FULL TIME JOB by Joe Whatever Dr. Michaela Quinn was locked in the saloon, and the Sheriff was miserable. Ever since she had come to town two weeks ago, the goody-goody woman doctor had been organizing the town against him. She'd convinced the women of the town to withhold sex from their men-folk until they agreed to bathe once a week. She'd campaigned for all of the town's officials, including the Sheriff, to attend church services. And now the townswomen were all saying that Dr. Quinn would make an excellent mayor. Of course, first the men would have to let the women vote. But, other than that, it was a nightmare! With this latest caper, however, she had gone entirely too far. Every May 1st the Sheriff would arrest all of the whores in the saloon, strip them naked, and then hoist them up in the middle of the main street, with just their toes brushing the ground. Then he would go to work with his trusty razor strap. After the strapping, the eager locals would tar and feather the luckless strumpets and run them out of town on a rail. It didn't seem to matter to anyone that the women would always be back in a few days, since they were under contract to the saloon. The annual whore-hoisting had become something of a holiday. It satisfied the moral outrage of the spiteful old biddies at the church, and it satisfied the Sheriff and the horny townsmen in other ways. May Day was better than Christmas! But that busybody Dr. Quinn had locked herself in the saloon with the whores and had refused to come out. Didn't she understand that whore-hoisting was a sacred tradition? It was Judge Hartbourne who saw not a problem but an opportunity. "That's a mighty long cross beam, Sheriff," the judge said, thoughtfully, eyeing the post that extended from the roof of the Sheriff's office to the saloon across the street. "Plenty roomy." "So?" the Sheriff moaned. "The law is clear. Any woman in that saloon on May 1st is a whore in the eyes of the law," the judge said, sternly. "And that means she gets hoisted." He smiled. "Even if she did go to Harvard. "I bet if you lay on the strap hard enough, she might even sign a whoring contract," he mused. "I don't know if we need a full time doctor...but we could always use another whore." The smiling Sheriff checked the adequacy of the supply of tar and feathers before trotting merrily down the street toward the feminine fortress. Dr. Quinn was still locked in the saloon, and all was right with the world. Edited by C. Lakewood