“"That's my name." Longarm said, noting the man's badge and the worn six-gun strapped low on his hip. Longarm stuck out his hand. The marshal ignored the offered handshake. He was a big, heavy-set man with muttonchop whiskers and a potbelly. He had deep-set eyes and a fist-busted nose. Longarm pegged him for a one-time rounder. Spitting a long stream of tobacco juice onto the depot floor, the marshal barked, "Follow me." Longarm bristled, taking an instant dislike to this man. People who kn...ew Longarm quickly learned that a smile and a request would work wonders, but that a command would have quite the opposite reaction. "I'll be along soon enough." "You'll come now!" Longarm smiled, but there was no warmth in his expression when he drawled, "The hell you say." The marshal had been about to turn and lead them out of the throng of milling train passengers, their friends, and their families when Longarm's words pulled him up short. "Listen to me," the marshal said, swinging around and jabbing a finger at Longarm. "You may be someone out in Colorado. I don't know and I don't care.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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