WEST! THE FEDERAL MARSHAL'S OFFICE IS HEADING TO ARIZONA NOW TO RENDEZVOUS WITH THOSE TWO TRAINS AND TAKE MAX AND PIT BULL INTO CUSTODY! I AM RETURNING JURISDICTION OF THE AREA BACK TO SHERIFF HUMSTON! I WANT TO THANK YOU OF THE SHERIFF'S OFFICE FOR YOUR HELP, AND YOU OF THE MARSHAL'S OFFICE: I WANT MY CHOPPER! I NEED MAPS - OF ARIZONA, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO ALL ROADS, RAILROADS, HOUSES, OUTHOUSES, HEN HOUSES, DOGHOUSES AND DOLLHOUSES IN AND AROUND THE WYATT AREA! AND SOMEBODY GET ME A VELVET ELVIS PAINTING - *NOW*! ANY QUESTIONS?" No one seemed to have any. "ALRIGHT, LET'S MOVE!" Girard ordered. As the scene burst with new activity, Girard turned to his friend and subordinate and said, "Cosmo - you and Joyce come with me! I think it's about time we put an end to this running around. Geez, I haven't had to do this much running around since that time in Fort Lauderdale..!" By late evening, the Silver Smudge was streaking across the wide-open New Mexico landscape. From the gently rolling hills of grain and soft colored greens of the Oklahoma Breadbasket, the ground gradually flattened out, and turned choppy and sparsely vegetated. As the passing towns became smaller and fewer in number, passengers on board the train turned inward for company, and the journey took on a more intimate character, especially for those who had boarded since the beginning. The day had passed uneventfully - but very happily - for Buster and Babs. Both looked forward to tomorrow evening, when they would finally arrive home at last. But most important of all, both looked forward to the prospect of enjoying each other's company around town. Plucky often joined the bunnies when he could, but it wasn't lost on him the fact that their errands for him increased, while those of the other passengers he served decreased, as they settled into their last-leg routines. Buster and Babs joined Dr. Scratchansniff for lunch, but preferred to have dinner alone. After dinner and for the rest of the evening, they passed the time in the observation car. Buster found a less-lighted area at the very end of the car, and moved a couch such that they faced the very end of the train. This in turn allowed them the chance to enjoy the moonlit scenery in a kind of private, panoramic view. At last, when the lateness of the hour caused fatigue to overtake them, Buster and Babs reluctantly decided to call it a night. Now, as they came laughing up the aisle to their compartment doors, somehow it seemed wrong to have to part. "Hee hee hee! Shhhh - heh! We're gonna wake everyone up!" said Buster. "Hee hee! That was funny - 'A naughty frog'! Heh! Oh, I haven't laughed that hard in a while! Hee hee!" laughed Babs. After a few uncontrolled fits of giggling, the rabbits found themselves outside Buster's door. Buster leaned back against his door, while Babs rested herself opposite him, on the railing along the wall. They listened to the rhythmic ticking of the train wheels hitting the rail joints for a few moments, then looked at each other and smiled. Buster sighed. "Well, I guess this is where we say good-night," he said. "Yeah," Babs replied, yawning. "Unfortunately. I had a fun day, though. Thank you!" "Thank *you*, Babs! I had fun, too." "Care to come in and play a game of gin?" asked Babs with all the feeble hope she could muster. Buster yawned. "MMmn! Oh, Babsie, Babsie.. No, no, thank you. A raincheck, *please*! I'm so tired if I go in your room I'll be spending the night." Babs yawned again and shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs that were beginning to accumulate inside. "Mm... Alright, that's okay, Buster. I'm a bit weary, too," she said. "We'll just pick it up here in the morning. Join me for breakfast tomorrow?" "Sure! As if you'd need to ask," Buster chided playfully. Babs stood up and opened her arms for a hug. "Good-night?" she asked softly. Buster's pulse suddenly started to increase. As he closed his arms around Babs he was sure that she could hear his heart pound. "Good-night," he whispered. He started to loosen his arms but suddenly found that Babs didn't seem to want to let go. Taking this as a cue, he held her tight. After what seemed like a blissful eternity, both rabbits pulled back slightly and looked deep into each other's eyes. Words at this point seemed unnecessary; in fact they would only have done harm. Then, something happened inside Babs' brain. A voice made itself heard, and kept repeating itself over and over again until she couldn't ignore it any more: "Kiss him! *Kiss him*! KISS HIM!" Babs hesitated, but ultimately found it useless to resist. Giving in, Babs closed her eyes, leaned forward, and kissed Buster softly and tenderly on the lips. Buster's eyes widened in surprise as Babs moved in to kiss him. Recovering quickly, he likewise closed his eyes and kissed her back. As their lips became locked Buster heard a muffled thump against the window outside, and for a split second he opened his eyes to see what it was. What "it" was, was the body of Dr. Otto Scratchansniff, hanging upside down... and very dead. Buster only saw him for a few, very brief moments, but the image was burned indelibly into his mind. The bullet hole in his forehead over the right eye told the tale, and the blood from it covered his face and his rumpled shirt collar. The most horrifying thing for Buster were the dead eyes, which were open wide and fixed in terror. His mouth was open slightly, and in some macabre manner seemed to be pleading for help. Buster's eyeballs started from their sockets, and the blue in his face completely drained to white. "Mmmm*MMMMM*!!" Buster uttered as he pulled out of their kiss. "Mmm, I liked it, too," purred Babs. "Care for seconds?" "No!! Babs! I just saw Dr. Scratchansniff - outside! *Dead*!!" cried Buster in fright. "Oh, Babsie! I saw him! He's been murdered!" Babs herself didn't know what to make of this. "What? Why, Buster, you're shaking!" "Out there!" Buster cried as he pointed out the window. "I saw Dr. Scratchansniff drop by the window! Babs, he's been murdered!" "Murdered??" Babs said as she searched around outside the window. "I don't see anything. It must have been a hallucination!" "N-No," stammered Buster, "It was *real*! It *had* to have been! Oh, Babs, Dr. Scrachansniff's been murdered! We have to get the conductor!" _Murdered?_ thought Babs to herself. _Get the conductor?_ Now he was just talking nonsense! She wondered hard what Buster could have seen that would have so scared the wits out of him. But when she looked into Buster's face, and saw the wild-eyed look of blood-chilling horror that was twisted into it, she figured he had to have seen *something* real. She tried to be rational. "But, Buster, why would anyone want to kill Dr. Scratchansniff?" asked Babs gently. "I don't know. Oh, Babsie, I don't know," moaned Buster in a shaking voice. "But that *had* to have been him! I know what I saw!" Quickly Babs got an idea. "Look," she said soothingly, "Let's go down to the next car where Scratchy's room is, and we'll look in to see if he's there. You'll see, toots. He'll still be there." Babs' words calmed Buster a little, but not much. With a great deal of effort, he followed Babs back to the neighboring car. Babs knocked lightly on the door and called softly, "Dr. Scratchansniff? Are you in there?" No reply came from inside the room, and Buster started to look very anxious. Babs tried the door, and much to her surprise, the doorknob turned. "Dr. Scratchansniff?" she called again, poking her head into the room. "Are you alright, Dr. Scratchansniff?" Babs very quietly tiptoed into Scratchansniff's room, leaving Buster in the hall. After what seemed like hours, Babs finally came back out and closed the door behind her. "He's in bed asleep," she reported. "I saw him in there with my own eyes." Buster felt himself breathing again, and a deep sigh of relief came out of him. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Of course. I saw him with my own eyes. Sleeping like a little baby," said Babs. "See? You just had a very wicked hallucination. It's nothing!" As the color gradually returned to Buster's face, he smiled weakly. "Must have been those mushrooms they had in the dinner," he quipped dryly. Once in Babs' compartment, good-byes for Buster were even harder than they were before. They hugged a short good-night hug, and Babs gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good-night, Buster," said Babs. "Good-night." As Buster turned to leave, Babs reminded, "Don't forget we're on for breakfast tomorrow!" "I won't," Buster said with a forced smile. He moved to leave, and opened the connecting door. But as it swung open, he suddenly felt afraid to walk into the uninviting black rectangle. Fear overtook his legs, and he found it impossible to move them. Buster turned around, a helpless look on his face. Babs, however, did take notice. "What?" she asked with patient understanding. "You're afraid to go back into the dark now, aren't you?" Easily she walked past him and into his room. Finding the light switch, she turned the lights on and smiled back at Buster. "C'mon, Buster, you can come in now." As Buster walked into his room he felt more than a little ashamed. "I feel ridiculous," he muttered sheepishly. "I feel like a little kid! I'm sorry." Babs smiled good-naturedly. "That's okay," she said. "I know how it goes. I saw the movie 'Scream,' and I couldn't sleep with the lights out for almost a week!" As she looked around the room, an idea presented itself to her. "Look," she started off, slowly and hesitatingly, but slowly gathering confidence, "this wall slides back, doesn't it?" "Yeah. I think so," said Buster. "Why don't we slide the wall back and make this a suite. Then you won't feel so alone." "Okay," Buster said in a small voice. "I guess I'll get ready in here and you get ready in your room." "Right." Ten minutes later, Buster and Babs were together again - this time, dressed for bed; Babs had on a peach-colored cotton nightgown, Buster in a pair of plaid-colored flannel pajamas. "I guess we should call Plucky now," said Buster. Babs chuckled a little to herself. "Hmmm. Now *that's* a tough one! As much as I would absolutely *love* to wake him from his sleep to move this wall, I think we should first try doing it ourselves," she said. "Agreed... But where do we start?" "Hmmm," said Babs as she looked around the wall. "There has to be a latch or a switch around here, somewhere." Both rabbits scoured the wall with their eyes and their hands for the mechanism that would allow the wall to be rolled back. After a minute or two of searching, Babs found something near the front door. "Aha!" she called. "I think I found it!" She clicked a silver latch, and Buster joined her in trying push and pull the wall. It parted, and in a few moments they had it telescoped into the walls. "Wow, this room looks so much bigger without that divider!" said Babs. "Well, there you are, toots." "Thanks, Babs." "Feel better?" "A little. Yeah." "Well, since this is one big room now, is it all right if I turn the lights off? I'll be sleeping right over there." "Okay, Babs. Good-night," said Buster. "'Night." Babs returned to her side of the room, and with a little wave, turned the lights off and got into bed. With great reluctance, Buster snapped the lights off on his side of the room and followed suit. Both bunnies listened to the drone of the train's wheels for a while, before Babs felt drowsiness overtake her, and she began to snooze. Buster, however, wasn't as fortunate. The image of a murdered Dr. Scratchansniff continued to repeat itself over and over again in his mind, and he found it very difficult to close his eyes. Eventually Buster did start to nod off, but he wasn't asleep for long; real or imagined he thought he heard a thump, which sounded far too much like first one he heard which started this whole ordeal. He let out a cry of fear as he bolted awake, sitting straight up in bed. Realizing it was nothing, he placed his head in his hands, and struggled to retain his senses. "Buster? Are you okay?" asked Babs softly, a touch of concern in her sweet voice. Buster turned and saw Babs across the room, also