Longarm and the Colorado gundown

_{“Aggie, surely you learned by now that some folks will lie now an’ then.”}

_“But...”

_{“No reason why a man who’ll lie to your face won’t lie on paper too,”}

_{“I can’t believe ...”}

_{“You know the fella that wrote all this shit?”}

_{“Certainly.”}

_{“I think I need t’ pay him a visit.”}

_{“I shall go with you. As soon as we’ve eaten.”}

_{“You can wait here if you like. Me, I want t’ get on with it.”}

_{“But lunch is already here, Longarm. That’s ours on the tray coming now.”}

_{Aggie surely did like her groceries, Longarm conceded. And she was just the sort who would refuse to help him find the newspaperman until she’d had her way. Which in this case would involve getting some grub down. He might just as well sit back and fill his own belly while he was waiting for her.}

_{The meal she’d ordered turned out to be something with a foot-long French name. Longarm was fairly sure he’d never heard the term before. On the other hand, he didn’t really need to. Once you cut through the fuss and fancification, what it came down to was a good old mulligan stew cooked and served inside a little bitty pie crust. He wondered if he ought to point that out to the lady, then decided it was probably better not to. Let her enjoy paying half a dollar here for the same kind of mulligan she could get down the street for fifteen cents.}

_{“Hurry up there, would you?” he prodded. “We got work t’ do, dang it.”}

_{“Don’t rush me,” she shot back at him. But she was hurrying in spite of what she said, he saw.}

_{“Ellis Farmer, I would like you to meet Deputy Marshal Custis Long. Marshal Long, Mr. Farmer is the editor of the Snowshoe Independent."}

_{Deputy Marshal Custis Long scowled. Editor Farmer beamed with pleasure, either real or feigned. “How convenient,” he enthused. “I was going to look you up this afternoon, Deputy. I hope to interview you about your, um, business here.”}

_{“Yeah. Real convenient,” Longarm grumped. He felt no inclination to suggest that Farmer join Longarm’s friends in the use of his customary nickname. “Did you write—?” “Pardon me a moment please, Deputy. This will only take a second. Then we can talk as long as you wish.” Farmer smiled and rubbed his hands together, and hurried out of the newspaper “office.”}