The glow of the heat lamp illuminated its light directly over Rascal. He sat on a log stump awaiting his inquisition. His paws were crossed with a disgruntle disposition. Banjo, Moose, and Tuff paced around him, attempting to heighten his anxiety, so he spilled his mischievous plans. So far, Rascal had involved a passel of weasels and a wayward nearly blind wolverine who’d been hunkered in the caverns all winter to his schemes. And now, it was evident he’d been scavenging from the Fogarity’s ranch, especially since Moose had found him casually popping popcorn into his mouth. “What’s the idea...

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