Wyoming Slaughter Read Free

didn’t matter who was at fault: saloon men vowing to defy the law, or the cabal of supervisors and their prissy wives who thought to force their notions on everyone else.
    I scratched my head some more, but nothing else came to mind. I’d lived twenty-four years, but this was the first time I’d dealt with anything like this. There were scores of men in the saloons who were simply gonna say no to the law, and take the consequences. And when it was over, there’d sure be a mess of men who’d be mad at me, maybe fight-to-death mad, and that was something to consider, too. I’d sure like to live another twenty-four years, and then some.
    Times sure were changing. The frontier was vanishing and settlers were settling.
    I sure couldn’t think of anything that might work. So the next step was to get myself a good posse. I thought I’d start with Supervisor Amos W. Grosbeak, get the names of them fellers who supported the Big Dry, as everyone was calling it, and line them up for the New Year’s Eve fandango.
    I trudged through a wintry afternoon, with the air mean and northerly, and entered the courthouse, which was almost as cold as outside. That’s how justice was: cold and mean. A warm courthouse would upset everyone’s notion of how the world worked.
    Sure enough, there was Grosbeak in his warren, plenty warm from a cast-iron coal stove.
    â€œYes? What do you want?” Grosbeak asked, plainly annoyed.
    â€œNeed to talk about going dry.”
    â€œWell be quick about it. I’ve got to hang this mistletoe.” He eyed me. “Here I was, full of Christmas and you walked in. I guess I’ll put up the mistletoe later.”
    â€œI ain’t very kissable,” I said.
    That was the wrong thing to say. “You have ten seconds,” Grosbeak said.
    â€œI’m making a posse for New Year’s Eve. That’s the only way I’m gonna shut down the town and turn out the lights. My last deputy is quitting on me at midnight, and I can’t do it alone.”
    â€œPosse? Why a posse?”
    â€œBecause no one’s got any intention of shutting down, law or no law. They’re gonna keep right on a-going, and they’ve told me if I mess with them, they’ll bury me.”
    Amos W. Grosbeak frowned. “I really should hang the mistletoe,” he said. “It’s time to sing carols and crank up the holidays, and pour some wassail punch.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œWhy, ah, a little beverage flavored with spices, good health, and good cheer.”
    â€œSounds like good booze to me,” I said.
    It was the wrong thing to say.
    â€œWell, I expect you to do the job,” the supervisor said.
    â€œI need a posse. I need the names of all those fellers who feel real strong about us going dry around here. All them businessmen who wanted it. I’ll deputize them for the posse. Thought I’d start with you. I found it in the books. I can make a posseman out of anyone I want, no matter whether they want it. Thought I’d swear you in.”
    â€œMe? I’m a public servant. I’m exempt from everything.”
    â€œYou read me where you’re exempt, all right?”
    â€œForget it, Sheriff. You can remove my name from your list. You can recruit plenty of men for the task, but I will be in my snug home, enjoying a quiet and prayerful welcoming of the new year.”
    â€œI’ll need about twenty men with shotguns and a lot of bird shot,” I said. “I’ll give them barkeeps a little leeway and let them shut down for an hour into the new year. It don’t make sense to shut down all them places on the stroke of midnight. Some of them barkeeps, they’ll just lock up and start shipping their stock out of town the next day, but some’ll want to defy the law and test me, and that’s who I’m going after.”
    â€œYou’re not going to give any saloon any leeway, Sheriff.