sitting up in bed. "Yeah... I'm okay," he lied. After Babs' eyes had adjusted to the dark, she could see clearly that, although Buster said he was alright, the look on his face was quite the contrary. She had seen that look many times before, in the faces of her young siblings, when they came to her for comfort from the thunder, or the shadowy monsters which lurked in their closets. As she felt a wave of compassion wash over her, she decided then and there to trust him. "Look," she said in a voice which immediately started to melt his fear. "Why don't you come over here and sleep with me tonight. I think it's safe to say you won't get any sleep being over there by yourself." "You..." Buster attempted. "Trust me?" Babs finished, smiling. "Yes, I do." Buster smiled as he pushed his covers aside. For the first time since before his apparition, he felt great comfort and relief. He walked over to Babs' bed, and as he started to move the covers, he said, "I promise to behave myself." "I'm not worried," Babs breathed. As Buster cuddled up next to her, Babs noticed how closely he snuggled up to her, and she found she liked the sensation. "Thank you," whispered Buster once he settled in. "Good-night." "You're welcome," Babs whispered back. "Sleep tight." Babs continued to lay on her side with her head propped on her hand, and watched as Buster closed his eyes to sleep. A look of deep contentment settled on his face, and she felt warm and content herself, to lie here with him like that. Somewhere she wondered if he would dream of her... As for Buster, a feeling of peace and security welled within him, the likes of which had hadn't experienced in a very long time. He felt very happy to be with Babs like that; as long as he stayed close to her - as long as he stayed snuggled up close to her - he knew that nothing further bad could happen to him, and it wasn't long before the comfort of sleeping next to her brought real sleep to him, at last. The cold light of day forced it's way intrusively past the window blinds and into the room where Buster and Babs lay. The gentle rocking of the car, which originally helped lull Buster asleep, now woke him up. The sweaty rabbit opened his eyes and found himself alone in the rumpled bed; Babs was on the other side of the room, asleep in his bed. Buster looked around the room for a minute as he gathered his thoughts. As he looked at the window, he thought about last night, and the horror he experienced. Quickly he sat up and got out of bed. Going to the window, he widened the slats in the blinds and peered out, watching the scenery pass by. The faint image of the dead Dr. Scratchansniff replayed itself in Buster's mind, and he felt a chill run up his spine. In spite of Babs' checking on her employer, he reasoned that what he saw last night *had* to have been real. On the other side of the room, Babs turned over in Buster's bed. Noticing her, he walked over to the bed and knelt down beside it. He couldn't help but gaze at her for a few moments as she lay there sleeping. Even at this time of the day, she still looked so pretty and sweet. He hated to wake her, but he had to be sure. "Babs? Hey, Babsie?" he said gently. Babs stirred, then opened her eyes. "Mmm. Hey, Buster," she smiled sleepily. "What time is it?" Buster checked his clock. "A little after nine," he said. "Oh, no, no, no," moaned Babs, "That's too early. Wake me up in a few hours.." "Babs, listen," Buster said. "Are you *sure* that was Dr. Scratchansniff you saw in bed last night?" Babs groaned. "Of course," she muttered and yawned. "Go look for yourself; he's in the next car, Compartment B. Now let me sleep, darling.." "I think I will," declared Buster as he rose to his feet. He moved to change his clothes, but turned back with a thought. "What are you doing over here in my bed?" he asked in curiosity. This time, Babs didn't even open her eyes. "Oh, Buster. You tossed and turned so much last night I couldn't get any sleep, so I came over here," she murmured. With that, Buster quickly dressed and went to the next car. He knocked lightly on the door lettered "B" and waited. When it opened, the person who answered amazed Buster considerably - there stood before him the very alive figure of Dr. Otto Scratchansniff! "Hello?" "Dr. Scratchansniff! You're alive!!" Buster blurted out in amazement. "Hoo! I zertainly hope zo!" replied Scratchansniff. "Did someone think somethink bad happened to me?" "Yeah, *I* did! I thought I saw you murdered last night!" Buster said. "*Murdered*? Goodness me, no! But whom do I have the pleazure of addressink?" "Dr. Scratchansniff, don't you remember? It's me, Buster! Babs' friend?" "Uhh. Oh! Oh! Jaaa! Of courze - Buster! Gut mornink, Buster. Nize to see you again!" Scratchansniff said. Buster chuckled and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "Oh, what a *relief*!" he sighed. "I had the most horrible hallucination last night! I thought I saw you shot in the head and thrown off the train! Whew! Oh, Dr. Scratchansniff, I feel like such a an idiot right now." "No, it's quite alright, Buster," Scratchansniff smiled. "It vas a full moon out last night. Thinks alvaze look different in full moonlight. Sorry for not recognizink you but I had just gotten out of bed. Thinks are kind of fuzzy right now, ja?" "Yeah, absolutely," Buster said as a reddish tinge started to color his face. Scratchansniff grinned knowingly. "Come in, Buster. Care to join me for a cup of coffee?" "No... thank you," Buster said. "Thanks anyway. But I must be getting back." "Okay, zen. See you later, zen, ja?" "Yeah. Okay, sure," stumbled Buster. In an effort to make himself seem at least partially sane he asked, "Uh, may Babsie and I invite you to join us for lunch later, say noonish?" "Zertainly, Buster! Zat vould be wunderbar." "Alright. See you then," Buster said. As he turned to leave, he thought how, if he felt ridiculous last night, he felt like a total fool today. As lunchtime approached, Buster and Babs were in their room getting ready to head out. Buster noticed a copy of Dr. Scratchansniff's book lying on a small stand next to Babs' bed. Picking it up he asked her, "Do you think it'd be alright if I got Dr. Scratchansniff to sign a copy of his book?" "Sure," said Babs. "You can have that copy in your hands. It's Scratchy's copy, but he has five others in his room. I'm sure he wouldn't mind." "Cool! Thanks!" said Buster as he started to thumb through the pages. As Buster looked through his new book, Babs looked at Buster's clock. "Ooh! Come on, Buster, we're gonna be late!" she warned. Buster flipped through a few more pages, and a yellow manila envelope fell out of the book and onto the floor. As he stooped down to pick it up Babs urged, "Come on, Blue Boy! You get Scratchy an' I'll save us a table." "Okay, Babsie." Buster picked the envelope up on the fly and absent-mindedly put it in his back furpants pocket as he hurried towards Babs, who was already opening the door. Moments later, Buster arrived at Dr. Scratchansniff's door. He was about to knock, when he heard noises coming from inside the room. By the sounds of them, it definitely seemed like someone was turning the room inside out! And Buster heard voices. They were soft and muffled, but he could distinctly make out at least two: a harsh, raspy one and a deep, German-accented one. The latter one sounded closer and laughed, "Fur drinnen und draussen, blode!" Buster was hesitant, but knocked nevertheless. Instantly, the room fell silent, and it was several moments before anyone answered the door. When it did open, a muscular mountain of a pit bull answered. "Jaaaa? Vat do you vant?" he asked warily, eyeing Buster carefully up and down. This wasn't what Buster expected. Or wanted. A spike of adrenaline ran through him, and he swallowed hard. "Is Dr. Scratchansniff in?" he asked, trying to sound pleasant and unassuming. "Are you a friend of his?" "Well, sorta. I'm a friend of his personal secretary. He's joining us for lunch." "Der Doktor von't be joinink you for lunch," Arnold replied coldly. "Now beat it!" "Who are you, and where is Dr. Scratchansniff?" asked Buster, not backing down. As he spoke he tried to look into the room, but whenever he shifted his gaze, Arnold put his body in the way. Buster was, however, able to see that the room was in shambles, and a glimpse of Monty standing off in a corner. "Look here, vimpy bunny boy," Arnold said menacingly. "Shmell my breath und see me next Tuesday, if you know vat's gut for you, you'll leave right now!" For Buster, enough was enough. "I'm getting the conductor!" he announced. The response from Monty was immediate: "Throw 'im off the train, Arnold!" Buster's eyes widened as Arnold emerged from the room and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and the seat of his furpants. "Hey! Leggo o' me, you big gorilla!" Buster cried as he was manhandled down the aisle. "Heeelllp! Somebody! Conductorrr! Help, conductorrr!!" Arnold shoved Buster to the end of the car and out onto the vestibule. Keeping one hand firmly on Buster, he used the other one to open the outside car door. Seeing this, Buster paled and started to sweat bullets. "Ohhh no," he said with a constricted throat. "You *can't* be serious! I- *Yeaahh*!!" Arnold grabbed Buster and readied him for the throw, a sadistic smile on his face. "WAAAAAIT!! WAAAAAIT!!" Buster screeched. For no other reason than curiosity, Arnold paused to find out what Buster wanted. "Does Sylvester Stallone know that you have bigger muscles than he does?" asked Buster. "Raus, girlie man!" Arnold said and effortlessly pitched Buster outside the car. Buster screamed as he sailed through the air. Landing bruised but otherwise uninjured in some tall grass growing next to the tracks, he recovered quickly, and jumped up and made a mad dash for the train. For a few fleeting moments, he ran alongside the train, desperately hoping to find something to grab onto. Unfortunately, the Silver Smudge was moving far too fast for him to jump back on, and in a matter of seconds it was leaving him far behind. Buster stopped running and watched breathless and helpless as the Silver Smudge shrank into the horizon. As he watched it disappear out of sight, feelings of anger and frustration boiled up within him, until at last he let out a primal scream which could have been audible from the distant hills. But in the middle of the lonely dessert, there was no one around within miles to hear him. All Buster could do was start walking. On board the Silver Smudge, Babs waited endlessly for Buster and Dr. Scratchansniff to join her for lunch. She couldn't imagine where they could be, but overall she wasn't unnecessarily concerned. She waited as long as she could, then finally had lunch before it was too late to order. Babs ate slowly, still expecting to see them, but Buster and Dr. Scratchansniff never appeared. Not normally one to worry, Babs now started to grow concerned. Enlisting the help of Plucky, the two traveled the length of the train many times to search for Buster and the good doctor. Babs did, however, eventually find Dr. Scratchansniff (who explained his absence by being ill). But Buster was nowhere to be seen. Deciding to try her compartment one more time, Babs walked up and tried her door. Finding it unlocked, she turned the knob and pushed the door in. The surprise to the three toons already inside the room couldn't have been more complete; there before her and reducing her room to utter shambles were Monty, Arnold, and - perhaps most shocking of all - Dr. Scratchansniff! Babs got over her astonishment quickly. "Hey!" she demanded angrily. "What are you guys doing to my room?!" Quickly, wordlessly, Arnold moved in behind Babs, closed the door, and stood firmly in front of it. Turning around and seeing the mountain of flesh barring her way out, as well of the hardened looks on the faces on Monty and Dr. Scratchansniff, Babs' anger quickly dissolved into fear. "Alright, rabbit!" Monty growled. "WHERE ARE THOSE SCHLESINGER PAPERS..!?!" The western Arizona sun bore down heavily on Buster as he walked along the tracks. Even at this late time of the year, it was hot, and it wasn't long before he found himself feeling