Longarm and the Unwritten Law

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Along about midnight a naked man ran screaming down the hotel corridor amidst a blaze of gunfire. He'd been shot on the stairs leading down from the floor above, and hit twice more along the way. Yet he somehow made it as far as the stairs leading down to the floor below before two hundred grains of hot spinning lead caved in the back of his skull and somersaulted his flailing bare flesh all the way down to the next landing.

So there he lay, oozing blood and grinning up blankly, while the somewhat older man who'd gunned him stood over him in a dusty black suit and a haze of gun smoke, clicking the hammers of two six-guns on spent brass until a firm but not unkindly voice called down. "You've emptied both your guns into him, which may be just as well for the both of us. So why don't you drop the both of them and tell me what this was all about. I ain't just being nosy. I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long of the Denver District Court, and they pay me to pester folks like this."

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