"She was statusque and scared… and while she may have looked like a college kid on summer vacation, I knew better. I knew all about the tiny-caliber pistols, the knives taped between the shoulder blades -- all the places a female agent could conceal a weapon. "Strip," I said. She stared at me, I shifted the gun to my left hand and reached in my picket for my knife. I was tired of being flim-flammed. "No", I said as the girl's eyes widened. "I'm not going to stick you. I don't have to. Any man who's skinned a bull-elk can cut those clothes off you and hardly draw blood." We stared at each other for several seconds. The her glance dropped and she slowly began to unbutton her jacket..."

1960.