Radenbaugh, at the wheel, had pointed across Collins’ chest. ‘There it is - the copper-mine pit. A mile and a half wide and about 600 feet deep. That’s where most of the male population works.’ In short minutes they were in the center of Argo City -a single broad paved main street, with four or five intersections. Collins had been able to identify a number of the clean, well-maintained buildings. There had been a vast, sprawling, glass-fronted general store. The U.S. Post Office. The Argo City Theater. Something called the City Maintenance Shop. A small park, neat, with walks leading to the Argo City Public Library. A steepled Episcopal church. A two-story brick edifice identified as the home of the Argo City Bugle, presumably the town newspaper. The tallest building was the Constellation Hotel - four stories, in good repair, and despite its name, of Spanish-style design. They had parked in the strip of a lot next door, sauntered past an Indian shop featuring Navajo dolls, baskets, leather goods, silverwork, and pottery, and entered the tiled lobby of the hotel, which ran around an open central patio.
