Wyoming Slaughter (3 page)

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Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: Wyoming Slaughter
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C
HAPTER
F
OUR
I intended to hang some mistletoe from the top of the iron door leading to my two jail cells but thought better of it. I gave up on hanging it in the outhouse and also hanging it over my desk. But I did finally plant some at the top of the rack that held the shotguns and rifles. You never knew what might come in handy.
A little before Christmas I got a surprise visitor. Eve Grosbeak had never set foot in the place, and I hadn't ever expected her to. She belonged in a different world. She could sit in her comfortable north side home and run her Women's Temperance Union, and never know what life was really like along Saloon Row, or some of the alleys behind it.
But here she was, stamping fresh snow off her little boots and shaking snow off her bonnet and scarf. She eyed the room, the gloomy and smelly cells beyond that iron-barred door, and finally focused on me.
“Ma'am?” I said. I wasn't very good at polite, but I'd work at it some.
“Yes, this is about what I thought,” she said. “We'll fill those cells New Year's Eve.”
“Doesn't seem likely, ma'am.”
“Don't ma'am me. It makes you sound servile. Call me Eve. It was just a happy coincidence that I was named Eve, and now I am Evening Grosbeak, just like the bird.”
“You look like one, too, Eve. Nice big beak.”
I had a feeling that I shouldn't have said that.
“Well, yes, young man, that's sweet of you. Now about prohibition . . .”
“It's a problem, ma'am.”
“Aren't you going to invite me to sit down?”
“Wouldn't you prefer a tour of the jail? No one's in there sleeping with his pants off.”
She stared and then nodded. I grabbed the big key ring and led her to the barred door, opened it, and invited her in.
“Two cells. Enough for Puma County, unless there's trouble.”
“Don't you ever wash it down? The smell!”
“Well, it's a bad smell, all right, but it just makes 'em want to get out of here faster and makes 'em less willing to get stuck in here, so the smell's a good thing.”
“But surely you attend to sanitation.”
“Only when we're forced to, ma'am. The idea is to make a citizen's experience in here something he wishes to avoid the rest of his days. My ma, she used to say that a few days in the pokey cured my dad for good.”
“I see.”
“Not much to see. Just some iron bars, metal shelves to be uncomfortable on. Not so bad, though. I've slept here a few times in snowstorms. It won't match a hotel bed, though. Now, I could use some advice. I was thinking of hanging some mistletoe right there, over the outer door, but wasn't sure that was a good idea. What do you think?”
“Mistletoe? Door?”
“Right there.”
“But who'd want to kiss anyone in here?”
“I see your point, ma'am.”
I led her out, and she settled herself in the chair beside my desk.
“That's where your tax dollar goes, ma'am.”
“Call me Eve, you young rascal. Oh, you're a card, all right. No wonder no laws are enforced in Puma County.”
Oh, that stung. And from the supervisor's wife, too.
“Well, get on with it,” I said, feeling testy.
“I've heard about your little posse. I've also heard that every respectable male in Doubtful is lily-livered. That means coward, doesn't it? I come from the East and I'm not sure about all these local terms. Lily-livered sounds good, though. Nothing but lily-livered males in Doubtful, including your remaining deputy, who is about to cut and run.”
“I wouldn't say lily-livered is a very good way to describe him, ma'am.”
“Call me Eve. I'll let you because you're a real man. You're not cutting and running. You're the only real man in town. You deserve to wear pants. You're the only man in town with the equipment.”
“I do? I haven't ever given it a thought, ma'am.”
“It's Eve, my boy. Now what are you planning for New Year's?”
“Right now, I'm treed, ma'am.”
“I'll fix you up, boy.”
“The best advice I've got is to deal with it gradual. Forget shutting down every saloon at midnight. Close them one at a time over the next days or weeks, and keep the peace.”
“That's what cowards want to do. That's why you're the only real, true man in Doubtful. You're not going to do that. You're sworn to uphold the law, and you're going to do it.”
“Ah . . .”
