News from St. Louis is that on Friday last, the purchase of two new steamboats was announced by Thaddeus Culpepper. The boats, modern in every detail, will be floating hotels on the Mississippi River and none who ply that waterway for trade or pleasure will enjoy more commodious or luxurious staterooms. They will enter service from St. Louis to New Orleans with immediate effect. The boats will be named Kristina Dawn and Minnie Kay.
“You planning on taking a boat down the Mississippi River are you?” Nabors asked, chuckling, when he saw what she was reading.
“Why not?” Doc Baker asked. “I read that article. Those boats sound like they would be something just real grand. But I know what caught her attention. One of the boats is named after her.” He laughed.
“What? Let me see,” Nabors said. “Oh, the Minnie Kay. That’s not named after her. Minnie’s middle name is Lou, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Minnie replied. “Minnie Lou Smith.” She folded the paper closed and returned it to Doc Baker. “But it would be nice if I could make that claim. I’m sure those boats are just really grand.”
* * *
The little sign had been professionally lettered, and it stood proudly just outside town.
Midas
POPULATION: 213
It was Thursday, August 30th, when Smoke and Bobby Lee arrived in Midas, a community where false-fronted shanties and canvas tents competed with each other for space along the length of the single street.
“You ever been here before?” Smoke asked Bobby Lee as the two men rode into town. “The reason I asked is, is there anyone here who might recognize you?”
“I was here once, but that was a couple of years ago and I didn’t stick around long. I doubt anyone would recognize me.”
Despite the remoteness of the town, it seemed to be quite busy, as vehicles of commerce rolled up and down the street. In addition there were two new buildings under construction.
“I’ll give the town this,” Bobby Lee said. “It sure is a busy little place.”
“Yeah, it is at that,” Smoke said. He pointed to one of the more substantial buildings, which had its name, The Silver King, painted in red on the top of the false front. “What do you say we stop there?”
“Now that’s the best idea you’ve had since the one you had about putting dynamite behind the jail,” Bobby Lee said. He put his hand to his ear. “But my ears are still ringing.”
“I could have left you there,” Smoke said.
“No, no,” Bobby Lee said, holding out his hand. “Don’t get me wrong, believe me, I am not complaining.”
The two tied off their horses, then stepped inside. If, as the sign outside town stated, there were 213 residents, Smoke figured that at least ten percent of them were in the saloon, even though it was just mid- afternoon.
The saloon was noisy with the sounds of idle men and painted women having fun. There was no piano, but a couple of men and a couple of bar girls were singing out of tune a song with ribald lyrics.
“Yes, sir, what can I serve you? “ the bartender asked, sliding down toward them. He was carrying a stained and foul-smelling towel that he used to alternately wipe off the bar, then wipe out the glasses.
“How’s your beer?” Smoke asked.
“Wet,” the bartender answered.
“Sounds good enough,” Smoke said slapping the necessary silver on the counter.
The singers let go with a particularly bawdy line, and everyone in the saloon laughed.
“That’s some song they’re singin', ain’t it?” the bartender replied as he set two beer mugs in front of Smoke and Bobby Lee.
“The words are all right, but they need to work some on carrying a tune,” Bobby Lee said.
The bartender chuckled. “You got that right,” he said. “You boys just passin’ through?” he asked.
“Could be,” Smoke said. “Or it could be that we might stay for a while. This looks like a pretty lively town.”
“It is. There was silver discovered three years ago, and that’s what caused the town to come here in the first place. But that played out and looked like the town might die, but then some fellas come across a new lode no more’n a month ago and we’ve had some new folks come in.” The bartender squinted at the two. “But I have to tell you, you boys don’t look like no miners.”
“We’re just a couple of cowboys, looking for someplace that might need some riders,” Smoke said.
“Not much in the way of ranching around here,” the bartender said. “Not enough water, no grass.”
“Yeah, that’s about what we figured,” Smoke said. “So I reckon we’ll be riding on.”
“Hey, you,” someone at the far end of the bar called. “I know you. What’s your name?”
Smoke laughed. “Well now, mister, if you know me, then you know my name.”
“I know you all right. It just ain’t comin’ to me right now.”
“Well, if you can’t remember my name, it’s not all that important, is it?”
