Wyoming Slaughter Read online

  Funny how this thing had gone from a prohibition law to a war. There sure were a mess of people who thought that going dry would cure just about everything that went wrong in the world. It was almost a religion to them: throw away the sauce and everyone, pretty near, would be happy and hardworking and responsible. And there were some steel-willed women in the town who believed it and were determined to make it happen.

  I couldn’t find any escape from that wind. It burrowed down my neck. It slid up my pants. It wormed its way into my waist. It nabbed my ears and nipped my nostrils and numbed my fingers. The only thing good about it is that it enforced the peace. I plunged into Turk’s barn, which was almost as cold as outside. A lamp shown in the little cubicle that Turk called office and bunkhouse. The barn aisle was full of animals, welcomed into its shelter on this brutal night.

  I rapped on Turk’s door and heard cussing inside before the door opened a crack.

  “I’m under six blankets and you come making trouble,” Turk said.

  “Yeah, it’s a bad night. You got those powdermen up in your loft?”

  “What men?”

  “The ones put the mules in here.”

  “No, haven’t seen them, Sheriff.”

  “Not in the loft?”

  “Hell no. Not even a hay pile is enough on a night like this.”

  “Mind if I look?”

  “Don’t you be taking a lamp up there. Burn down the whole damned town. Yes, I mind. There’s no one up there, and you ain’t going to climb that ladder until there’s light.”

  “They tell you where they’d be?”

  “Closemouthed pair.”

  “If they come around, would you get me? I need to talk to them.”

  “On a night like this? Are you half crazy or all crazy?”

  Turk jammed the door shut, cussing softly. You always knew where you stood with him.

  It was black as spades in the barn.

  “You up there, come on down,” I yelled. “Sheriff speaking.”

  That met with silence. I stood there, full of a strange urgency I couldn’t explain. I wanted those men, and wanted them before New Year’s Eve, barely forty-eight hours away. I wanted to keep an eye on them night and day. My gut instinct was that the whole town, the whole county, lay in their hands. All they needed was a match.

  I stood in that cold gloom, suddenly itchy and restless. I knew what I was going to do, and I hated it. But I had to do it. My instincts were howling. A white moon threw light into the barn, giving me what I needed. I worked through the restless animals sheltered there to Critter’s stall and let myself in. Critter didn’t like that and aimed a rear hoof in my direction. But I had anticipated that and dodged it. The hoof splintered wood.

  “Cut it out,” I said. “I’ll turn you into dog food.”

  Critter leaned into me, pushing hard, driving me into the wall, squeezing air out of my lungs. I responded with a knee into Critter’s belly. The horse whoofed and quit, and stood quietly for the moment.

  “We’re going out, whether you want to or not. So get used to it.”

  Critter bit me, then tried again, aiming at my kneecap.

  “You’ve already told me that, but we’re going. I’m going to stuff a cold bit in your mouth,” I said.

  I warmed the bit in my hand a moment and then tried to slide it in, but Critter was having no part of it. He bobbed his head and dodged the bit and farted.

  “Cut it out! We’re just going out for a few minutes.”

  Critter listened and quit fighting, and pretty quick I got the bridle on, and a saddle blanket, and then the saddle, which I cinched up tight, kneeing Critter to keep him from playing his usual games with the girth. Then I led Critter out of the stall, worked through the horseflesh sheltered in the barn, and stepped into a breathtaking, bitter white night.

  Critter humped and shivered when I climbed on, but soon I was pointing my saddle horse toward the creek. There was something I had to find out, and fast, and that was whether the six cases of DuPont Hercules dynamite were where they had been unloaded at the creek bank under my watchful eye by the two powdermen.

  The snow was so cold it squeaked under Critter’s hoof, but at least the wind had slowed, and I thought I could make the whole trip without anything more than some frostbit earlobes and fingers. My ma would have scolded me for not bundling up.