“We're going to turn Puma County into desert. We're going to abolish spirits of all sorts now and forever. We're going to spare little girls the shame of a drunkard father. We're going to rescue families from drunkard mothers. We're going to make everyone in Puma County a better citizen. We're going to close the jail because it won't be needed. Almost every despicable crime in the sorry catalog of human folly rises from spirits. It's the devil incarnate, young man. So no, we won't be moderate about driving the devil out of Puma County. If men won't do it, then women can. We're better suited anyway, being female. You can join us or not, but we're going to do it.”
“Ah . . .”
“The ladies will proceed. That's all I'm going to tell you.”
“I think you'd better tell me, ah, Eve.”
“Now I'm Eve again, eh? All right. As long as I'm Eve to you, and you don't use that lickspittle ma'am word again, I'll tell you. Now you listen close, and get that jail ready, because the Women's Temperance Union is going to fill it to overflowing.”
“Ah, I'm not quite catching on, Eve.”
“Women are bulletproof.”
“Ah, my ma used to tell me that women get notions.”
“When we achieve full equality, we won't be bulletproof, you know. We will be like men, only smarter and better.”
I sure didn't know what to make of all that, so I just sulked in my chair and waited, knowing it was going to be bad.
“If lily-livered men won't do it, women will. We're organized and ready. When midnight New Year's Eve rolls around, we'll attack.”
“You can't do it with brooms, ma'am.”
“There you go, saying ma'am. You need some manners.”
She leaned over and touched my knee familiarly. As far as I could remember, no female had tapped my knee since I'd come into manhood. “Not even the most corrupt and craven and debased male in Doubtful will shoot women,” she said.
“I wouldn't be too sure of it. My deputy, Rusty, he told me he'd as soon shoot a woman as a man.”
“Well then, I admire Rusty. He sees us as equals. Now, the good souls in the Women's Temperance Union have divided into three-woman militias, three militiawomen for each saloon. Here's how it'll play out. At midnight, we'll enter, two of us with shotguns, one woman with a revolver to cover the rear and pick off snipers. We'll give the saloon man two or three minutes to shut down or not. If not . . . our bird shot'll clean out all the glass on the backbar, and not a soul will fight back. They're all as lily-livered as the town's businessmen.”
“I'm not sure that's a bright idea, ma'am, I mean Eve.”
“You're a slow learner.”
“That's what my ma always said. But she said I make up for it. I'm quick in other ways.”
“I bet you are,” Eve said. “I can just see it in you.”
“You'll get shot. You'll get sued.”
“Oh, fiddle. Worrywart, that's you. Tergiveriz-ing never won the day.”
“Whatever that means,” I said. “Look, ah, Mrs. Grosbeak, these ladies, they walk into the saloons toting the shotguns, and they're fixing to break a lot of glass, first thing you know some gent walks right up and takes their guns away, and that's that. And if they shoot in a crowded saloon, there'll be glass and bird shot and people are gonna get hurt, some real bad. If you gals show up outside some saloon armed like that, I'll just have to pinch—ah, hustle you off to one of them cells there.”
She stared. “But you recruited men to do the same thing.”
“No, ma'am. We'd move all them people outside, and then bust the glass afterward.”
“You don't like women.”
“Well, a good gelding's easier to ride.”
She whickered.
“I'll get all them saloons shut down, one way or another. I don't like it. If you think life in Puma County will get better after all them bars are silent, you'd better think again. If you think that this law of yours is going to make a lot of families happier, guess again. There's some that shouldn't touch a drop, some that get mean or crazy, but keeping the bars shut won't help one bit. They'll get their whiskey one way or another. You shut down here, and there's going to be a lot of smuggling going on, and people will bring stuff in by the cartload. If I could talk you into it, I'd say repeal that new law before it gets started up.”
“Typical male,” she said.
“I got to deal with those saloons every day, and it's easier than trying to track down smugglers and little country cabins that get turned into a place to liquor up. That's more dangerous, and more trouble.”
“I knew you'd find excuses,” she said.
“If I had a good posse, I'd get her done fast. I don't. You'll have to be patient. Beginning at midnight, January one, I'll be the only man with a badge in the whole blamed county.”
“You could deputize me,” she said.
“That sure is an interesting idea.”
She headed for the gun rack. “That's mistletoe up there, isn't it?”
“That's for anyone wants to kiss some guns,” I said.