thirsty. He had been walking for hours, he thought. God only knew how many miles. Once he was almost run over by a Southern Pacific grain train. Still, he pressed on. On and on and on he trudged, with the railroad tracks, passing trains and occasional length of fence the only signs of man-made habitation in sight. Buster was growing increasingly tired, hungry, thirsty - and perhaps most of all, despondent - with each step. He rolled the scene at Dr. Scratchansniff's door over and over again in his mind as he walked, and finally came to the conclusion that whoever those people were in Scratchansniff's room, they were dangerous, and he had to get help right away. Buster also knew that Babs, as Dr. Scratchansniff's personal secretary, was probably in harm's way, too. At one point, Buster left the tracks to climb a small rocky rise that he hoped would allow him a good view of the valley below. Once on top, he looked down and was beside himself with joy; several outbuildings of various sizes and a small house defined a ranch - help at last! Whooping for joy, Buster ran down the jagged slope and up to the ranch house. As he neared the house, he saw a person he hoped was the owner working on a wire fence. Buster was even more tired and thirsty than before as he approached, but was overjoyed at finally found a real person from whom he could call the authorities. "Excuse me? Sir? I need your help!" he panted. The owner turned around, surprised. "Wha, hello, son! Boy, am ah glad to see you!" he greeted in a loud, friendly voice. He was a tall, rooster of a fellow, with a large, friendly face and an even larger, round belly. The feathers on his head, neck and tail were chocolate brown, while those on his arms and torso were white, and extended all the down to his yellow feet. He wore a wide-brimmed straw sombrero, and baggy blue denim overalls. "Please, mister-" "Foghorn Leghorn's the name, son!" the rooster interrupted. "Mighty glad to meet ya! Say, you're a might far from the highway, aren't ya, boy?" "No, no! I was thrown off the Silver Smudge and-" "The Silver Smudge? You were thrown off a train, were ya? Well, why'd you get thrown off around here, son?" Buster tried his best to make himself understood: "Listen, Mr. Foghorn-" "Call me Foggah, son! Everaone else around here does!" "Okay, uh, listen, Foggy - I'm in a lot of trouble, and-" "Trouble, eh?" Foghorn's grin widened ear to ear. Leaning a little toward Buster he asked, "Is there a girl involved?" Buster, however, didn't think things were so amusing. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "And I think she's in a lot of trouble!-" "Ah *knew* it!" Foghorn cut in with a laugh. "There's always a girl involved!" "But it's not what you think!" "Heh heh! 'Course, not, son! Who am ah ta judge? But how can ah help ya?" _Finally!_ thought Buster. "I need to get help-!" he tried. "Help? Wha, of course, boy! Ah thought, ah say, ah thought you'd nevah ask!" Foghorn said. "Here, told this wirah while ah nail it down. This fence won't mend itself, ya know!" "But Foggy," Buster protested as he took hold of the fence wire, "I need to get help right away!" "That's it, hold it taut like that," Foghorn said. "Ah'll just nail it in place. Hammer, that is." Buster could see that he was getting nowhere in his pleas for help, so he resigned himself to waiting until Foghorn had finished with his repair. As the leghorn hammered his bit of fence down, Buster pleaded again, "Please, Foggy! I need to get help right away! Could I please use your phone?" As Foghorn drove his nail head home he remarked, "You're a ways from the tracks. How long, ah say, how long you been walkin', son? Are ya thirsty? Can ah get ya something to drink?" "Yes, very thirsty," Buster said. "But all want to do is use your phone!" "Hold on there, son!" Foghorn said as he tested the tautness of his repair. "Rome wasn't built in a day and neithah was Syracuse... There, that oughta do it... Okay, boy, we'll get ya somethin' ta drink. Refreshment, that is. By the way, didn't catch your name..." "Buster Bunny." Foghorn grabbed Buster's hand and shook it roughly. "Well, nice to meet ya, son! Verah nice to meet ya! Okay, then, I'll get ya that drink now." "Look, all I want to do is use your phone." "Sorrah, son," Foghorn said as he lead the way to his house. "The phone stopped working yesterday, and ol' Amos hain't been out here to fix it yet." "Why didn't you *say* the phone was out of order?!" Buster said, nearing exasperation. "Well, ah couldn't!" Foghorn replied. "You were flappin' your gums so much ah couldn't get a word in edgewise! But don't worry about it none, son, ah'll take ya to town. First ah'll get ya something to drink, then ah'll take ya in. Now whaddaya say about that?" "Why, that'll-" "See, there you go again, yammering on and on and on!" said Foghorn. "You spit out more words than a thesaurus in a papah shredder! Say, listen, boy - what's your preference? What can ah get ya to drink?" "What do you have?" asked Buster with a sigh. "Well, ah have water, got some Frescas in the fridge. Cow juice, tomata juice, orange juice, and a little lemonade." "Uh, water's fine-" "Watah! Well, alrighty then! Come inside, I say, come inside, boy, and ah'll get ya some! Watah, that is!" Buster followed Foghorn into his house where he let the parched bunny quench his thirst with cool, refreshing ice water. Once sated, Buster hurried back outside to wait for Foghorn in his pickup truck parked next to the house. It was a dusty, beat-up red Ford of early-1970s vintage, but at least it would get him back to town. Or so he thought. After a minute or two, Foghorn emerged from the house, now wearing a leather flying cap and goggles instead of a sombrero. He spied Buster in his truck and chuckled. "Why, what're you doing in *there*, boy?" "I just thought I'd wait for you," Buster replied. "No, no, boy," Foghorn said. "Ol' Betty threw a rod last week an' ah haven't gotten a change to fix 'er yet!" "Well, how are we getting to town?" Buster asked. "In the *barn*, son!" After a short walk, Buster and Foghorn stood before the double doors of Foghorn's large whitewashed barn. Foghorn undid the latch and pulled one door open, while Buster pulled the other. In the dim light inside the barn, Buster saw something that made his heart skip a beat: there sat in front of him a genuine World War I-era, two-seater biplane. It looked pristine enough, with it's glossy dark blue paint and white wing tips and tail. But to Buster, it amounted to anything but viable transportation, and he hoped against hope that Foghorn wasn't actually intending to fly him in it. "Help me push 'er out, son," Foghorn said as he walked into the barn. Buster couldn't believe what he was hearing! His eyes grew three times their normal size, and his mouth hung wide open. "W-w-what..?!" he stuttered, absolutely incredulous. "Help me out, boy, ah said, give me a hand!" repeated Foghorn. "It'll go fastah if we both push 'er out! You wanted a lift to town, didn't ya?!" "B-b-but I didn't mean *this* way!" Buster cried. "Thanks all the same Mr. Leghorn-" "*Foggah*, son, call me *Foggah*!" "Thanks all the same, Foggy, but I think I'll just go to your neighbor's and use their phone instead!" "What's the mattah, son? You're not afraid of flyin' are ya?" Foghorn asked. "There ain't nothin' ta be afraid of! Why, it's just like riding a coastah! Rollah, that is!" "Thanks, but I'd rather walk." "Walk, eh?" said Foghorn as he rubbed his beak. "Well, you could do it a course, but the nearest neighbuh with a workin' phone is about an howah walk from here." Buster saw the predicament he was in. He greatly hated flying, but he had to get help right away! He thought of Babs, and the danger she would be in by being Dr. Scratchasniff's secretary. Maybe she was in trouble right now! He thought of Dr. Scratchansniff himself. Where was he while his room was being rifled through? Worst- case scenarios rolled quickly through Buster's mind, and it became clear to him that he *had* to overcome his fears - for Dr. Scratchansniff's and (especially) Babs' sakes - and agree to fly to town. "Well, do ya want to fly or not?!" said Foghorn impatiently. "Ah don't have all day! Ah can't just stand here listenin' to the breezes blow! Tell mah quick, boy!" Buster swallowed hard. "I'll fly," he said quietly. "Fine, son, ah say, fine! Now gimme a hand! Assistance, that is!" Buster got behind one wing while Foghorn positioned himself behind the other. As they pushed the antique out into the daylight Buster asked, "Is this thing okay to fly?" "Certainly she's okay to fly!" Foghorn said, surprised at being asked such a question. "Ah do a little crop dustin' in the next county, and lately ah've been using 'er to fly into town until ah get the truck fixed. Repaired, that is." "How old *is* this plane?" "Built in 1919!" Foghorn said proudly. "Mah granddaddah bought it when he was about your age from the Air Force. Armah surplus, that is. Aftah he learned to fly it he went on ta do some barnstormin' around these here parts. 'Leggie The Great' was what he was called! Mah daddah replaced the motuh in 1955 and learned me ta fly. Been doin' it evah since!" Once the pair rolled the plane clear of the barn, Foghorn directed Buster to help him turn the plane 90 degrees to what appeared to be a road running off his driveway. Then he directed him to help push the plane near the edge. "You *do* do regular maintenance on this plane, don't you?" asked Buster warily. "Course ah do, son!" Foghorn said. "You think ah don't? You think ah'd fly up there if ah didn't?! You think ah'd fly by an' people'd say, 'There goes Foggah. He's gonna crash because he don't do any maintenance on his plane.'? Course not, son! Ah like maintenance! In fact, ah looove maintenance! Can't get enough maintenance! Maintenance is what keeps this plane in the air!!" "Okay, okay! I believe you!" Buster said, rolling his eyes. "Here, this is far enough," Foghorn said once they arrived where they needed to be. As Foghorn proceeded to do a pre-flight safety check, Buster stood there with a growing nervous anticipation. His checks completed, Foghorn engaged the starter and the old plane's engine sputtered slowly to life. Buster's heart jumped into his throat at the first whine of the starter motor, and skipped a beat with each rev that Foghorn gave the engine. Yet he knew he had to go through with it. At last the dreaded words came: "WELL, ARE YOU COMING OR NOT, BOY?" Buster gulped again, made a Sign of the Cross, then climbed aboard. "ARE YA ALL STRAPPED IN?" Foghorn yelled back. Buster found his woven seatbelts and snapped them together. "YEAH! I'M IN!" "OKAY, SON, HERE WE GO!" Foghorn announced. As he increased his engine's RPMs, Foghorn taxied the plane forward to the road (which, as Buster saw, was actually an unpaved runway) and into position for takeoff. "Oh, God, I'm gonna die!" said Buster through clenched teeth. Foghorn opened the throttle and the engine roared. As Buster felt himself being propelled forward, he nearly saw his life flashed before his eyes. Then, as the plane bumped unsteadily along the semi-level runway, he started to wail over and over, "IhateflyingIhateflying..." But the real fright of the takeoff came as the plane lifted off the ground; as Buster felt it lift smoothly off the ground he let out a long, pitiful scream which could be heard well over the din of the roaring engine. Hearing Buster behind him, Foghorn chuckled to himself. "AH SAY, SON! YOU'RE MAKIN' MORE NOISE BACK THERE THAN A POLITICIAN AT A CAMPAIGN FUNDRAISAH! BEGGING, THAT IS!" he called back. As Foghorn's plane gained altitude, Buster began to calm down somewhat. Once in the air, the old relic flew very steadily, and didn't at all fall to pieces as Buster expected. He quieted down when he peered fascinated over the side of the plane, to the rapidly- shrinking buildings and cars below. Perhaps noticing the silence, Foghorn yelled back, "ARE YOU STILL BACK THERE, BOY? AH'M NOT GONNA HAVE CLEAN THE BACK OF MAH PLANE OFF, AM AH?" "NO, I'M OKAY!...I GUESS," said Buster. "Heh heh heh! YA SEE, SON? AH *TOLD* YA THERE WASN'T ANYTHING TO WORRY ABOUT!" Foghorn said. BANG!! The plane's engine backfired once, then missed and ran badly. "*OHMYGOD!! WHAT WAS THAT*?!!" Buster howled with renewed fear. "CALM DOWN, SON, I SAY, CALM DOWN!" Foghorn said, unruffled. "THE OLD GIRL DOES THIS WHEN SHE GETS TA 400 FEET! AH JUST NEED TO ADJUST THE CHOKE A LITTLE, THAT'S ALL! HOL' ON A MINUTE!" Sure enough, in a few moments the plane's engine started running smoothly again, and the craft continued to gain altitude. Once Buster started to breathe again, he asked, "SO WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME EXACTLY?" "WHY, TO SHERIFF KATZ'S A COURSE! YA SAID YOU NEEDED HELP, DIDN'T YA? AH CAN DROP YA OFF RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS OFFICE! DELIVER, THAT IS! AH DO IT ALL THE TAHME!" Buster didn't like the sound of that! "RIGHT...IN...FRONT.. Y-YOU'RE KIDDING RIGHT? Heh heh! YOU'RE NOT...GOING TO LAND..." he asked nervously. "OF COURSE, SON, AH SAY, OF COURSE! HE DON'T MIND - OH, WAIT! NO! AHHH, ROOT CELLAR, AH JUST REMEMBERED!!.. NO, HE'S OUTTA TOWN UNTIL TONAHGHT! AH'LL HAVE TA FLY YOU ON TA WYATT! SHERRIF MICKEL IS THE LAW THERE!" Suddenly, and for the first time today, a bright spot appeared in Buster's day. "WAIT! DID YOU SAY WYATT?" he asked hopefully. "YEAH!.." "WYATT IS THE LAST STOP THE SILVER SMUDGE MAKES BEFORE CALIFORNIA! MAYBE IF WE HURRY, WE MIGHT BE ABLE TO ARRIVE BEFORE THE TRAIN! THEN I CAN HAVE HELP READY WHEN IT STOPS!" "THAT'S TRUE!" "THIS IS *GREAT*!!" Buster cheered ecstatically. "HOW LONG UNTIL WE REACH WYATT?" "OHHH, 'BOUT FIFTEEN/TWENTUH MINUTES MAYBUH!" "WOO HOOO..!" Nearly twenty quick minutes later, Foghorn cut back on the plane's power, and the little biplane started to nose down. "WE'RE HERE, AH SAY, WE'RE HERE, SON! ARRIVED, THAT IS!" he announced. _Excellent!