T he two sheriffs approached the house slowly, hands resting on the grips of their pistols. They had backup parked nearby — a couple of cars lining the two-lane Appalachian road and idling in the driveway. After they knocked politely, they stepped sideways, moving away from the house’s front door. This is a standard maneuver for police approaching a house for a very simple reason: Doors do not stop bullets. Inside the house, a 33-year-old amateur gunsmith who goes by the pseudonym Yeezy