The Captain's Paradise

James Hord, a cantankerous Texan of 49, made a comfortable living operating two Gulf coast shrimp boats. A stern, touchy man, he insisted that people address him by his World War II title, captain. Ten years ago Captain Hord and his wife began to spend summers near Creede (pop. 503), in southwestern Colorado. Last year they bought a homesite and built a luxurious chink-log cabin with a big living room, two bedrooms, picture window and a two-car garage.

Unfortunately the captain's paradise is close to some of the choice fishing streams and game forests in the neighborhood. Captain Hord seemed to spend more time running off trespassers, complaining to the sheriff and fencing off his five acres than he spent fishing and hunting. A strong antipathy grew up between the Hords and the natives. At the end of last summer, before he went back to his home in Rockport, Texas, Captain Hord worked out an elaborate plan to secure his dream house against trespassers. Inside the pantry he set up a loaded .22-cal. pistol. Only the tip of the barrel protruded from the paneling, pointed at the level of a man's heart toward the pantry door. From the hidden trigger, the captain connected a piece of cord to the door handle and completed his booby trap.

On the inside of three closet doors, he set up others. He fastened deadly cyanide bombs (used thereabouts to kill coyotes) in such a way that they would spurt gas into the face of anyone who opened the doors. Mrs. Hord painted signs (including one adorned with skull and crossbones) on the fence and the heavy wooden win dow coverings, with the warning: DANGER. EXPLOSIVES SET TO KILL -- KEEP OUT.

Last week the Hords got back to their cabin for the summer. When Judy Hord pulled back the curtains in the darkened living room, she and her husband were dismayed to see the picture window shattered, bullet holes on the wall and bullet scars across the ceiling. Unfriendly hunters had used their house for target prac tice. Captain Herd's anger grew to fury. He sent his wife off to get the sheriff, stormed through the house cutting the cords that triggered the cyanide bombs. When he got to the pantry, the furious, forgetful captain yanked open the door. His carefully arranged contraption worked perfectly; the .22 fired a bullet into his chest, just above the heart. This week doctors gave Captain Hord an even chance to recover.

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