_ thought Buster as he glanced to the ground below. But as far as he could see, there didn't appear to be a runway anywhere. "UH, FOGGY? WHERE'S THE RUNWAY?" he asked with more than an obvious tone of anxiety. "RIGHT DOWN THERE, BOY!" "WHERE?" "THE HIGHWAY!" "THE *WHAT*?!?!" "THE HIGHWAY, SON! YOU SAID YOU NEEDED HELP RIGHT AWAY! AH CAN PUT YA DOWN RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE OFFICE!" Foghorn said. "ARE YOU *CRAZY*?!!" Buster screamed. "OH, NONONONONO! NOT HERE! YOU'LL GET US KILLED! LOOK AT THOSE CARS!" Foghorn chuckled. "AW, DON'T WORRY 'BOUT THEM NONE! THEY'LL MOVE!" he said. Buster could see that as Foghorn planed down, it was already too late; he had no intention of landing anywhere else. There were only three cars on the two-lane highway below, but even still, a collision seemed immanent. As they neared the highway, Buster started to panic. "Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!..." he cried. The plane was now 30 feet over the highway and dropping fast. Three cars were below it - two going in the plane's direction, and one coming towards them. "Ohhhh! OHHHHHHH! *FOGGY LOOK OUT FOR THAT CAR*!!!" Buster yelled. As the plane closed in, it just passed over the cars going in it's direction, and headed right for the oncoming car. Buster screamed again as the plane's landing wheels touched the ground, but the oncoming car swerved out of the way and went off the road. The cars behind the plane screeched to a stop, and pilot and passenger were home free. Foghorn taxied the plane down the highway, seemingly oblivious to the traffic already on it. Fortunately for him, there weren't any other cars coming in either direction, and the drivers in the immediate three cars were in too much shock from what just happened to register any complaints. As for Buster, he sat incapable of movement; the experience of the landing left him petrified, pale and silent in the back seat. He remained frozen like that until Foghorn taxied off the road and into the driveway of the sheriff's office. Buster slowly came back to life as Foghorn guided his plane around to the rear of the building. Foghorn cut the engine, and as the propeller blades spun to a stop, Buster jumped out of the plane and landed face first and spread-eagle onto the ground, kissing it. "Ahhhh, ground," he murmured in deep relief. "Oh, sweet, sweet terra firma..!" As Foghorn climbed down to the ground, he saw Buster and started to feel a little ill. "Ah say, boy, get up off the ground!" he said. "You're makin', ah say, you're makin' a spectacle of yourself down there! Not to mention making me a little sick. Nauseated, that is. Is any of this filterin' through that furrah blue head of yours?" _Nice kid_, thought Foghorn to himself, _but he's about as smart as a fly in a flypaper factory._ "Foghorn Leghorn, I told you before about landing your plane on the highway!" called an irritated voice from behind. Buster and Foghorn turned around and saw the county sheriff approaching. "Wha, hello, there, Kevin!" Foghorn greeted. Turning to Buster he said, "Bustah, this here is Sheriff Mickel. He's who, ah say, he's who you wanna see!" Sheriff Mickel was a large, bespectacled little man with short brown hair and hazel-colored eyes. His face was round, clean-shaven, and boyish-looking, but underneath his friendly demeanor and laughing eyes was a lawman who knew when to keep friendships from carrying out the law. "Foggy, I'm not warning you again!" he scowled. "Sheriff Katz may let you park that machine on Main Street in his county, but in my county there're things called runways!" "Sorrah, Kevin," Foghorn said, "but this was urgent. 'Sides, until ah get, ah say, until ah get mah truck fixed, ol' Brenda Lee here is the onlah way ah can get around. Transportation, that is!" "Well, what can I do for you? We're kinda busy here right now," Mickel said. "So ah see," said Foghorn as he looked around. "What, ah say, what are all these cars doin' here? Ah almost couldn't find a place to park mah plane!" "Oh, some people from the Federal Marshal's office have commandeered my boys for some investigation they're conductin'," Mickel explained. "They're looking for two suspects travelling by train. But how can I help you?" "Well, this here's Bustah Bunnah. He's in, ah say, he's in a bit of a spot right now. Trouble, that is." "Buster," nodded Mickel. "Hello, Sheriff." "Anyways," Foghorn continued, "he says he was on the Silvah Smudge but was thrown off by somebodah. Says there's a girl in trouble, or somethin' like that." At that Mickel took a second, better look at Buster. "Hold on - did you say he was thrown off the Silver Smudge?" he asked. "Yeah..." "You better come with me, sir," Mickel said. "I think the marshal'll want to talk to you.." Inside Sheriff Mickel's office, Buster and Foghorn saw sheriff's deputies keeping mostly to themselves along the walls, while agents from the marshal's office sat together around a big desk covered with maps and other papers spread out before them. Marshal Girard sat sullenly in his chair, fingers cradling his cheek, staring intently at a large map of southern California propped on a tripod. The whole room reeked of tension, and judging by the silence and glum looks of the men and women inside, Buster and Foghorn knew they better be on their best behavior. "That guy in the black coat sitting in the chair over there? That's Federal Marshal Samuel Girard," whispered Sheriff Mickel to his guests. "He's leading the investigation. He also missed the trains he was looking for so he's pretty sore. Don't make him any angrier than he already is. Here, you two wait here." Buster and Foghorn watched as Mickel walked over to the desk where Girard's agents were, pull Cosmo aside, and whisper something to him. Cosmo's face immediately brightened. "Sam! I think we may have something!" he said happily. "What is it, Cosmo?" Girard asked, still staring at his map. "It better be good news.." "Oh, it is, Sam! Look behind you; we have a passenger from the Silver Smudge.." Cosmo pointed, grinning. Girard turned around. Taking that as his cue, Buster approached hesitatingly and cautiously. "This is Buster Bunny," said Cosmo. "He was thrown off the Silver Smudge." Girard rose to his feet. "Hello, Mr. Bunny. I'm United States Marshal Samuel Girard," he said as he warmly offered his hand. Buster read Girard's face and saw that the hard, cold lines in it started to relax. "Uh, hello Mr. Girard," he said, shaking Girard's hand. As the two shook hands, Girard's brow suddenly became furrowed. "Excuse me, Mr. Bunny, but have we met before?" he asked carefully. Buster knew he hadn't done anything wrong, but felt uncomfortable under Girard's gaze nevertheless. "No, I don't believe so," he said timidly. Girard's face softened again. "No, it's nothing. I thought you looked familiar somehow," he said casually. "So you were thrown off the Silver Smudge, were you? Are you alright? Were you hurt?" "No, I'm okay," said Buster. Then, angrily, he went on: "Yeah, I was thrown off the train! By some thug with a German accent. There's this girl and her boss on the train, an' I think they're in a lot of danger!" Girard walked over to the desk and brought back two glossy black and white photographs. Handing Buster one of the photos he asked, "Is this the one who threw you off the train?" Buster looked and immediately recognized the person. "Yeah! This is him! This is the jerk who threw me off!" he exclaimed excitedly. Handing Buster the other photo Girard asked, "Was this man with him?" Buster thought as he took in the image. Suddenly, he remembered. "Yeah!" he said. "I mean, I only saw him for a second, but it really looks like the guy! Who are these people?" "The big guy is one Arnold Roentgen Pit Bull, native of Romania. You were lucky to have come out of your encounter with him in as good a shape as you did; five other people he's had contact with have all, in some manner or other, wound up in a box!" Taking the photographs from Buster Girard continued: "The smaller guy with the big head is Montana Max. These two have been under investigation, Mr. Bunny, for four months now. Remember that Austrian airliner that went down last year?" "Uh huh." "Max and Pit Bull are strongly suspected to have crashed it. They are also strongly suspected for an art museum robbery that was successfully carried out the week before, and the crash was probably a way of covering their tracks. The FBI started a file and had them under surveillance, but they disappeared just before being brought in for questioning. My office was then contacted to find them and bring them in. I did find them again, but before we made our move we had it on good authority that Max was planning something larger and bolder. So we had him tailed to see what it was. We almost lost him in Tintoonati, but things were going fine until he discovered our contact. Now we want him for a possible Murder One." "Why didn't you simply catch him when you had the chance?" Buster asked. "It was a gamble," Girard replied, "admittedly. But what evidence the FBI did have on Montana Max was shaky and circumstantial. He'd been brought in before, but with the money and legal sharks he had covering him, nothing would stick. I wanted something more substantial. And we had every reason to believe that, this time, we'd have something real. But what 'it' is, we don't yet know. "The last time we had Max and Pit Bull in sight, they were on a passenger train heading west, from Chicago. Their destination was California, but where we weren't sure; there were two possible trains they were on: Amtrack's "Silver Smudge" and the BN/SF's "Forty-Niner," and the destination of each is at opposite ends of the state. "These two trains share most of the same route, but Wyatt, Arizona is the last stop the Silver Smudge and the Forty-Niner make before they go their separate ways and take north-south routes through California. We know Max and Pit Bull haven't gotten off the train they were riding on, but we just missed intercepting both trains when they stopped here, leaving us no idea where Max and Pit Bull are going, and what train they are on. But now you, Mr. Bunny," Girard smiled, "may have just helped us solve that little piece of the puzzle. Are you sure of the identities of the men involved in throwing you off the Silver Smudge?" "Yes, absolutely," said Buster. Girard turned to his subordinate. "Cosmo!" he said. "Yeah, Sam?" "What are our figures for disembarkments