“You come give me a Christmas kiss.”
“Ah, I don't think so, ma'am.”
“You come here and give me a good smack on the lips. You're the only man in the county who's not lily-livered, and you just barely make it.”
I hesitated. She looked oddly delicious.
“Come on now. I'm not leaving here until I get a real Christmas greeting. If you want me to stand here until two in the morning, just ignore me.”
I couldn't remember what my ma used to say about deals like this, but I figured the sooner I got it over with, the better. So I sort of sidled over to the gun rack. She was waiting there, and as soon as I got within shooting range, she grabbed me, delivered a big smoochy kiss on the lips, smiled, and let go.
“I like you,” she breathed.
“I like you too, ma'am.”
“We'll get along fine,” she said. “You just need a real woman in your life.”
I couldn't think of a response to that, but she just laughed, pulled her scarf tight, and headed into the winter outside.
That sure was something. I thought maybe I should deputize half a dozen women, and let them replace Rusty. Might be good for the county.
It was time to quit. I lowered the wicks until the lamps blued out and headed for Belle's Boardinghouse, where I had a front upstairs room with a good view of Wyoming Street. On a sheriff salary, it was all I could afford, but I didn't have anyone to look after anyway, so a room on the main street suited me well enough.
No sooner did I enter my boardinghouse than I knew I was in trouble. There was big old boisterous Belle in the parlor off the front door, and she'd gotten the two-burner lamp all fixed up with mistletoe.
“Come here, you big lunk,” she said.
“I already got my Christmas kiss,” I yelled.
“That mistletoe's not for you, it's for me. Gimme a big one, buster.”
Belle was built along the lines of a bowling ball, and had a voice to match.
“I sure wish Christmas was over,” I said.
“No you don't. New Year's Eve's going to be worse. Now, here's my motto:
‘Lips that don't kiss mine can't live in Belle's Boardinghouse.'”
She stood there, head cocked, her blond hair inches below the dangling mistletoe. I knew I couldn't get out of it. I would have to surrender. I would have to work up my courage and do her, and I'd have to do her proper.
“Maybe I need another landlady,” I said.
She laughed, wrapped me in her commodious arms, and kissed me proper.
C
HAPTER
F
IVE
I sure didn't know what to do. And that was getting downright embarrassing. I was supposed to be tough, commanding, and on top of things, but I was spending the season wondering how to resolve the mess. If I had my druthers, I'd see the new prohibition law repealed. If that couldn't happen, I'd like to bring on the dry times real gradual, one saloon at a time. And if that couldn't happen, I'd just like to get Critter out of the livery barn and ride into the sunset, and the hell with Puma County.
But I wouldn't do that. My ma, she always told me to stick things out, and not quit just when things got difficult. So come midnight, New Year's Eve, I'd still be sheriff, and still enforcing the law as best I could.
Which reminded me that it wasn't just the saloons on Saloon Row I needed to shut down. The cathouses all served hooch in friendly little side rooms and did a lot of business that way. Maybe I could get those shut down proper. The next day I bundled up against some real serious cold howling down from the north, pulled a woolen cap over my ragged hair, and plunged into the gale. It was blowing so hard that everything was swinging. Store signs rattled. Tumbleweeds rolled across Doubtful's streets and piled up against walls and fences. A man could hardly keep warm, even in a heated building. In my sheriff office, the jail was cold as a tomb, and anywhere more than ten feet from the coal stove was Siberia. Rusty was out patrolling somewhere; or maybe he was in bed with three quilts on top. Who could say? It wasn't going to be a big day for crime in Doubtful, Wyoming.
I let the wind blow me down Wyoming Street to Saloon Row and then cut south a block, past an alley, to another row of houses, their lamps and signs chattering in the gale. I thought I'd start with Denver Sally. She sort of reminded me of my ma, all cheerful and moralistic. I wasn't sure who'd be up in the middle of the morning; working girls usually slept all morning. But all houses were always open for business, so someone would be up.
I entered to the sound of a bell and found myself in a homey parlor with samplers on the walls and crocheted pillows everywhere. This was my favorite parlor because it reminded me of my ma's. There was a fine sampler, done in delicate needlework, with a red motto across the top:
“Better laid than never.”
