Longarm and the Shoshoni silver

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The question was whether Blue Tooth Tanner spoke true or false when he said he wasn't hungry after fifteen hours aboard the westbound Burlington overnight train in the custody of Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long of the Denver Federal District.

Lx)ngarm, as he was better known to friend and foe alike, knew just how he felt about the fair grub and genuine Arbuckle coffee they'd be serving up ahead in the dining car most any time now. For they'd both missed dinner back yonder in Chicago Town the previous evening because of all the paperwork it took to transfer a convicted road agent with homicidal tendencies from one court's jurisdiction to a more serious one. And they both had slept past breakfast aboard the train that morning.

Longarm's pocket watch and the way the autumn sun was glsiring down at the monotonous tawny prairie they were crossing were in total agreement that it was time for someone to be sounding the dining car chimes in the corridor outside their stuffy private compartment. Figuring on most any minute now, Longarm rose to his considerable height, even in low-heeled army boots, to see what he could do about his public image before exposing it to the snooty glances of the mostly greenhorn public a good old boy was likely to encounter on a train to Denver, which was getting

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