in Wyatt?" "None from the Silver Smudge, seven from the Forty-Niner. None of which were our boys, according to the station master." "So, unless Montana Max and Arnold Pit Bull jumped off in the middle of nowhere in mid-transit, looks like they are on the Silver Smudge!" Smiles and near-cheering filled the little sheriff's office, and the thick atmosphere of tension was instantly replaced by sheer elation. Girard and his agents couldn't have been happier. Finally, Monty and Arnold appeared to be within reach. Buster, feeling the joy of Girard and his agents, felt very glad to be of such help. But he hoped it wouldn't be too late. Girard, however, wasn't wasting any time. Walking back to the large California map, he asked, "Where is the Silver Smudge right now?" "Uhhh... Assuming it's still on schedule... About three miles outside Bramton, California," Cosmo said, looking at his papers. "And Orange City is the last stop the train makes before Acme Acres?" "Yeah." Finding his coordinates on the map, Girard reached over for a big black marker and said, "Okay, boys and girls, listen up! Max and Pit Bull are outside Bramton as we speak and heading for Orange City. But I don't want them to get to Orange City, so we're going to stop the train here, in Winston, at the Hall Road Junction! Joyce, call local law and tell them to meet us there." "Got it, Sam!" "I need roadblocks on all roads in and out of Winston; but please tell them not to do so until we get there or the train arrives! I need my chopper! And somebody get me one of those cute little Chia Bunnies, NOW!.. All, right, let's *go*!" As the sheriff's office started to come to life, Girard walked over to Sheriff Mickel and shook his hand. "Thank you for the use of your office, Sheriff." "It was a pleasure, sir," Mickel smiled. "Good luck to you." "Marshal?" said Buster as he approached. "There's a girl on the Silver Smudge who's a very dear friend of mine. Whatever's going on, I think it has to do with her boss, and I think the both of them are going to be in trouble.." "Sheriff, do you have a firearm for our young friend here?" Girard asked. "In lockup I think I might have something." "Go and get it, please?" "Okay," Mickel said and turned to leave. "Tell me, you ever played Cops and Robbers before?" Girard asked Buster. "Uh, well, sure, when I was young." "Time for the real thing, Buster," smiled Girard. Word came quickly through the railroad. At the helm of the lead locomotive, the Silver Smudge's engineer talked on the telephone to the conductor farther back: "...I dunno, Bill, but that's what they said. Everyone off at the Hall Road Junction." "Okay," replied the conductor at mid-train. "I'll tell my crew..." In the compartment of Montana Max, Babs shared a seat with Dr. Scratchansniff. Opposite them sat Monty behind a table, looking both disappointed and very surly. "You'll never get away with this," said Babs softly and flatly. Although she directed the comment to both men, she looked indirectly at Scratchansniff. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. But defiance and pride still shone strongly in them. "Your Dr. Scratchansniff will be proven to be the fraud that he is." "I was good enough to fool you and your boyfriend!" snorted "Scratchansniff." "Knock it off!" Monty growled. His brooding was interrupted when he looked out the window and suddenly realized that the train was slowing to a stop. Not wanting to be overly alarmed, he waited until Arnold returned. When Arnold did return shortly afterward, the news was not good. "Der conduktor's orderving all die passengers off der train," he reported worriedly. "Vat are ve goink to do?" "Don't lose your head!" Monty said. "Boys, it's time to break out the hardware.." Sheriff's deputies and Girard's agents descended on the scene just after the train stopped. As it turned out, the junction Girard chose was ideal for the operation. It was mostly flat, open, unpopulated, and used for little more than as a storage facility for Union Pacific maintenance-of-way equipment and supplies. Huge bundles of new railroad cross ties sat close to the service road, and near those, a small cinder block office, stacks of 5- gallon cans of rail spikes, rails, and a mound of track ballast. Nearby on an adjacent track, a work caboose, flat car, and wrecker crane waited for the call to service. Buster, Girard, Cosmo and a forth agent got out their car and joined the other members of law enforcement as they closed in on positions around the side of the train, just as passengers started to come off. And out they came - slowly, reluctantly, but moving nevertheless. Plucky and the other porters helped people down to the ground, and the displaced toons soon began to collect about 10 yards from the train. Younger couples. Older couples. Parents with children, large and small. Passengers. Crew. And over them all were bullhorned instructions: "...This is just a routine investigation. Please co-operate so we can complete our investigation quickly, and get you on your way..." Among those stepping off the train were two diminutive furry passengers; one, a tall, hyperactive white mouse, and the other, a squat, serious-looking mouse dressed smartly in a grey flannel suit, white shirt, red tie, and matching grey fedora. As they hopped down to the bottom step of the car they stopped to take in the scene. "Pinky!" said the shorter one to his friend. "Are you pondering what I'm pondering?" "I think so, Brai- er, Mr. Perkins," said the taller one. "But I *still* don't know why you park on a driveway but drive on a parkway! - Narf!" "No, Pinky! If this tardiness exceeds 9.8 minutes we could miss our window entirely! Come..." Plucky didn't know what to make of all this. First Buster disappeared. Then Babs was gone. Then, after a good deal of searching, his boss approached him telling him to be ready to put passengers off. And so here he stood, helping people off and wondering all the while where his friends were. Plucky was, however, fortunate enough to help down the loon he never stopped pining after, in spite of the trouncing she gave him the day before. As he helped her to the ground, Plucky saw that the girl's attitude toward him softened a bit. He didn't know if it was because they would be in Acme Acres in a little while or because he finally - and genuinely - got through to her. But either way, he took it as good sign. Inside another Pullman coach, Monty decided to take a look around to see what the situation was for himself. In the hall he ran into the conductor as he hurried up the aisle. "Everybody off, please, Mr. Max," he said. "*What*?! What's going on?" Monty rasped in his usual manner. "I don't know," the conductor said as he squeezed by, "but the authorities are ordering everyone off the train. Maybe it's a bomb scare or something!" "*A bomb scare*? Errrrrr! Okay, I guess we better get *off*, then, hadn't we." "*I* certainly am!" Monty waited until the conductor disembarked from the train then slipped back into his compartment. Inside, Arnold and "Scratchansniff" stood around the table checking their Mini-14's and clicking their ammunition magazines home. In front of them, a large black keyboard hardcase sat open and empty. "We're gettin' outta here, boys!" Monty announced. "Arnold, you come with me. I'm gonna make it to the locomotive and we're takin' this razzafrassa train to Orange as planned. We're getting' away with or without those ratsafratzin' Papers!! Phillip, cover us from the dining car. Take *her* with you! If she gives you any trouble, SHOOT 'ER!!" Outside, Girard, his agents, the sheriff, and his deputies all took their positions, their guns drawn. After a hasty head count, Cosmo ran over to his superior and said, "Everybody's off, Sam, except our boys." No sooner had the agent given his report when Monty appeared in the outside doorway of the Pullman car. "HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, MAX!!" Girard ordered, drawing his gun. Surprised, Monty yelled and took a blind shot at Girard before disappearing inside the car. Pandemonium followed. Passengers and crew alike instantly stampeded for the nearest cover. Girard and his agents, unable to draw a target and almost becoming run over by the panic-stricken crowd, fell back and likewise took up defensive positions behind the various railroad equipment and materials. Inside the train, "Scratchansniff" and Babs made their way to the dining car. "Scratchansniff" roughly threw Babs into a chair and snarled, "Siddown!!" "O-kaay!!" cried Babs in a combination of pain, fright and anger. With rifle in hand, "Scratchansniff" flung over a table, sending dishes and flatware flying everywhere. He grabbed his rifle firmly, and with all the force he could muster, drove the butt of the weapon into the window pane. The safety glass cracked into a spider web pattern, but didn't break. On his second try, the glass fractured, but only a few small pieces fell out. With a mighty third effort, the pane finally gave, and fell out in large shards. Then he opened fire. Agents returned fire from behind their placements, but "Scratchansniff" was too protected from the train to be hit. Buster also ran once the shooting started, and dove for cover behind a bundle of new ties. Peering over the bundle, he was able to see who was shooting, and where. But what really scared him was seeing Babs behind the broken window! Then he remembered the gun he was holding in his right hand. Girard authorized Buster the use of a snub-nosed .38 caliber revolver. It was a small, rather outdated piece, but for Buster it was more than enough. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a little box of bullets, and set them on the ties. As Girard showed him, Buster pushed the little release button forward and flopped the cylinder out to load it. As he was opening the box of ammunition a hand reached over and touched him on the shoulder. "Buster!-" "YEAAAA!" Buster screamed as he whirled around, gun at the ready. "Plucky!!" "Buster!! It's me, man! Don't shoot! What in the world is going on around here?!" cried Plucky. Standing up he called out, "WHO'S IN CHARGE AROUND HERE?!" A stray bullet came very near where they were and ricocheted away. "Will you get down?!" Buster yelled and yanked Plucky from view. The force of the jerk caused Plucky to fall down on top of Buster, and now the two lay with Plucky fully on top of Buster. "Hee hee! I didn't think you cared," Plucky demured. "Get up off of me!" Buster said and moved out from under the duck. "What happened to you?!" asked Plucky. "Babs and I were looking for you all day! What's going on around here?!" "That big guy Arnold threw me off the train," said Buster as he sat up to load his gun. "It took me forever to find help, but when I finally did, I found out that he and that other guy Montana Max are wanted for questioning by the Feds for some kind of robbery. I don't know why they're on the train or what they want, but from what I can tell, it has to do with Babs' boss. And now *she's* in trouble - look! Fourth car back from the engines..!" Plucky looked and felt his heart skip a beat. "*There* she is! Omygod! First you disappeared, then she did! What're we gonna do?" In his adrenaline-fueled rush, Buster had a hard time getting his fingers to work efficiently enough to load his revolver. Finally he did so, and replaced the cylinder. "I don't know," he said. "But I can't let anything happen to Babs." Both toons could do little but wait for the right opportunity to act. At the very front of the train, the engineer and fireman watched the proceedings from the relative safety of the locomotive cabin. As Arnold hurried around the front of the locomotive, Monty climbed up and into the cab, entering unnoticed on the engineer's side. Inside, the engineer sat in the fireman's seat and the fireman crouched in the open doorway. "You two!! Start this train!!" barked Monty. "We can't do that!" protested the engineer. "Yeah, who do you think you are?" demanded the fireman. Monty responded by shooting the fireman and causing him to fall backwards out of the cab. "You da man..!" gasped the engineer as he jumped over to his side of the cab. "START IT!!" As the engineer