Longarm and the Shoshoni silver

So he did, and she was out of her duds, save for her high-buttons and striped socks, before he could shuck his boots, the way a poor old boy had to if he meant to take off his pants entirely. So while she was waiting for more, hot as a pistol and naked as a jay, she allowed that her coccyx, as she called her tailbone, had been hammered on the floor about as often as she liked, and then, without Longarm having to tell her how, she rolled over on her hands and knees to arch her back and shyly ask if this was the way an Arapaho hostess might receive a guest.

He assured her she looked even more tempting in that position, and meant it, as he got on his knees behind her to place a tanned hand firmly on either creamy hip. For in this romantic gloom of an autumn gloaming her sweet, shapely behind was clearly visible as a sort of disembodied ass, smiling up at him through the gathering dusk, and as he penetrated her that way with renewed inspiration Sandy gasped and declared, "Heavens! It didn't feel quite as long the other way, and I have to admit that whether this is bestial or not it certainly feels heavenly!"

So it took far less persuasion, after he'd had her dog-style, to get her to playing stoop tag, squatting over him with a high-heeled high-button planted on the buffalo robe to either side of his bare hips. She said she'd make them both some scrambled eggs in time but that in the meantime, she'd kill him if he dared to go soft on her right now! So he didn't.

Patrolman Colgan O'Hanlon of the Denver Police had just noticed something out of place as he was walking his beat

on the less fashionable side of Cherry Creek just after sundown.

A shadowy figure under a tall Texas hat wasn't half as concealed in the inky shade of a cottonwood across from a clean but inexpensive rooming house as he might have thought he was.

So the middle-aged copper badge, who'd survived the Great Hunger and that Great War between the Blue and Gray by moving as fast as need be, but no faster, never broke stride as he spotted whoever was up in that puddle of blackness between him and the next faint street lamp. He just kept twirling his nightstick as if without a care in the world as he swung round the next corner without a second glance at the sinister silhouette he'd have otherwise had to pass right by. For O'Hanlon knew his beat like the palm of his hand, and the yard dog chained in the back of a house on the other side of the block knew O'Hanlon well enough not to bark as the big bluff copper badge eased over its picket fence, softly calling to it, "Keep your gob shut, like the good doggy you are, and one day I might bring you a fresh bone from the Dutchman's shop across the creek."

The yard dog wagged its tail, whether it understood the soothing words or not. So O'Hanlon bent over to scratch it behind the ears before moving on, drawing the blue-steel double-action .36 he'd been issued.

Hence the next thing the somewhat taller man under the cottonwood knew O'Hanlon had the drop on him, and said so casually as he added, from his own side of yet another picket fence, "Anyone can see from your darling hat that you'd not be a Colorado rider, and so now I'd like to hear what you're doing so far from Texas and on my beat, if you take my meaning, good sir."

The stranger didn't sound at all evcisive, or even surprised, as he replied without turning his head or moving either hand, ''Nochd go bragh. Agus I'd be from County Kerry, please God."

To which O'Hanlon could only reply, "I'd be from Monaghan and that's not what I just asked you if the truth be known. Anyone but a Kerry man would know that when a copper badge asks you nicely what you'd be after doing on his beat, he wants you to tell him what you'd be after doing on his darling beatV

The stranger with the Texas hat and Kerry brogue said, "In that case I'd be waiting here for another peace officer who'd be living across the street in that grand rooming house."

O'Hanlon frowned thoughtfully and said, "The only peace officer who dwells anywhere in this neighborhood would be Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long, the one they'd be after calling Longarm."

The stranger agreed that was who he'd been waiting for. O'Hanlon waited to hear why and, when he didn't, asked.

The stranger turned in a confiding way, allowing O'Hanlon to see more of a shadowy lantern-jawed face as he explained, "I'd be with the Texas Rangers and all and all. So I'm asking you to take the word of a fellow peace officer that the matter is a secret I'd not be at liberty to divulge."

It didn't work. The humble copper badge shrugged and replied he might believe that once he'd seen some sort of identification.

The mysterious stranger on the far side of the fence raised one hand to open his own frock coat, exposing a dim silvery blur pinned to his dark shirtfront as he chuckled fondly and said he hoped a Monaghan man recognized a Ranger badge when he saw it.