Denver Sally's was famous for its plain girls. Any cowboy who wanted a plain girl, with an underslung chin or varicose veins or a pear-shaped figure, knew where to find one. But Sally's was also the home of the Argentine Bombshell. They did stuff differently down there in Argentina. I waited in the deep silence of the morning, in the half-light of December, and then indeed Denver herself appeared in a wrapper.
“Hi, there, Sheriff. Come for a bang?”
“Well, ah, you sure have nice ladies upstairs, Sally, but no, we've got to parley a little.”
“Well, I should charge you for the time.”
“This here is law business, not tomcat business. You know, Sally, I've got to shut down your bar room on January one.”
“Crap,” she said.
“Yeah, I know how you feel, but it's the law and I ain't got a choice.”
She sighed, glared, and motioned me into the side room, which was fitted out as a small bar. “Look, it's only a few bottles, and it's on the house if the john gives us some business.”
“You've read the law, Sally.”
“I had it read to me.”
“So I got to do it.”
“It'll wreck my business. Pickens, you just leave us alone and we'll stay real quiet.”
“It won't wreck your business, Sally.”
“It will. There's a lot of men, you can't get them out of their pants until you pour a couple down their gullet. We've had some come in, look over the girls, and start out the door, and then we offer them a quick drink, and it's a mind-changer. A drink or two turns some knock-kneed Willy into a stud horse.”
“And then you get some business.”
“Business! Sometimes a couple of drinks will turn some timid little cowboy into the world's greatest loverboy, and then we collect for a week.”
“Well, maybe you could make your ladies more enticing.”
“What are you trying to do, insult us? Our merchandise is the best in Doubtful. I run them all through my personal coaching. I got classes I give to incoming ladies. Before they're graduated from the Denver Sally School of Amatory Arts, they're whizbangs.”
I sighed. “I just hate to do it, Sally, but New Year's is it. If you have a quarrel, take it to the county supervisors. They're the ones passed the new law, not me. I just am stuck with making it happen, and that's going to mean pinching violators, and that means trials and fines and all the rest, which I don't like any but can't help.”
Denver Sally was staring at me. “You're standing right under the mistletoe, Sheriff. Guess that means I gotta act.”
“No, dammit, Sally, I'm just here for a palaver.”
“Is that what you call it? Well, I'll give you a palaver you'll never forget.”
She zeroed in on me, grabbed me in her commodious arms, and bussed me good and proper. I didn't mind that one bit, but it was the wrong kind of business. It took me a long time to extricate myself, and I thought I was being smothered until I came up for air, but eventually I got loose.
“See what you're missing, Sheriff?” she said, wiping my face with a handkerchief.
“You don't have to tell me about it, Denver. My ma, she always said—”
“You and your ma. Now you sit down in that horsehair couch and listen to me, and tuck your shirt back in.”
I did as I was told. She settled across from me in the deep quiet.
“Me and the rest of the madams here, we've been talking about this, and we're not going to cave in. We're going to serve booze, law or no law. It's the only way to get some men out of their pants. So you'd just better get used to it.
“What's more, if the county tries to pressure us, we'll go on strike. Every cathouse in Doubtful will shut down until we can serve a picker-upper to them fellows that can't get it up and running.”
“There's a lot of people on the north side of town who'd say a strike is the best thing that could happen.”
“That's what all those pious bastards want to think. But here's how it goes, Sheriff. If you shut down the saloons, and the parlors of paradise go on strike, you just ain't gonna have any business making a dime in Doubtful. There's maybe three hundred cowboys and ranchers out there, and they come into Doubtful to spend all their pay, and they just plain won't be coming here anymore. Sure, we get some of their pay, but so does every merchant in town.”
“Strike?”
“Strike, idiot. We close our legs and tie 'em shut.”
“But, Sally, that would be dumb.”
“We'll pick up and go. No reason we stick here. It's not far to the next county. And we'll get twice the business.”
“But you're licensed and taxed here.”
“You're thick-headed, just like they say, Pickens. Now either drop your pants or head out the door.”