released the brakes and pulled back on the throttle, Monty positioned himself in the fireman's door. Meanwhile, Arnold added his fire to that from "Scratchansniff." The curving front of the locomotive largely protected him from incoming fire, and he chuckled to himself at the thought. However, when the Silver Smudge started to roll forward, he moved out of the way, but into the line of fire. As a result, Arnold's confidence would prove short-lived. Girard aimed low and squeezed the trigger. The shot struck Arnold just above the right knee and sent him howling down to the ground. Not wanting to be left behind, he got up quickly and limped beside the locomotive before finally being able to grab onto the ladder leading up to the cab. Buster also noticed the train starting up and dashed across the yard to catch it before he even knew what he was doing. "Buster!!" cried Plucky as Buster jumped up to leave him. Not wanting Buster to fend for himself, Plucky growled and took off after him. "HOLD YOUR FIRE!" roared Girard when he saw Buster and Plucky run after the train. Buster and Plucky closed the 100-foot gap in no time flat and now ran alongside the train, trying to jump on. Finding adjoining doorways, they ran several more yards before finally swinging up and onto the car steps. Up front, Arnold struggled through the pain to climb up to the doorway. He almost made it, but slipped on a step and lost his footing altogether. Now he hung off the side of the locomotive by only his fingertips, blood streaming down his leg. "Herr Max! Herr Maaaax!" he cried out piteously. "Mien leg! I-I-I can't hold onnn..!" Monty appeared in the doorway and grinned sadistically down at him. "Sorry, Arnold," he said coldly. "I'll no longer be requiring your services." With that Monty stomped on first one, then the other, set of Arnold's fingers and sent him falling off the locomotive and down a long, steep embankment. Girard wasn't the only one not wanting to be left behind. As he hurried toward his chopper, he called out, "Cosmo! Hand me that rifle! You ride with Joyce and follow us from the road! Nelson, you come with me! *Don't let 'em get away*..!!" The Silver Smudge rapidly started to gain on distance, but undeterred law enforcement officials were able to keep up and follow, for as long as the road followed the tracks. Meanwhile, Buster and Plucky half-ran through the empty train until they unexpectedly ran into Babs and "Scratchansniff" in the dining car, surprising all involved. "Buster!!" cried Babs. "Scratchansniff" whirled around and Buster and Plucky instinctively dove to the floor. "Scratchansniff" leveled his rifle at Buster, but before he could pull the trigger Babs jumped up, grabbed a large silver serving platter off a table, and slammed "Scratchansniff" over the head with it. The blow almost knocked him off his feet, but he recovered quickly and threw Babs back into her chair. Buster reached for his gun just as "Scratchaniff" leveled his at Buster. Buster quickly aimed and fired before "Scratchansniff" could pull his trigger. It was a very lucky shot. The bullet struck "Scratchansniff" squarely in the heart, and caused him to tumble backwards and through the plate glass door that separated the small waiting/reception room from the rest of the diner. As a scarlet spot widened across "Scratchansniff"'s chest, Buster, Babs and Plucky knew all was safe. "OH, MY GOD! I KILLED SCRATCHY! BAS-" "No, Buster!" interjected Babs. "He *was* a fake!" Buster left the revolver on the floor and slowly rose to his feet, in utter shock and disbelief as to what he just did. Babs ran over to him with tears in her eyes, and hugged and kissed him hard. "Oh, Buster!" she wept. "That *was* Dr. Scratchansniff you saw murdered last night! I'm so sorry I didn't believe you..!" Buster broke them out of their embrace and held her by her shoulders. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Did they hurt you?" "No," Babs sniffed. "But I was so scared! They kept yelling at me and said they were going to kill me if I didn't tell them where the papers were!" "What papers?" "Dr. Scratchansniff's papers! The Schlesinger Papers!" "I'm...confused.." "The Schlesinger Papers," Babs explained. "Dr. Scratchansniff was going to sell them at auction, remember? Remember at Oklahoma City that guy you saw who looked like Scratchy?" Buster nodded. "Monty murdered Scratchy last night, then wanted to use that guy as Scratchy's double and sell the Papers for himself! Oh, Buster! I was so scared!" said Babs as she embraced Buster again. "Plucky and I were looking for you *everywhere*..!" "Of course!" said Buster. "It all makes sense now! This morning when I went to see Dr. Scratchansniff, he said he just woke up - and this was at nine o' clock! Didn't you say that Dr. Scratchansniff never slept past six?" "Yeah.." "He also said that he was making coffee. You also said he never touched the stuff, didn't you?" "Yes! Oh, Buster, how could I have been so blind?" "I dunno, Babsie," Buster said. "He played the part very well, I guess. Then that Arnold guy threw me off the train, an' it took me forever to find help!" Looking deep into Babs' tear-filled eyes he added, "But all I could think about was you..!" "Where's Plucky?" For the moment Buster forgot all about him. They looked around, and found part of him lying motionless under an overturned table. Full of fear and concern, Buster raised the table and Babs shook him, asking, "Plucky! Are you okay, Plucky?!" But Plucky lay very still. "Is it over?!" he asked, springing up. "Errrr..." Buster groaned. He was relieved that Plucky was unhurt, but annoyed for the scare. "Glad to see you're alright, *Plucky*," he said, letting the table drop onto the mallard's head. At the front of the train, Girard and Monty traded pop shots at one another. Girard's agents and sheriff's deputies lost track of the train once the road they were travelling on veered away from the tracks. Now Girard and his pilot were forced to deal with Monty alone. Girard would fire a few rounds from his helicopter, then duck out of range as Monty returned fire from the doorway of the locomotive cab. Each was tenaciously determined to bring down the other. At one point, the engineer looked furtively across his cab to Monty, who was fully engrossed in shooting down Girard. Thinking it a good time to attempt an escape, he glanced down, and carefully lifted his foot off the Dead Man's Pedal. Monty, however, immediately noticed the resulting loss of engine RPMs. He turned around and stared hard at the engineer. All looked normal to him; the driver remained sitting fully in his seat, and his left hand rested firmly on the throttle. But he noticed the engineer's left foot, which lay *on top of* the Dead Man's Pedal, and not on the cabin floor. This nuance wasn't lost on Monty. "HEY! Keep your foot on the pedal!!" he yelled. The engineer gulped and let his foot drop the pedal to the floor. Immediately, the staccato throbbing of the diesel engines returned. Farther back in the dining car, Buster, Babs and Plucky were trying to make sense of the situation. "...Did Monty ever find Dr. Scratchansniff's papers?" Buster asked. "No!" said Babs as tears started to well again in her eyes. "I didn't tell them where they were because I didn't *know* where they were! They turned Scratchy's room - and my room - inside out looking for them. But I don't where they are! Oh, Buster, I don't know what would have happened you didn't come when you did!" "Hey, Buster?" said Plucky after a moment's pause. "Yeah?" "What's that envelope hanging out of your pocket?" "Huh?" said Buster as he reached around to his back furpants pocket. There were two items sticking out of his pocket: an Amtrak timetable and a yellow manila envelope. Pulling out both papers, he looked at them, then replaced the system timetable. "Hmm," Buster said as looked at the envelope. "I remember now; this was in that copy of Dr. Scratchansniff's book that Babs gave me. I'm surprised it's still in my pocket." Gently Buster undid the flap of the envelope and pulled its contents out. They were several yellowed papers which, upon opening, turned out to be old Warner Brothers stationery. Buster read a little of the papers, turned them over, and his eyes opened wide. "Babs! Look at this!!" he exclaimed. "What is it?" "These are old Warner Brothers letters, all dated in May, 1941, all handwritten! Listen to this! - '...These artists are now asking for higher pay, and I'm not afraid to shut down my studio to prevent that from happening. I tell you, I _will_ not let them strike...' Signed *Leon Schlesinger*!! They're *all* signed Leon Schlesinger! These are it! These must the Schlesinger Papers!!" "The Schlesinger Papers?!!" asked Babs excitedly. "The Schlesinger Papers!!" "The Schlesinger Papers??" asked Plucky. "What in the world are the Schlesinger Papers?" "It's this old Warner Brothers stationery that Dr. Scratchansniff was going to sell at auction for a *fortune*!" explained Babs. "These papers are what Monty was after!" "And you had them on you the whole time.." Plucky said, piqued. "WOO HOO! Now *we* can sell them for *big bucks*!!" "Whaddaya mean 'we'?" asked Buster and Babs together. Up front, Monty and Girard continued to shoot it out. Girard would make a sweeping pass across the front of the train, and the two would exchange shots when they were in range. Then Girard would disappear behind only to come out again to repeat the process. Again the engineer looked across and observed Monty. Seeing Monty all the more concentrated on Girard, he thought it a good time to attempt a second escape. Carefully he lifted his foot up off the Dead Man's Pedal and slid off the seat. Monty watched Girard's helicopter pass in front of the locomotives and again squeezed off shots until the chopper flew behind the cab and out of range. He turned and suddenly saw the engineer backing towards the open door. Enraged, Monty screamed at the man then shot him, causing him to fall through the open doorway of the cab. Noticing that the roar of the diesels had died, Monty looked around for something to put on the Dead Man's Pedal. At the back of the cab, under a wall of electrical cabinet doors all marked "DANGER / 600 VOLTS" in thick red letters, was a battered old toolbox heavy with tools. Monty picked up the toolbox and placed it on the Dead Man's Pedal. As the pounding returned, Monty returned to the fireman's seat. In the dining car farther back, Babs asked, "So where is Monty now?" As if realizing for the first time the action up front, Buster went over to the broken window and looked out. "Hey, look at this!" he said. "What is it?" asked Babs as she and Plucky joined Buster at the window. "Marshal Girard and Monty are going at it!" Buster said, pointing. "He's the one I got help from. He's also the one who had the train stopped and is after Monty and Arnold." "We can't let Monty shoot him down!" Plucky said. "What are we gonna do?" asked Babs. Buster turned back inside the car. Noticing "Scratchansniff"'s Mini-14 lying on the floor of the car, Buster instantly got an idea. "Maybe I can distract Monty," Buster said as he reached for the rifle. In Girard's helicopter, marshal and pilot were quickly losing patience. Each pass was becoming increasingly dangerous, and Monty remained protected by the thick steel body of the locomotive. "Just give me one more pass and a clear shot!" Girard ordered. Buster leaned out of the broken window with his rifle. When the Silver Smudge entered a curve, Monty came into plain view and offered Buster a chance. Carefully he pointed the gun and fired. The bullet bounced harmlessly over the window where Monty was, and whined off into the distance. Monty whirled around. Leaning far out of the open window, he looked back to see who dared to take a shot at him. It was all the distraction Girard needed. Quickly he aimed, squeezed his trigger, and Monty was hit. The impact of Girard's bullet sent Monty spiraling down to the deck of the locomotive. Wounded in the shoulder, Monty was down but not out. Slowly he dragged himself to the doorway, his face twisted in pain and hate. Leaning out again, Monty attempted to raise his rifle for one final shot. On the next track, a BN/SF fast freight was coming in the opposite direction, highballing out of Orange City. The engineer of the freight saw the danger coming and gave long blasts of his horn in warning. Monty raised his rifle high as the other train closed in. By the time he heard the train and looked, he was close enough to see the engineer, gesticulating wildly. Another blast on the horn. Monty's eyes popped out of their sockets as he saw the train right in front of him. "**AHHHHHH**!!