A young sheriff comes riding high—atop a tortoise—toward the troubled, “cumin-scented” town of Drywater Gulch. Just give him a minute.
How to get the Toads—not the four-legged kind, but three lawless brothers saddled with a silly name and a yen to “steal your gold, kiss your cattle, and insult your chili”—into the hoosegow? Avowed dino-expert Ryan knows just the ploy: blame the big hole blasted into the bank on T. Rex and the stagecoach robbery on Velociraptors. The cattle-kissin’? Why, Triceratops, of course. Annoyed to no end at not getting proper credit for their crimes (“Why I smooched them beefy lips my own self!”), the Toads rudely occupy the clink: “HA! You can blow them dinersores out your nose Sheriff, this here jail is full up of real bonafide criminals!” “Hooray!” cheer the townsfolk. Sheriff Ryan just saddles up his reptilian steed and rides off into the sunset…over the next three days. The hulking Toads cut properly brutish figures in Smith’s angular, sand-and-brown Wild West scenes, while their pint-sized nemesis sports the requisite white chaps and a huge white hat.
A crowd-pleasin’ knee-slapper that’ll have ’em rolling in the aisles, yessirree. (Picture book. 5-8)