Later, besides the mystery of how the robber/killer had escaped without a trace, the other puzzle was the wagon found outside of town on the road toward Bullfrog.

The wagon was empty and appeared to have been driven by a dummy. The posse that chased it down was mystified.

Sheriff Josh Miller did put two and two together, but his speculation went nowhere. Nothing made sense. The desperado left no clues.

The robbery and murders in Rhyolite became another enigma that went unsolved.

4

THE SUMMER SUNLIGHT HEIGHTENED THE CONTRAST of colors in the mile-high altitude of Colorado. The sky was free of clouds, a vivid blue that spread over the city of Denver like a quilt. The temperature was a comfortable eighty-one degrees.

Isaac Bell closed the door to his stateroom and left the train by stepping off the observation platform at the rear of the Pullman car. He paused to look up at the clock tower of the Gothic-style Union Station. Built of stone hauled down from the Rocky Mountains, the imposing three-story structure stretched a quarter of a mile.

The arrowhead-tipped hands of the huge clock read 11:40. Bell lifted his large gold watch from the vest pocket of his tailored linen suit and glanced at the hands that pointed to Roman numerals. His time was 11:43. He smiled at himself with satisfaction, knowing for certain that the big clock-tower clock was three minutes slow.

He walked down the redbrick platform to the baggage car, identified his trunks, and hailed a porter. “My name is Bell. Could you please see that my trunks are sent to the Brown Palace Hotel?”

The porter smiled broadly at the gold coin Bell laid in his hand and rubbed it almost reverently. “Yes, sir, I’ll deliver them myself.”

“I’m also expecting a large wooden crate on a later train. Can I count on you to make sure it is delivered to the Union Pacific freight warehouse?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll take care of it.” Still rubbing the gold piece, the porter grinned broadly.

“I’d be grateful.”

“May I take that for you?” said the porter, nodding at the valise in Bell’s hand.

“I’ll keep it with me, thank you.”

“Can I hail you a taxi?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll take the tram.”

Bell strolled through the high-ceilinged grand lobby of the depot, with its majestic hanging chandeliers, past the rows of high-backed oak waiting benches and out the main entrance, flanked by twin Grecian columns. He crossed Wyncoop Street onto 17th Street and passed under the newly erected Mizpah Arch, a gatelike structure with a pair of American flags flying on top that was built to welcome, and bid farewell to, train travelers. Mizpah, Bell knew, meant watchtower in ancient Hebrew.

Two ladies wearing light summer dresses, gloves, and ornate hats decorated with flowers drove by in an electric battery–powered car. Bell doffed his hat, and with nods and smiles they acknowledged the attention of the attractive man as they motored up 17th Street toward the state capitol building.