-" As the two speeding trains roared past each other, Monty suddenly and violently exited the Silver Smudge. Buster saw Monty hit by the oncoming freight and jerked back into the train, his face ashen. Babs moved to look out of the window but was pulled back by Buster. "Don't look, *don't look*!" he warned, aghast. Inside the chopper, Girard was much more stoic. "My, my, my, my, my, what a mess," he said matter-of-factly to himself as he pulled out his walkie talkie. "Cosmo!" "Sam! Are you alright?" asked the worried voice at the other end. "Yeah, but you better get the station on the phone," Girard said. "Tell them they have a runaway train. And call the coroner. Tell him to bring a spatula... I'll meet you at...the junction of Route 22 and Wilmoth Way..." As the engineer of the BN/SF freight frantically tried to bring his train to a halt, Monty remained plastered wafer-thin on the front of the locomotive. Raising a flattened little fist he declared, "I'll get you yet, Girarrrrrrd..." To Buster, Babs and Plucky, all seemed to be working out. Until, that is, the Silver Smudge approached the Orange City station. Plucky, watching things from the window, called out, "Hey! We're coming into the station!" "Thank God!" sighed Buster. "I need a Yoohoo and some Ju-Jubes in the *worst* sort of way!" "Well, here's your stop." But the Silver Smudge thundered past the depot without any hint of slowing down. The speed of two locomotives and 11 silver cars caused the brush along the track to sway in the breeze. "There goes your stop." "Hey, why didn't we stop?" asked Buster, more to Plucky than anyone. "What's going on here?" added Babs. "We were supposed to stop back there, weren't we, Plucky?" Plucky himself didn't know any more than Buster or Babs. "Yeah! Heck, I dunno. I'm going to call the engineer. The conductor's phone is further back..." Minutes later, after his helicopter had landed, Girard met up with Cosmo where he waited in his car. "How's it coming?" he asked. "They don't believe us!" Cosmo said with an equal portion of frustration and disbelief. At the other end of the phone, the Assistant Controller sat behind a cluttered desk piled high with papers, casually playing a small hand-held electronic game. He was a small dodo, wearing a very loud yellow and black checked sport coat over his lime-colored feathers. "Look, Casey Jones, the engineer is probably just trying to bring the train in on schedule, that'sallthat'sallthat'sall," he said. The Assistant Controller's office had glass walls on three sides, and as such offered a commanding view of the rail yard below. Mainframe computers stood against the fourth wall, quietly ticking and blinking away. The Assistant Controller's desk sat facing the large windows; before it and hung just below the ceiling was a 15 X 4 foot computerized light board showing every train on every track. "This is United States Marshal Samuel Girard. Who's this?" Girard growled into the phone. "My name is Gogo Dodo, and I'll be your Assistant Controller for today!" "Assistant? Get me your boss." "Uh, he's out to dinner, but I'm sure I can handle any issues you might have. Go ahead, TRY ME!" "It's not *my* 'issue'," Girard said, irritated. "You've got a dead engineer and a runaway train that's going to hit Acme Acres in 15 minutes. Now what are you going to do about it?!" "I'll put a pretty red stop sign with little red bows right in the middle of the tracks to make sure they see it!" Gogo said in a very singsong tone. "What-?" "NAAAWWWWWWWright, I'll check with the signal towers," the dodo said at last. "But you see, it's impossible, Jack Palance. If the engineer's *dead*, who's driving the train?" The toolbox resting squarely on the Dead Man's Pedal in the locomotive provided the answer. At the end of a Pullman coach near the rear half of the train, Plucky had little luck calling the locomotive. "No answer," he announced as he hung up the receiver. "I know it doesn't seem possible, but I don't think there's anyone in the engine!" "No driver?" gulped Buster. "What are we going to do?" asked Babs. "Kids, kids, kids," said Plucky confidently. "As usual, Porter Plucky is here to save the day. I'll simply pull the emergency cord, set the brakes, problem solved." "Wait!" said Babs as Plucky turned to leave. "Arnold cut all the emergency cords!" "Ohhh..." Plucky sighed, his confidence deflating. "Now what?" After a few moments, Plucky brightened again. Grabbing Buster and Babs' hands he said, "Come on..." Five minutes later, Girard was again talking to Assistant Controller Gogo. This time, however, there was none of the humor and flippant unconcern that the dodo felt before. Beads of nervous sweat broke out on his forehead and ran down his face. "...I just talked to the signal towers. They see no one in the locomotive," he said. "Great," said Girard, relieved that Gogo finally believed him. "Now you have the situation, why don't you just throw one of those switches and let the train run off on a siding?" "Danger, Will Robinson," Gogo joked weakly. "No can do. All the tracks are computer-programmed. Switching the Silver Smudge would only cause a collision with another train." "Well, what the hell are you going to do, sir?" Girard said with a growing impatience. "There are people riding on that train!" "Oh, no," Gogo moaned. Perspiration started pouring off his head, and he felt his throat tighten. "See, the standard procedure..in such an emergency is to..derail the train." "Derail it?! In the middle of the yard?!" At that, sweat started to spout from the dodo's head like water from a sprinkler. "Yes..actually..I can't take that responsibility. I-I better get my boss." "You better do something, you idiot," Girard snarled in disgust, "because in ten minutes you're going to have 200 tons of locomotive smashing through Acme Station on its way to Los Angeles!!" On board the Silver Smudge, Plucky led Buster and Babs through the empty train. "If you want to stop this train you gotta follow me!" he said. The group stopped in the vestibules between the forwardmost two Pullman cars. Plucky climbed down the steps of one car, and motioned for Buster and Babs to gather behind him. Bringing their attention to the network of intercar devices and supply lines, Plucky pointed to an M-shaped bar running the width of the following car. "What we have to do is uncouple the cars!" he called out. "See that bar there? Pull up on it, and push it away from you! When the cars pull apart, it'll bust those air pressure lines and set the brakes! Then we can jump on back!" "But that's dangerous!" cried Babs as they pulled back into the train. "Are you insane?!" joined Buster. "Couldn't we, like, jump off or something?" "We could," said Plucky. "If we're lucky it'll be a quick death." "Can't we just get to the locomotives?" "Not these," Plucky explained. "Geeps you can. Dashes you can. Freight engines you generally can. But passenger engines you generally _can't_. And these engines are F units; you can't get to them from inside the train." Plucky's words sunk in quickly. They could see there was no other way. "Okay, then," Plucky said solemnly, "who's gonna do it?" Buster looked at Plucky. "Yeah. Who's gonna do it?" he mused. Plucky looked at Buster. "Yeah... Who's going..to..do..it?" Buster pointed at Plucky, who then pointed back to Buster. "You." "You." "You?" "Me?! Oh, nononono," said Buster. "It was your idea. *You* do it!" "Oh, no, no, no," countered Plucky. "You're the one who wants to stop the train! *You* do it!" "You're the porter! *You* do it!!" "No! *You* do it!!" "YOU do it!!" "*I'LL* DO IT!" cried Babs angrily. "Jeez, what a bunch of weenies!! *Move*!" Roughly she shoved between Buster and Plucky and moved towards the steps. Just before she stepped down, Buster moved to stop her. "Wait - Babs!... I'll do it." "Well *do* it, then!!" Babs admonished. "We'll be at Acme Station soon!" Buster descended the car steps, and was about to swing out before Babs stopped *him*. Perhaps feeling a little guilty for yelling at him, Babs wanted to make it up to him. "Buster!" she called. Buster turned around. But Babs stumbled: "Buster, I-" Not normally one to be at a loss for words, this time they failed her. As hard as she tried, however, she just couldn't bring them back. A substitute set would have to do: "Be careful..." Buster smiled. "Grab onto my pants," he asked. "Keep me from falling out!" Not knowing how much good it would do if he actually lost his footing, Babs nevertheless grabbed onto the hem of Buster's furpants as he carefully positioned his body, and slid gingerly around the outside of the Pullman car. The wind from the speeding train buffeted him, and the swaying of the car likewise threatened to throw him off, but slowly, deliberately, he stretched his foot over and found a footrail. Now for the uncoupling bar... Plucky ran over to the next vestibule and looked out, hoping to guide Buster's hand. "That's it!" he called. "A little farther down!... Down lower!...To your left!...That's it!" By now Buster had reached far enough that he was able to see what he was doing. Lifting up on the bar was easy. But with the entire weight of the train resting on one, relatively small uncoupling pin, rotating the mechanism that released it would not be so easy. Buster pushed the uncoupling bar as Plucky instructed, but nothing happened. Gritting his teeth, Buster tried again, harder this time. Nothing. The Acme Acres yards were coming up soon... Inside Acme Station, Gogo Dodo tore frantically through the building looking for his superior. The first place he decided to try was the cafeteria. The red-headed cashier who waited behind the stainless-steel counter would know where he is, he thought. Jumping up onto the shiny counter he asked, "Elmyra! Have you seen Elmer?!" "Why, hello, Gogo head head!" Elmyra squealed. "Did you want some nummy dinner, too?" "Did you see Elmer?!" "Elmer? Gee, I dunno. Elmer who?" Elmyra asked, scratching her head. "Elmer!" repeated Gogo, grabbing the straps of the white apron Elmyra wore over her black uniform. "You know, Elmer *Fudd*? Our *boss*? The mutant doorknob? You're the cashier, aren't you?!" "I aaaaaaaaam?" "Yes!! Did you check him out yet or not?!!" Gogo asked, his voice rising. "Him who?" "ELMER!" Gogo screamed. "Elmer who?" Before Gogo could say another word, Elmyra suddenly grabbed him and squeezed him in a tight embrace. "Gosh, you're cuuuute!" she cooed. Frustrated over Elmyra's empty-headed responses, and feeling the air being forced out of his lungs, Gogo looked for an escape. A telephone sat mute on the counter nearby. After a bit of struggling, Gogo was just able to reach over and pick up the receiver. "Here!" he gasped. "It's for you!" The ploy worked. For the moment, Elmyra forgot all about Gogo and let go of him to talk into the phone. "Hello? Helloooo? Hey, who is this..?" Off again, the next person Gogo ran into was a blonde-haired, tan and white bunny in front of the arrivals and departures screen. She, unlike Elmyra, was tallish and lithe, and intelligence beamed behind her aqua-colored eyes. She wore a deeply-cut, long blue dress, and a string of pearls graced her slender neck. In her right hand she held a walkie talkie radio, and in her left, a clip board. Gogo saw her and skidded 180 degrees around to the front of her. "Lola! Lola! Did you see Elmer?!" he asked breathlessly. "Hi, Gogo! Yeah, I saw him by the ticket office-" Whoosh!! Before the girl could say another word, all that was left of Gogo was his silhouette outlined in dust. Gogo found his superior at last. Like Elmyra, Elmer was short and squat, but unlike Elmyra, who continually wore a dazed look on her face, the controller's look was one of befuddlement. He wore a brown single-breasted suit, white shirt, a wide tan tie, and two-tone brown shoes. Together they looked like they were bought at a vintage clothing store. Gogo jumped up onto Elmer's chest and gripped his suit lapels. "Gogo! What-" "The Silver Smudge is a runaway! What'll we do?!" Gogo asked fearfully. Elmer glanced over to the large gilded clock over the ticket windows. "Gwacious! It'll be here in fouh minutes!" he said. As the Silver Smudge roared into Union Pacific's sprawling Acme Acres yard, time was quickly running out. Buster still hung tenuously on his perch outside the train, still trying desperately to uncouple the cars. He didn't need to be reminded that the station sat just at the end of the yard. Buster shifted his weight such that he was able to get more leverage to work the uncoupling bar. However, this also meant that he was sticking out farther from the train, and placed himself at a greater risk of being hit. Suddenly, a long line of freight cars loomed on the track next to the train. But Buster was so concentrated on separating the cars he didn't see the danger coming. "BUSTER! LOOK OUUUUUT!!" Babs screamed. Buster looked up and was just able to pull himself in before the railcars whizzed by. The cut of freight cars created its own nightmarish wake, but Buster stayed put and clung on for dear life. Seeing what happened to Monty replayed in Buster's mind, and he tried to hug the train as much as he was able, praying he wouldn't meet Monty's fate. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Silver Smudge cleared the cars and Buster swung himself back out and resumed his task. "Hurry, Buster! I can see the station from here!" said a very frightened Babs. Buster grit his teeth and pushed the uncoupling bar with all his might. Suddenly, without a sound, Buster's coupler released its grip on its mate, and the group of uncoupled cars started to fall back. The signal, air brake, and steam heating lines stretched taut, then burst into a hissing white cloud of steam and compressed air. Plucky, immediately realizing the danger that he was in, bolted for the portal and leaped the widening gap between cars before they got farther than five feet apart. As the three felt the train's brakes apply themselves, they feverishly hoped they would be able to stop in time... Inside Acme Station, security guards quickly appeared on the passenger platforms and rear of the station. In the quaint but bustling little gift shop, a guard approached and politely asked everyone to grab whatever they had in their hands and leave the shop. As security guards started evacuating the station, an announcement went out over the PA system, furthering their efforts: "Attention, please. May I have your attention, please. By order of the controller, all persons inside Acme Acres Union Station are requested to walk as quickly as possible to the nearest exits. Please do not run. Please walk as quickly as possible to the nearest exits. Those awaiting for the arrival of the Silver Smudge on track Three are requested to vacate that area *immediately*..." Released from the rest of its train, the locomotives, baggage car and Pullman sleeper lunged forward. In spite of the set brakes, the locomotives continued to slowly gain speed with every yard. White smoke billowed from the trucks of the train as the useless brakes burned themselves off. Acme Station was coming on hard. Inside the Station, toons did as they were asked, but as the guards' remonstrations became increasingly urgent, fear began to settle in, and grow. It wasn't long before herd instinct kicked in, and people now began to follow each other without really knowing why. Outside, every switch and every sharp curve in the tracks threatened to derail the Silver Smudge before the train reached the station. But the locomotives' low centers of gravity somehow kept the train on the tracks, and ensured it's coming fate. Passengers and station personnel alike soon crowded the exits as they tried to make their way out. No one seemed to know what was going on, but very quickly that lack of information was transforming fear into panic. The locomotives cleared the spaghetti network of tracks, passed the metal Track 3 marker, and charged the station, their speed nearly 60 miles an hour. "Get outta here!!" yelled a security guard as the final few stragglers made their appearances from the rear of the station. Panic-stricken toons now ran for the exits, and turned an orderly evacuation into a disorganized rout. Above them, the announcements also grew more dire: "...This is an emergency. Please exit the station building as soon as possible..." 300...200...100 feet. As the locomotives descended upon the enclosed station platforms, the thunderous pounding of the diesel engines reverberated off the stolid walls, and the dim interior of the area brightened under the glare the lead locomotive's headlight. 50...15...5 feet. The steel bumper at the end of the track was little match against the onslaught upon it. *****WHAM!!!!!***** The Silver Smudge reached the end of the line, but kept moving forward. The locomotives each took a short hop as their pilots, trucks, and fuel tanks were sheared off from under them by the concrete platform. On they came, through the glass wall separating the platform area from the interior of the station, and into the rear wall of the gift shop. From inside the gift shop, the cinder block wall imploded violently as the locomotives crashed through. Merchandise and shelves alike offered no resistance; they were tossed high off the floor like toys. The hung ceiling of the shop proved too low for the merciless locomotives, and now their roof components tore a rough channel in it. Ceiling tiles, ventilation duct grills, and florescent light fixtures were ripped down in a shower of sparks. The locomotives continued their remorseless ride, through the glass front of the gift shop. A florescent sign did hang over the entrance, until it (and the part of the wall it was fitted onto) was torn off in an explosion of sparks. The Silver Smudge's baggage and Pullman cars followed the locomotives into the station. Being considerably lighter than the locomotives, however, they rode the pile of twisted and broken steel deposited by the locomotives like a ramp, and careened mid- length into the station's gift shop. They quickly slammed to a rest, with one end of the Pullman sleeper entered *inside* the end of the baggage car like a letter sticking out of an envelope. The locomotives continued to slide forward, one behind the other, up the short concourse leading to the vaulted lobby. Three people - a guard and two civilians - caught out in the open, now ran for their lives well ahead of the advancing engines. For a short distance, the gift shop's sign sat dead and misshapened on the nose of the lead loco like a blindfold, before slowly falling off to the side. Under the crushing weight of the locomotives, large chunks of marble floor facing were being plowed up and pushed out ahead of the engines, leaving a wide furrow behind. Directly in the path of the rampaging locomotives were two stone pillars that stood like sentries at the entrance of the concourse. Their momentum diminished but not exhausted, the locomotives plowed through one of the pillars, leaving the top third of it hanging like a stalactite from the ceiling. Still they continued on. When the lead locomotive just stretched her full length into the lobby, the spent machines finally came to a rest. On the track farther behind, the rest of the Silver Smudge crept to a stop along the station platform. A jubilant Plucky, Buster and Babs (with the remainder of their luggage in hand) disembarked, rejoicing as they did so. "We made it!! We made it!! WOO HOOO!" cheered Buster. "Hello, Acme Acres, hel-LO!" Plucky crowed as he sank to his knees. He gave the ground several quick kisses before abruptly rising up, rubbing his bill and spitting out dirt: "Ptui! Ptui! Pbbbbbbt..!" The dust settled quickly inside Acme Union Station. One by one, toons began to make their way back into the station lobby. It was an awesome sight that met them. One locomotive was completely inside the lobby, while her sister sat at a slight angle directly behind her. Broken pieces of glass, masonry, ceiling tiles and wire covered the pair like a January snowfall, and their gleaming white, black, red and blue paint was scratched and dulled by a thick coating of grey dust. The lead locomotive, having taken the brunt of the impact, sustained the most damage. The glass was completely broken out of the headlight, windshields, marker lights, and number boards. Under the headlight, the access door was beaten in, but by some odd coincidence, was still closed. "Geez, do I have to cut *railroads* out of my list of transportation options, too?!" quipped Buster as he, Babs and Plucky stood looking at the front of the silent, stilled locomotives. "Sure," said Babs. "But then you'd *really* be running out of ways to travel!" Looking around at the damage that was wrought by the engines' wild ride, Plucky remarked, "Just look at this place! Looks like Acme Station's gonna need a *major league* facelift now!" Babs looked over to Plucky. "Why, Plucky... You're a hero!" she said with genuine admiration. "Ehh?" "That's right," added Buster. "As much as I hate to admit it, you are a hero! It was your idea to uncouple the cars. If we hadn't done that, this would've been a catastrophe!" Realizing that what Buster said was true, Plucky smiled as his ego started to grow. "Yeah! That's right, I *am* a hero! Whaddaya know?!" "Even though *I* did the dangerous part of uncoupling the cars," reminded Buster. "You're *my* personal hero!" Babs sighed, looking Buster straight in the eyes. Buster could only respond with a grin, a blush, and a self-conscious adjustment of his pullover collar. "So now what?" he asked of no one in particular. "Let's get out of here," Babs said, taking Buster's hand. "I haven't had dinner yet, and I'm hungry! Whaddaya say we go out for a bite?" "Sure!" said Buster. Turning to Plucky he asked, "How about you, Plucky? Wanna come along?" Plucky looked at the wrecked locomotives, then at the small crowd gathered, then rubbed his bill. "Nnnoooo, I don't think I will," he said. "You guys go ahead. *I'm* going to wait here. I am, after all, a hero. This is my golden opportunity! I'm gonna wait here until the news crews show up and make me famous! Do you want my autograph now, or just fight the crowds later?" Buster and Babs just rolled their eyes and shook their heads. "Well," said Buster as he knelt down to open one of his bags, "when you're done basking in the glory of your fame, call me. You're from Acme Acres, too." "Yeah.." Buster wrote his phone number on a blank page of his appointment book and ripped it out when he was done. "Well, then, here," he said, handing it and the pen to Plucky. "Thanks, pal," Plucky smiled. Scribbling his number on Buster's slip, Plucky tore off a small section, then handed it - and his hand - over to Buster. "See ya around sometime?" "You bet, Beak Face," Buster grinned, shaking Plucky's hand. "See ya, Mr. Very Important Person," said Babs. "I really am going to miss having you wait on me!" "I'm sure you will," returned Plucky. "Still," he said in faux haughtiness, "I'm a big enough person to overlook it... As long as we're all able to go out some time." "I guess so," said Babs with a wide grin. "As long as you can keep your ego under control." "What ego?" Buster and Babs couldn't help but chuckle. "Well," said Buster to Babs as he straightened up. "Shall we go?" "So long, Plucky." "See ya, Babs." Plucky watched as Buster and Babs walked toward the main entrance and out into the sunset. He wanted to go with them, and he hated to have to choose. But he also didn't want to lose his shot at the spotlight which he was certain was coming. He didn't have to dwell on his decision long. Sure enough, as he saw a news camera crew and police approaching, he knew that his 15 minutes of fame was not far behind. * * * April 19, 1999 Dedicated to the memory of Trish "Babs Bunny" Penner 1971-1999 "The evening sky is lighter tonight, Now that another bright star Has added her light."