Free Wyoming Slaughter by William W. Johnstone

I’d need more deputies to ride herd on all that.
    I pushed into the headwind to get back to Courthouse Square and chose the courthouse itself to get out of the gale. I found Amos Grosbeak staring dourly at the drifts that were building up fast and threatening to shut down Doubtful.
    â€œThere isn’t anything you can tell me,” Grosbeak said. “I’ve heard every argument from you and all the rest. We’re going ahead with the law, period.”
    â€œThat’s not what I’m here about.”
    Grosbeak peered upward, eyeing me over his wire-rimmed spectacles.
    â€œI got to have me five or six more deputies.”
    â€œAre you daft, Pickens?”
    â€œIf you want the new dry law enforced, that’s what I need.”
    â€œI’m sure you can do a fine job without all those subordinates, Pickens.” He said it in a way that was loaded with doubt.
    I recounted my encounter with Flynn and described the amount of booze that got loaded into a single freight wagon, and I didn’t forget to tell Grosbeak what Flynn was saying.
    â€œYou want to turn this county dry? You want to shut down every log cabin saloon that’s going to go into every gulch? You want to intercept nighttime shipments up from Laramie? You want to track down every beer party on every summer night in the county? You want to keep the booze out of a county the size of some eastern states, with just me and one deputy?”
    Grosbeak eyed me levelly. “There’s not a dime to be had. We just increased our administrative salaries, and there’s nothing left over.” He leaned forward. “We’re putting our trust in you, Pickens. There’s something you should learn to do, because you’re not much good at it. You need to win the cooperation of the community. You need to organize watch and ward patrols, get informants, pay snitches. Get the women involved; get an earful of gossip and learn where the outlawed traffic is going, and then strike hard.”
    â€œAll right, sir. I’ll start with you. I want you and Mrs. Grosbeak to feed me anything you hear, every little rumor, and I’ll track her down.”
    â€œWe’re too busy for that, Pickens. You get informants from people who have nothing better to do than spy on their neighbors.”
    â€œYou going to give me a budget for that? For hiring snitches?”
    â€œNo, Pickens, you’ll get help from all those people who are eager to do their civic duty. You’ll get yourself in front of civic groups, like the chamber of commerce, and ask for their cooperation.”
    â€œThis sure is entertaining,” I said.

C HAPTER N INE
    This sure was getting bigger by the hour. It was looking like war. At the stroke of midnight, New Year’s Eve, the population of Doubtful would be reduced by about eighty percent, especially of women with shotguns waded into it. It was going to keep the grave diggers real busy. It was a good thing it was winter, because it would take a month to get all those bodies planted. They could be safely frozen in the meantime.
    But that was speculation. I spent the next day shoveling out the sheriff office, which was inundated by a new storm that seemed to unload snow until the town slowed to a crawl. I hoped it would blizzard New Year’s Eve and save the town from certain doom.
    â€œYou want to shovel for a while, Rusty?” I asked after putting in a good lick.
    â€œI have a sore back, and the county’s not paying me for that,” Rusty said.
    â€œWe’ve got to keep the steps clear so we can get all the drunks into jail,” I said. “We can’t have them breaking their bones around here.”
    â€œThey’re going to be too loaded to know the difference. You could bring the whole lot in on toboggans,” Rusty said.
    I figured there’d be no one arriving in town that snowy day, but I was wrong. A company of men along with three or four big gold-gilded