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the balcony railing and murmured aloud, “Yes, sirree, I’ll be there to meet that show train when it pulls into—”
    “Diane? Are you out here, Diane?” Senator Clay Dodson’s voice interrupted her reveries. “Are you with someone?” The slim blond man looked around, searching for the person or persons with whom she’d been conversing.
    Diane took a deep breath and turned to face him.
    She smiled. “No, Clay. I’m alone. I suppose I must have been thinking out loud.”
    “Well, that’s allowed,” he said, advancing on her. “However, hiding out at your own party is not.” His smile was warm, forgiving.
    “I know,” she said apologetically. “It’s so stuffy inside. I just came out for a breath of fresh air.” She gave him her brightest smile, took his arm, and added, “Let’s go back in.”
    Clay Dodson didn’t move. Just kept looking at her. Finally he said, “It is nice out here. Just the two of us. Why don’t we …”
    “Now who’s hiding out?” she said, seeing that look in his eyes that she wished weren’t there. “Come. I’m dying to make another trip to the buffet.”
    Reluctantly Senator Dodson accompanied her back inside. The party lasted for another hour. Finally the gathered group raised champagne toasts to their smiling guest of honor, and it was Clay Dodson who led them in a rousing rendition of “For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”
    Properly pleased, Diane blushed and smiled and made a short, parting speech. And, surprisingly, found herself near tears as she looked around at all the familiar faces she wouldn’t be seeing again.
    Then everyone was hugging her and telling her to stay in touch, and at last day was guiding her down the steps and out into the humid Washington night.
    The young senator from Billings walked Diane slowly back to the Howard home, three blocks away. It was quite late. The street was nearly deserted. Crickets croaked in the silence, and somewhere on the river a steamer tug gave a short blast on its whistle.
    The couple leisurely strolling down the sidewalk said little. There was really nothing left to say. The senator— his brown eyes sweeping over Diane’s pale, beautiful face, that upswept midnight hair—was in a decidedly somber mood. Diane, not looking at him, was feeling just the opposite.
    She was so excited about tomorrow’s departure she could hardly keep her feet on the sidewalk, but she was considerate enough to hide it.
    At last they reached the imposing three-story brownstone that was the old Howard mansion. Dreading this final good-bye, eager to have it over with, Diane turned to Clay Dodson as soon as they reached her fanlighted front door.
    “Clay, dear Clay,” she said softly, “it’s been a wonderful four years. Thanks for everything.”
    “Diane,” came his strangled reply. “Diane …”
    Impulsively he grabbed her hand to draw her closer. Diane’s mouth flew open in startled surprise, and a folded piece of paper slipped from her grasp. It fluttered down to the stone steps at their feet. The senator’s eyes followed it. He picked up the fallen paper, unfolded it, and held it to the faint light of an electric streetlamp.
    A current Union Pacific train schedule with “Denver, Colorado,” circled in bright blue ink.
    “Diane, I wish you’d reconsider leaving—”
    Her lips stopped him from further pleading. She kissed him quickly, said good-bye, then hurried eagerly inside to pack for her long trip.

Chapter 3
    It was about two o’clock in the afternoon several days later that a long westbound train snaked its way across Colorado’s flat eastern plains. Its journey from Kansas City, Missouri, was nearing an end. Just ahead and looming steadily closer on the near western horizon, the forbidding Front Range of the awesome Rocky Mountains rose to meet a cloudless August sky.
    Steaming directly toward those soaring peaks, the train boasted an impressive procession of thirty-four rail cars. On each and every one of those