We stepped onto the platform at the station at Central City and I was able to look down over the town.  Molly came to my side and I put my arm around her.  We stood there quietly looking out over the city.  It was full of hustle and bustle, the streets were crowded with people and the mines were still booming.  Back when I worked with Dave Cook I spent a little time here, so I wanted to stand looking outward to gather my bearings and to remember.
       The City had survived two major fires just a few years back, but it had come back stronger and more sturdy than ever.  It was hard for me to tell if there were less people here than before.  Once it was larger than Denver, but there was a larger strike taking place now over in Leadville.  I’m sure a number of miners left to seek their fortune over there.  Gold has that way of luring people toward what they hope will be their future of wealth.
       “Miles, why are you shaking your head?” questioned Molly as we stood there.
       “I was just thinkin’ of the men who waste their efforts and toil for something so temporal.  Some even will lose their life over that elusive dream,” I replied.  Removing my arm I took her by the hand.  “Come, let’s go find Ma Jones’ boarding house.  We’ll get settled in then I want to move around town some, to get the feel of what people think of the President coming.  It will be the first time a president came since Grant.”
       She looked at me with a pleading eye, “Can I go with you?”
       I didn’t answer immediately.  I had planned on visiting some of the saloons and other unsavory places and didn’t want to take Molly to those.  “Why not?” I finally answered.  We’ll go along Main Street and up Eureka Street.  We grabbed our grips and headed on up to St. James Street where the boarding house was located.  We were traveling light so I was able to carry both suitcases.  I wasn’t concerned about being able to get to my gun quickly, but figured I could drop one and get to it if I needed to.
       We were puffing as we finally arrived at Ma Jones.  Even though we lived in Durango, the streets of Central City were built along hills.  One couldn’t travel very far without having to trudge up one.  Knocking on the door we were greeted by a housemaid by the name of Alice.  She checked to see that we had reservations then showed us to our room giving instructions about the room, when meals were served, and general rules of the house.
       “I imagine the town is in a stir with the President coming,” I said, trying to get a response.
       “Oh, I don’t know.  I don’t think the average worker here cares much one way or t’other.  It’s mostly those politicians and newspaper men that are making all the racket.  Besides I didn’t vote for him noways,” she replied.
       I looked at Molly with a smile.  I didn’t have the heart to tell the poor woman that the President took office with the death of Garfield.  She left us so we could unpack our things.  There was a dresser with a bowl and pitcher on it, a small closet, a coat rack, and a small stand near the bed.  There was one lamp in the room with a small bottle of matches beside it.  On the wall away from the bed and adjacent to the door was a small fireplace with some wood stacked beside it.  Being later in the year the nights were beginning to get cold, and there could be a snowfall at any time.
       “Well, Mrs. Forrest, are you ready to take in the town?” I asked, offering her my arm.  She smiled, taking it and off we went.  As we stepped off the small porch and onto the steps, I mentioned, “Remember, we have to walk back up here.”
       We walked down and passed the Presbyterian Church which was across from the Opera House and crossed the street to it.  I wanted to show her the inside, but the doors were locked.  I’d make sure to do it before we left.  They were probably making it accessible for the President to make his speech.
       From there we ventured down main on toward the Couer d’Alene mine.  The slag pile was definitely larger than the last time I was there; it’s yellow color shown in the dirt.  Molly looked at me, “Is there anything further up?  I’m getting hungry.”
       There were no more shops, only tents, shantys and small claims.  “Let’s cross the street.  There’s a little cafe on the way back down.”  I’d never eaten there before, but I saw it as we were walking.  Actually, the only place I had ever eaten at when in the City was the stage stop and the Teller House.
       Passing the Silver Slipper there was a bunch of out-of-work miners standing outside.  When Molly came by there was a whistle.  I could handle that but when they started to make cat-calls I halted, and when he reached out to take hold of Molly’s arm I wished I was carrying the Greener.  I left it in the room thinking I would be too conspicuous walking along the streets with it.  It did save the man a broken arm.