  There was nothing friendly in the moon that night. The white ground cover gave me plenty of light. Behind me, Doubtful hunkered darkly, asleep, barely a lamp lit. Smoke streamed from scores of stoves and bent to the wind. The night was as silent and secretive as any I had known in my life.

  I saw no tracks. The wind whipped hoofprints away in moments. When I reached the creek and the brush along it, I hunted down the place where the powder had been cached and couldn’t find it. I was sure I was at the right place. I had overseen the whole business earlier. But maybe the moonlight was tricking me. I rode up and down the bank, through brush, around naked cottonwoods, and found nothing. I stood at the very spot where the cases had been placed and saw not a thing. No imprint, no hoofprints. The dynamite was gone.

  Just to be sure, I patrolled the riverbank in each direction but found nothing.

  “All right, Critter,” I said, and steered my horse back. Critter got the idea and settled into a sprightly jog, suddenly as barn sour as a horse could get.

  This was probably bad news, unless the powdermen had simply left town. There would be an easy way to find out. The cold air harried me back, and I dismounted when I reached Turk’s and let myself and the horse into the yard. I pulled open the barn door and led Critter to his stall, cleaned the tack off, and scratched Critter under the jaw. Critter bit me on the arm.

  “Yowch!” I said, and got out just before a massive hoof crashed into the stall door.

  “You’re welcome,” I added.

  Turk allowed a bull’s-eye lamp in the barn if it stayed on its wall hook, so I lit it, carefully extinguishing the lucifer. It cast a torpid light across the cavernous interior. There were maybe twenty animals there, their eyes on me, glowing like coals in the light. I was looking for the powdermen’s mules, and I gradually picked them out. They were good mules, well cared for, and I soon located all six. Some had saddle marks on the back, where the pack sawbucks had pressed into them.

  So the powdermen were in town. And the dynamite was probably in town. Or at least it was no longer cached at the riverside, safely away from Doubtful. I wondered where it was and where the powdermen were. It was a puzzle.

  I extinguished the bull’s-eye lamp and waited for the wick to go black, and then slipped into the bitter night. Somewhere in this town were men with enough powder to turn Doubtful into history, and most of its people with it. I didn’t know why they were here, what they planned, and who had brought them. I hadn’t the faintest idea what the dynamite was for, but the best bet was blackmail: do what we say or we’ll blow the place to smithereens.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was colder than a pissant’s mother-in-law the next morning, but I figured I’d better get busy. There were a mess of armed men in Doubtful, and two powdermen, and that made me a trifle unhappy. Wherever they were, they were all hiding, and that made me even more unhappy. Those three gilded wagons, parked near Saloon Row, sure reminded me that there might be a circus at midnight the next day. I bundled up and patrolled the town, but there wasn’t a soul on the streets. It wasn’t a day to be out.

  The next best thing would be to have a little talk with them Temperance ladies. The armed men and the powdermen sure didn’t get themselves hired to keep the saloons open. That meant a trip to the north side, to have a visit with Eve Grosbeak, wife of the Puma County supervisor and leader of the Temperance women. I sure didn’t know what to say, but maybe I could rattle something out of her. I needed all the information I could get if I hoped to keep Doubtful from blowing itself to smithereens.

  The Grosbeaks lived in a pleasant frame house with a white picket fence around it,
and half a dozen peacocks. I had never been to a place with peacocks before and couldn’t quite figure out the attraction. All they did was crap all over the yard and spread their feathers out. But that was the Grosbeaks for you. A pet often resembled its master. I got myself into my heavy coat, headed up there, and entered the yard, closing the gate behind me. The way to the house was barred by a big peacock, his tail spread out a yard or two, and he was making funny little waddles. Whenever I moved in one direction, the peacock dodged that way, tail spread. And no matter which way I moved, the big bird was quicker. I wished I’d brought a billy club so I could knock the bird senseless.

  Then the bird leaped, landed square on my chest, and knocked me flat. Only then did I figure out what was what, and what the big bird was after. It sure was insulting.

