Chapter

At the front door, Woody and Buster paused before going out to the yard sale. They peered outside, checking to see if the coast was clear. “Okay, boy,” Woody whispered into Buster’s ear. “Let’s go.”

Woody held on to Buster’s flank, trying to keep out of sight, as the little dog sauntered toward the table with the 25 CENTS box. Woody jumped onto the edge of the table. He hid for a moment behind a tall pepper grinder. Then he ran over to the box, hoisted himself up, and jumped inside.

Upstairs in Andy’s room, the toys crowded around the window, trying to get a glimpse of Woody. They gasped when they saw him climb into the box.

“He’s selling himself for twenty-five cents!” exclaimed Hamm.

“Oh, Woody, you’re worth more than that,” said Slinky sadly.

“Hold on, he’s got something,” said Buzz. “It’s Wheezy!”

“It’s a rescue!” exclaimed Rex, finally understanding.

Woody pushed Wheezy out of the box and then jumped to the ground himself. Woody tucked Wheezy under Buster’s collar.

“There you go, pal,” he said once he was sure the toy penguin was secure.

“Bless you, Woody,” wheezed Wheezy.

“All right now, back to Andy’s room,” Woody said as he climbed onto Buster’s back.

“Way to go, cowboy!” yelled the other toys, still watching from the window.

Buster bounded to victory, but Wheezy started to slip out from under the dog’s collar.

“Woody, I’m slipping!” Wheezy cried.

With his good arm, Woody reached up and secured Wheezy once again. Right then, Buster jumped over a toy in their path. Unable to hold on with only one arm, Woody was thrown to the ground. The oblivious Buster kept on running, leaving Woody flat on his back on the front walk.

Woody looked up to see Buster and Wheezy make their way into the house. Suddenly, a shadow passed over him. Woody went limp.

“Mommy, Mommy! Look at this!” yelled a little girl. “It’s a cowboy dolly.”

Back in Andy’s room, the toys watched the scene in horror. “No, no, no,” pleaded Buzz.

“That’s not her toy!” shouted Rex.

“What’s that little gal think she’s doing?” asked Slinky.

The girl picked up Woody and ran to her mother. “Mommy, can we keep him? Please?”

“Oh, honey, you don’t want that toy. It’s broken,” her mother said, staring at Woody’s limp arm. She took Woody from her daughter and tossed him onto a nearby table just as the little girl tugged on Woody’s pull string.

“There’s a snake in my boot,” came the voice from Woody’s voice box as the pull string retracted.

When a heavy man standing nearby heard the voice, he gasped and ran over to Woody. He picked up the cowboy and began to examine him. “Original hand-painted face,” he said excitedly. “Natural dyed blanket-stitched vest.” Then he looked at Woody’s torn arm. “Hmmm, a little rip…fixable. Oh, if only you had your hand-stitched polyvinyl—” The man suddenly spotted Woody’s hat on the table. “Hat!” he yelped. “Oh, I found him! I found him! I found him!”

Mrs. Davis walked over to the man. “Excuse me. Can I help you?” she asked.

The man looked up nervously, gathering a few other items along with Woody. “Oh, ah, I’ll give you, ah, fifty cents for all this junk.”

“Oh, now, how did this get here?” said Mrs. Davis, reaching for Woody.

The man laughed. “Very well…five dollars.”

“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Davis shook her head. “It’s an old family toy.” She took Woody from the man and began to walk away. But the man wouldn’t give up. He got out his wallet and followed Mrs. Davis.

“Wait! I’ll give you fifty bucks for him!” he said, waving the cash in front of Mrs. Davis.

“He’s not for sale,” she answered.

“Everything’s for sale,” reasoned the man. “Or trade. Ummm, you like my watch?”

“Sorry,” said Mrs. Davis, shaking her head. She put Woody in the cashbox and locked it.

Though discouraged, the man was not ready to give up. He lurked around the yard sale, waiting for the perfect moment. When Mrs. Davis turned her back, he pried open the cashbox and grabbed Woody. He stuffed Woody into his bag and ran to his car.

Upstairs, the toys had been watching from Andy’s window. They were horrified.

“Oh, no—he’s stealing Woody!” exclaimed Buzz.

“Somebody do something!” cried Rex.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Buzz leaped out the window and slid down a drainpipe. The toys watched helplessly as Buzz raced through the yard sale, hiding behind various objects on his way to the man’s car.

Buzz made it to the street just as the man was pulling away from the house, tires screeching. Buzz ran as fast as he could after the car. He jumped for the bumper and was able to grab hold. He began trying to pry open the trunk, but the car hit a bump and he was thrown to the pavement.

Out of breath, Buzz managed to catch a glimpse of the car’s license plate before it disappeared. It read LZTYBRN. That, along with several feathers that floated out of the car as it drove away, were his only clues as to who had taken Woody.

Inside the man’s bag, Woody bounced around in the dark. Shaken and terrified, he wondered where he was going—and how he was going to get back to Andy. Suddenly, the car screeched to a stop. Woody heard the door open, and then he felt the bag being lifted out of the trunk. The bouncing began again, along with the steady beat of footsteps. Carefully, Woody peeked out of the bag. He looked up and saw the bearded face of the man who had stolen him. As the man carried Woody into an apartment building, Woody noticed a sign on the door and shuddered.

The sign read NO CHILDREN ALLOWED.

Back in Andy’s room, the toys tried to come up with a plan to rescue Woody. Hamm paced in front of Etch A Sketch.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s review this one more time. At precisely eight-thirty-two-ish, Exhibit A, Woody, was kidnapped.” He tapped his pointer on Etch, where Woody’s figure was drawn. “Exhibit B: the composite sketch of the kidnapper.” Etch quickly erased Woody and then drew a fat man with a beard that almost touched his feet.

“He didn’t have a beard like that,” protested Bo.

“Fine,” said Hamm. “Etch, give him a shave.”

Etch erased the man and drew another one, this time with a short beard.

“The kidnapper was bigger than that,” said Slinky.

“Oh, picky, picky, picky,” complained Hamm.

“How do you spell FBI?” asked Rex, holding a sign advertising a lost toy.

“Excuse me. A little quiet, please,” said Buzz. He was studying Mr. Spell, whose screen was lit up with the letters LZTYBRN.

“Lazy-Toy-Brain,” droned Mr. Spell’s electronic voice as it attempted to make a word out of the mysterious letters. “Lousy-Try-Brian.”

The toys approached Buzz. “What are you doing?” asked Rex.

“It’s some sort of message encoded on that vehicle’s ID tag,” explained Buzz.

“Liz-Try-Bran,” continued Mr. Spell.

None of the others believed that studying the license plate letters would help. “There are about three-point-five million registered cars in the tricounty area alone,” said Hamm with resignation, turning back to Etch.

Buzz suddenly shouted, “Toy! Toy! Hold on!” He quickly punched more letters into Mr. Spell.

“Al’s-Toy-Barn,” said Mr. Spell.

“Al’s Toy Barn?” cried the other toys. Everyone stopped in surprise.

Buzz picked up the feather he had found. A sudden realization came over him. He spun around and ran to Etch. “Etch, draw that man in a chicken suit!” he said.

When Etch finished the drawing, the toys stared in amazement. “It’s the chicken man!” gasped Rex.

“That’s our guy,” said Buzz.

“I knew there was something I didn’t like about that chicken,” said Hamm.