It wasn't an easy decision, but I finally decided I'd head out the door, and maybe palaver with some more of them ladies. If it was true they was going on strike, I'd better tell the supervisors about it. Them women were the biggest source of tax revenue for Doubtful, and Puma County, and if they quit and moved, the whole blasted county would likely dry up and blow away.
It was one of the shortest days of the year. Even midday, the shadows were long. On this overcast day, there was only twilight and wind. I let the wind push me toward Mrs. Goodrich's Gates of Heaven. It was the costliest joint in Doubtful, with nice, acrobatic ladies and a few who smelled sweet, too. Mrs. Goodrich required cleanliness, and the girls had to get into a hot tub once every two weeks.
She was sitting at a table in her bar, also located to one side of the parlor, knitting a purple scarf.
“I heard you were over here, dearie,” she said.
“Word travels fast.”
“Sheriff sets foot in the district, everyone knows it in two minutes.”
“I'm letting all your nice gals know that you've got to shut down your bars on New Year's.”
She smiled, her needles clacking, and said nothing.
“You going to comply all right.”
She just smiled away.
“I'll be checking.”
“You poor dear boy, why don't you just stop in. I'll give you a free token, and you can begin the new year with a whoop and a holler.”
“That's real kind of you, ma'am, but I'll be on duty.”
“So will we, my boy.”
“I kinda have the feeling that it ain't gonna happen, ma'am, and if it don't, I may have to pinch you.”
“That's the sweetest thing you've ever said, Sheriff.”
This sure was getting nowhere fast. “I guess I'll have to bring in my posse, then,” I said. “I was kinda hoping you'd cooperate.”
“We're in the cooperation business, sweetheart.”
“What about them other gals? Are they going to cooperate?”
“We all love to cooperate, dearie. Now, you move a little left, until you're under that chandelier, and I'll give you a sample.”
I glanced upward, seeing a three-lamp fixture sporting some fresh mistletoe.
“Oh, no, I'll get outa here,” I said.
But too late. She loomed next to me, cheer radiating from her mottled face, and clasped her long arms right around me and kissed me on both cheeks, the nose, the mouth, and was starting down my neck and chest when I wiggled free.
I collected my hat and backed away.
“You have a beautiful posse,” she said. “You come riding in any time. I just love sheriff's posses.”
I felt dumber than an ox, but there wasn't nothing I could do except retreat from there. I stepped into the mean December wind, decided I'd had enough bordello visits for a while, and headed for my sheriff office and the hot stove. I couldn't embrace the hot stove, but it would have to do, I thought.
“Where you been?” Rusty asked when I blew in.
“Talking to the sporting gals. They ain't helping me any.”
“What do you expect? You're cutting into their business.”
“The way they tell it, you can hardly get a man out of his pants until you've given him a drink or two. It sure makes them cowboys look like pansies. But that's what having a saddle pound on your parts all day does to you.”
“That's why I'm not a cowboy,” Rusty said.
“Rusty, I want you to go out and pull down every sprig of mistletoe in Doubtful. That includes every store, every saloon, every cathouse, every boardinghouse, and anywhere else it's hanging. I've declared war on mistletoe.”
“War on mistletoe?”
“I been kissed more times today than in the last twenty years.”
“And that's a problem?”
“It is when I'm on duty.”
“I tell you what, Cotton. I'll go on a mistletoe patrol, but I'm going to buy some and hand it out to every blessed soul in Doubtful. If I get enough mistletoe strung up in Doubtful, no one'll notice it when we start shutting down the saloons.”
“
We
, Rusty?”
“Yeah, dammit, I'll stick. We'll keep the lid on Doubtful.”
“Don't you come near me with that mistletoe, Rusty, or I'll throw your ass into the cage.”
But Rusty was just laughing away. “Say,” he said, “Consuelo Bowler's in town and wants to see you. He's at the hotel and says he'll be there all day.”
Bully Bowler, as he was called, was a big-time rancher south of Doubtful. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“Yeah, Cotton, he did. He doesn't like your plans for New Year's Eve.”
“So what's he gonna do about them?”
“You better find out yourself, Cotton.”
Rusty sure was acting nervous. “He was talking about hanging the county supervisors unless that dry law gets repealed real fast. And you know what, Cotton? He meant it.”

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