Flaunting the reputation of Wells Fargo’s respected and feared company detectives was not enough for this increasingly expert professional. He had to sign the verse, pun in cheek, "Black Bart the Po8."

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Detective James Hume was not amused by any of this. And while the public took the "Po8" to its heart and circulated stories and rumors that made the truth difficult to ascertain, the lawman set about clawing clues out of the robbery areas. His quarry left no hoof prints behind and was known to have a deep, pleasant speaking voice. His hold-ups had no timing pattern, coming after long intervals or sometimes within a day of each other. And he had never fired his vicious-looking shotgun. The only consistent feature in the robberies, other than his method and his disguise, was that they were all committed in northern California.

Noted in the United States as a pioneer in scientific detection, Hume had made strides in the study of ballistics, was a stickler for detailed dissection of modus operandi, and had used the "mug shot" system for criminal identification for many years. But all his expertise in the refined arts of police work was useless in pursuing the man in the long duster. So Hume had to fall back on a detective’s first line of information gathering, footwork. Instead of pounding city pavements, he trooped up and down northern California hills talking to farmers, examining crime scenes, and measuring distances. By late 1882, this footwork paid off, giving Hume a detailed but surprising picture of Black Bart and the way he carried out his work.

Stage robbery was traditionally a younger man’s line, but to the 55-year-old’s amazement, Bart was a man close to his own age, perhaps older. Robbery area residents all reported seeing or meeting a gray-haired and magnificently mustachioed fellow who they assumed to be a migrant farm laborer. An excellent dinner companion and story teller, "people invariably liked him." He most often wore a derby, carried a bundle wrapped in a blanket, had boots slit open at the sides to relieve pressure on his corns, and was usually seen walking along at a brisk pace. If this character was the one Hume wanted, he would, in fact, be a tremendous hiker, having once robbed two different coaches thirty miles apart in a 24-hour period.

Within months of having pieced together this composite of the suspect’s appearance, Hume got a break. Bart struck again, on the same steep hill where he had committed his first hold-up. But this time he was forced to run. As driver Reason McConnell approached the grade, he dropped off a friend, Jimmy Rolleri, who wanted to do some hunting in the area. Pressing on up the hill, the coach was stopped by the man in the sack mask. Calling out "throw down the box" and whipping out his hatchet, the bandit prepared to go to work in his practiced manner when Rolleri broke through the same bushes where Bart had once posed his "gang."

Black Bart never fired his shotgun. High-stepping through the roadside bushes, he clutched a bag containing $4,800 in gold coin and kept moving. McConnell snatched Rolleri’s rifle from him, shot at the bobbing target and missed. Rolleri had a try at it and was successful. Hit, Bart stumbled and fell.

Whooping and running, the driver and his friend thrashed into the undergrowth looking for the robber’s body. They were confounded. It would still be several weeks before the outlaw would have to face arrest.

In the fifty months he sat in San Quentin prison, Charles Boles must have had some time to mull over the way he had been apprehended. And in thinking it over, his final escape must have brought him satisfaction. For although McConnell and Rolleri had looked a long time for his carcass, they found only a derby, a straight razor, binoculars, and some buckshot wrapped in a handkerchief. Bart’s wound had been slight, allowing him to keep scrambling faster than was expected of a man his age.

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