ElevenJohn Henry Pucket was a pitiful sight, his hair matted, his drenched clothes plastered to his voluminous body, river water running from his pockets and being flung about in great droplets as he wildly gesticulated with his massive arms. Add his high-pitched whine as he complained about the theft of his beautiful new power boat and you have the pathetic image as witnessed by the sheriff and his favorite deputy. John Henry was tragedy, no doubt. But Rough Nelson and Melissa, at his side on the empty dock, were biting their lips to prevent it becoming a comedy. Not that robbery, vandalism, grand theft, and use of a deadly weapon in the commission were funny. Rough had every intention of hooking the bastards responsible and hanging them up by their nose rings. But, at the risk of showing
