Longarm and the Yuma Prison Girls

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"Come in, come in!" United States Marshal Billy Vail called from behind his huge and cluttered desk. "I've been expecting you."

Custis Long removed his Stetson, beat a cloud of trail dust from his clothes, and entered from the outer office. To Billy he looked the very picture of a frontier lawman. Custis was a big man, just over six-two and broad-shouldered, with a deeply tanned face and gunmetal gray eyes. He wore a handlebar mustache, fashionably curled at the tips, and on his hip was a well-used double-action Colt Model T. caliber.44-40. Custis always looked formidable, but today even more than usual as he slouched into a chair, removed a nickel cheroot from his pocket, and jammed it into his mouth. "Want a light?" Billy offered.

"Nope, prefer to chew the damned things now, I expect you know that, Billy."

"Sure." Billy regarded his best marshal with some concern. "You look worn down, Custis. This last assignment was pretty tough, huh?"

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