"Old friend of yours," Fulton explained cryptically. He and Kisley were both twenty years older than Bell, celebrated veterans and friends, who were free to say whatever popped in their heads even though Bell was boss of the Wrecker investigation.

"I'd knock it out of him," said the sheriff. "But your boys said to wait for you, and the railroad company tells me Van Dorn calls the tune. Damned foolishness, in my opinion. But no one's asking my opinion."

Bell strode into the room where they had the prisoner manacled to a table affixed solidly to the stone floor. An "old friend," to be sure, the prisoner was Jake Dunn, a safecracker. On the end of the table was a neat, banded stack of crisp five-dollar bills, five hundred dollars' worth, according to the sheriff, clearly payment for services rendered. Bell's first grim thought was that now the Wrecker was hiring accomplices to do his murderous work for him. Which means he could strike anywhere and be long gone before the strike happened.

"Jake, what in blazes have you gotten mixed up in this time?"

"Hello, Mr. Bell. Haven't seen you since you sent me to San Quentin."

Bell sat quietly and looked him over. San Quentin had not been kind to the safecracker. He looked twenty years older, a hollow shell of the hard case he had been. His hands were shaking so hard it was difficult to imagine him setting a charge without detonating it accidentally. Relieved at first to see a familiar face, Dunn shriveled now under Bell's gaze.

"Blowing Wells Fargo safes is robbery, Jake. Wrecking passenger trains is murder. The man who paid you that money has killed innocent people by the dozen."

"I didn't know we were wrecking the train."

"You didn't know that blowing the rails out from under a speeding train would cause a wreck?" Bell said in disbelief, his face dark with disgust. "What did you think would happen?"

The prisoner hung his head.

"Jake! What did you think would happen?"

"You gotta believe me, Mr. Bell. He told me to blow the rail so the train would stop so they could hit the express car. I didn't know he was gonna put her on the ground."

"What do you mean? You're the one who lit the fuse."

"He switched fuses on me. I thought I was lighting a fast fuse that would detonate the charge in time for the train to stop. Instead, it burned slow. I couldn't believe my eyes, Mr. Bell. It was burning so slow the train was going to run right over the charge. I tried to stop it."

Bell stared at him coldly.

"That's how they caught me, Mr. Bell. I ran after it, trying to stomp it out. Too late. They saw me, and after she hit the ground they lit out after me like I was the guy who shot McKinley."