“No armed mob will cross the Logan County line.” The Czar carried a pistol with twelve notches filed into the receiver, one for every man he’d killed—enough to make a saw file, men whispered—and maintained a small army of deputies and undercover agents who rode every train in and out of the county, hassling anyone suspected of Union business or sympathies. His men had pistol-whipped reverends for speaking well of labor unions, planted moonshine stills under the homes of Union miners, and fed prisoners plates of beans mixed with crushed glass, too fine to detect, so they writhed in torment for
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