Bowie soon learned that the McKinley family had used the black market for two major operations: hiring over 200 mine guards, and, more recently, posting the ten-thousand-dollar bounty on Henry.
He was already well-versed in the intelligence on Henry; a bounty that high on a single man was unprecedented. He had read the reports of Henry's recent exploits with a sense of awe, especially the account of him killing twenty outlaws while simultaneously dueling the legendary Barrett Hicks.
Bowie was of the same generation as Barrett. He knew the man's reputation, had even witnessed two of his duels firsthand. When he had first received the report of his death, he had refused to believe it. But the facts were undeniable. The gunman who had dominated an entire era was gone, reduced to a footnote in the burgeoning legend of Henry Bruce.
In the Pinkerton's official file, Henry's assessment had been updated: Unprecedented Super-Gunslinger. Extremely Dangerous.
But even a man as powerful as Henry couldn't have destroyed the black market headquarters alone in such a short amount of time. There had to be another force at play.
The Sinclair family's private army? Bowie wondered. But we've had no reports of them mobilizing in such numbers. He fell into a deep, troubled thought.
The news of the events at the McKinley manor eventually reached the governor's office. He couldn't ignore an explosion of that magnitude. The order came down the chain of command, and the investigation landed on the desk of Denver's city Sheriff, Killian.
Like Bowie, Killian immediately suspected a connection between the destruction of the black market and the attack on the McKinleys. But his own intelligence network was far less extensive. He didn't even know that Henry had arrived in Denver.
He did, however, know who to ask. The city Sheriff's office and the Pinkerton agency had a long-standing cooperative relationship.
Bowie shared his suspicions freely, hoping to use the official power of the Sheriff's office to probe Henry.
When Killian left the Pinkerton's office, his head was spinning. He knew Henry's name; the man's recent exploits were already the stuff of legend. And he knew that the Frisco Sheriff's Department had recently claimed the bounties on half a dozen major outlaws in Denver.
Killian had survived four years as the Sheriff of a city like Denver by being a shrewd judge of character and knowing which fights to avoid. He had no official jurisdiction over Henry. And a man who left no survivors was not a man to be provoked. Whether Henry was responsible or not, Killian wanted no part of it. He wouldn't risk his own life for a case that would earn him no bonus.
He returned to his office and promptly delegated the entire investigation to the vice president of the city's Vigilance Committee, a Dutchman known as "Mad Dog" Thomas.
Henry, meanwhile, sent a telegram to Mayor William and then spent the day leisurely exploring Denver. He had a few goals: buy some new clothes, find some proper gym equipment, sell his silver ingots, and scout the local markets.
He failed on almost every count.
His tall, powerful frame meant that no high-end tailor had a suit that would fit him off the rack, and a custom suit would take a month. There were no dedicated gymnasiums in the city; physical fitness was not yet a popular pastime for the middle class. And the Denver Mint, due to the ongoing political battle over the gold and silver standards, was not currently purchasing silver. The silver was marked with the McKinley brand anyway; selling it here was too risky. He would have to wait until he was in New York, or perhaps ask Richard Mellon for help in Pittsburgh.
He made a quick tour of the agricultural markets and then, on a whim, rode toward the city's impoverished district, not far from the half-finished Union Station. The area was a crowded slum of two-story wooden tenements. The streets were filthy, far worse than the main thoroughfares, and the air was thick with a cloying, unpleasant smell. The people here were gaunt and hollow-eyed, their faces etched with a deep, hopeless poverty.
It was a stark, ugly reminder of the other side of the Gilded Age.