  “Get off me, you damned old stud,” I yelled, but the peacock was doing strange things. I got to my feet, pushed the bird aside, and stomped toward the house. I saw a slightly parted curtain in a window fall into place and knew that some peacock-watchers were in there, recording the event for posterity.

  I fantasized making the peacock species extinct and was giving it serious thought when the door opened, and there was Mrs. Grosbeak herself.

  “Why, Sheriff, do come in. I just saw our rooster being friendly to you. That’s how he is, you know. Friendly to everyone.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll shoot him if he gets any friendlier.”

  Eve Grosbeak’s laugh was a tinkle.

  She led me into a front parlor with flocked red wallpaper. A guest was there. I recognized her as Manilla Twining, the wife of Lester Twining, the chief cashier of the bank and one of the county supervisors. Manilla was famous for her campaign to bring suffrage to women in Wyoming, and also famous for having a whole platoon of gentleman friends.

  “Why, Sheriff, you’re just the man we want to see. Is everything going well?” asked Eve Grosbeak.

  “Well, ma’am, no. There’s a mess of armed men in town, and some powdermen, and three gold circus wagons. You want to tell me about all that?”

  “Who, me?” said Eve.

  “You, ma’am.”

  I turned to Manilla Twining. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that.”

  “Young man, I deal with public policy, not circus wagons.”

  “What’s public policy?”

  “Oh, it’s all over your head, Mr. Pickens.”

  “Well, I stand five feet ten, so not much over.”

  “Deduct a foot. Your head doesn’t count,” Manilla said. “But as long as you asked, I’ll tell you. We’re putting together an agenda for the Women’s Temperance Union. Of course the first step was to obtain suffrage, and the second step is now about to occur, at least in Puma County. Prohibition. Absolute bone dry. Once we’ve achieved that and saved families from poverty and degradation, we will proceed to our next steps.”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” I said.

  “Oh, we’ll tell you. But we must phrase it delicately in mixed company.” Manilla and Mrs. Grosbeak eyed each other. “Why, we’ll begin to remove anything that weakens family life, or causes gentlemen to stray from the bosom of wedlock.”

  “Ah, you’ll have to make that a little plainer, ma’am.”

  “The places that have no name, my dear man. The places where no respectable woman would ever be seen.”

  “Oh, the fun parlors. They’re all mighty fine, here, and I keep ’em well under wraps.”

  “They’re a blot on our escutcheon, Mr. Pickens.”

  “Not on my escutcheon, they ain’t.”

  “There’s more, Sheriff. You may as well hear the whole agenda, because you’ll soon be enforcing it. Next we’re going to abolish smoking. Dreadful habit. Soon the lungs of wives and children will suffer less, and Puma County will be a better place.”

  “Yeah, and what else?”

  “Why, gambling and horse racing, Mr. Pickens. Pernicious vices that sap the finances of families, create debt, and ruin children.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Oh, no, we have many more plans we’re working out. “We’re going to phase out restaurants. They are the vice of single men and weaken family life. Once we get them shut down, especially Barney’s Beanery, we’ll strengthen the bonds of wedlock in Puma County.”

  “What about me? I need a few restaurants.”

  “No you don’t, boy. You need a woman in your life.”

  “I got too many of those already.”

  “Oh, aren’t you the sly boy. Now, there’s a few more things. We’re going to eliminate coffee, tea, and card-playing from Puma County.”

  “Jaysas,” I said. “What’s a man to do?”

  “Chop stove wood for his wife,” said Manilla.

  “I don’t think I want to get married,” I said. “I’d take the benefits, though.”

  “You poor dear, you only made it through fifth grade. Our agenda also includes putting all children through grade and high school so they can go out into the world better equipped to be mothers and fathers.”

  “You got any other plans?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s a bit radical. We firmly believe that men are the source of all difficulty, and that if men were disfranchised, and only women could vote, the world would be a peaceful, safe, and productive place.”

  “That makes sense. I always have to get someone to tell me what’s on the ballot,” I said.

  “You’re educable,” Manilla said. “I’ll say that for you. Now you come over to the settee here and sit between us, and we’ll show you why you should become a family man, and why you should support everything we do.”

  “Sit between you on that red thing?”

  They were both beaming at me. I sure didn’t know where this was leading, but I edged down until I sat between them.

  “We’re going to show you how to kiss. So few men are any good at it,” Manilla said. “This is just practice, of course. Consider it an important part of your education.”

  “That’s fine with me,” I said. “Only you got to take turns.”

  “We need to explain a few things first,” Eve said. “We’re hoping you’ll be our ally. Our program requires friendly law enforcement. A peace officer against us could set us back a long way.”

  “Well, ma’am, I’m sure not for going dry.”

  “Well, dear boy, you would be if you were happily married. If you had a loving wife, and a little bundle coming along every little while, you’d see things our way. The trouble with single men is that they want all the wrong things. Saloons and other vices. Now, dear boy, Manilla and I have been talking about you for weeks, and we’ve come to some understanding. The thing that keeps you from wedded bliss is that you don’t know a thing about women.”

  “That’s what my ma always said.”

  “You got through fifth grade, but when it comes to women, you’re still in first grade.”

  “You got some final exams or something?”

  “No, child, but we are observing, and we’ve been watching you for months. You need some lessons, some samples of the joys that await you. And we’re going to provide them—just little samples, of course, to start you in a new direction. If you take our lesson to heart, you’ll be happily married in a week or two.”

  “I sure wouldn’t want that, ma’am.”

  “That’s why we’re here. To show you a sample of what awaits you. Always with propriety and modesty, of course.”

  I discovered myself wedged between these ladies, who were gazing eagerly at me, and I decided it wasn’t half bad after all. Nothing like a little lesson or two. They sure looked sweet, with loose lips and hungry eyes, and fluttery hands.

  “Now, Sheriff, how long has it been since you washed your union suit?” asked Manilla.

  “I put her on in the fall, and I’ll take her off in the spring.”

  “That’s what we thought. You are not fragrant. We’d suggest that you get another union suit and throw this away, and that you wash the new one once a wee
k.”

  “On a sheriff salary?”

  “You get a new one, and we’ll arrange the rest. And while you’re at it, Cotton, dear, you really should get a Saturday night bath at the Tonsorial Parlor. That would prepare you for all the good things to come, when you are courting and getting married.”

  “I’m not much for reform, Mrs. Twining.”

  “Call me Manilla, dear. Now, you could scrape your beard with a little more regularity, so that your cheeks are smooth to the touch.”

  She ran a hand over my cheeks. “Ouch! You really need to make your face more suitable for women,” she said. “When we kiss you in a moment, we’ll all suffer.”

  “You’re going to kiss me?”

  “We promised you a sample. Eve and I, we’re dying to kiss you.”

  “Ah, I’m not sure about this. What if someone—walks in?”

  “There won’t be anyone walking in. Mr. Grosbeak is busy supervising Puma County. He’s your employer, you know, and you’ll do exactly as Eve and I require.”

  “Ah . . .”

  “Be quiet, child. I’m going to kiss you, and Eve will give you pointers.”

  “But I might drown.”

  Too late. Manilla leaned into me, wrapped her arms around me, and began kissing me madly. I sort of enjoyed it, at least until she began probing with her tongue.

  I busted loose. “What are you doing that for?”

  “That’s called French kissing, and it’s sure to delight your future wife,” Manilla said.

  “I prefer the good old American type,” I said. “I always knew foreigners do it different.”

  That didn’t slow Manilla down. She went back to work, kissing away, and pretty soon she was breathing hard and carrying on, while Eve sat primly. I was getting so I liked the whole show and was ready for more lessons. But then Manilla suddenly pushed me away and sat there, breathing hard.

  “That’s your lesson, dear boy,” she said.

  She sure looked a bit wrought up.