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changes every day.”
    Essie approached the table and slapped Stu on the back after setting glasses of water in front of each of us. “Hey, old man, whataya havin’ tonight?” She glanced at us and smiled. “Where are my manners? What would you all like to drink? I suppose the boy will have milk?”
    The waitress, or owner of the diner, was a little overweight, but she carried it well on her medium height frame. Her curly light brown hair was in the process of turning grey, and she had lively brown eyes. If first impressions counted, I liked her already.
    Mikey nodded and smiled. “A big glass, please.”
    The rest of us ordered iced tea, and she asked if we’d decided what we wanted for dinner yet.
    “Surprise us,” Chris replied. “We’ll eat anything you bring to the table.”
    “My kinda guy.” She turned to me. “Is that okay with you?”
    “Sure,” I said, surprised at Chris’s comment. “But let me add something. Bring each of us something different.” I sniffed the air, wanting to sample a little of everything.
    Essie was a happy woman. I could see it on her face before she walked away.
    “Okay, Stu, tell us about your uncle. And don’t leave anything out, because this promises to be quite a tale.” Chris leaned back in his chair and watched the older man expectantly.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    “My wife could tell you this story better ‘n me. I didn’t care a lick about my family history, but Jean did. I heard all the stories when I was growing up and she pried them out of me. Before long she got me interested and I wrote everything down. We interviewed the old-timers around here, too, and wrote all that down. Of course, they’re all gone now, and most of their stories were hand-me-downs, too. I always said I’d write a book about old Henry, but I never got around to it.” Stu stopped talking and watched out the window. His eyes had that faraway look Chris has sometimes and I had a feeling he was remembering and sorting stories in his mind.
    We waited patiently.
    “Old Henry and Melvin Snider grew up somewhere in the Dakotas, but I’m not sure where. From what I’ve heard, the two men were close friends in the beginning. Sometime in the mid- to late 1800s, old Henry decided to come West to find his fortune. He started out in Virginia City, right here in Nevada. Although he found gold, and some silver, he didn’t make his fortune.”
    “But we found a lot of gold buried with him,” Mikey said.
    “Well, I haven’t finished the story yet. Henry sent a letter to his friend, Melvyn, and told him to meet him and they’d travel to California together. When Melvyn arrived, he and Henry left Virginia City to seek their fortune in California. He’d heard lots of stories about the gold in them thar hills .
    “It seems they got side-tracked and disappeared for a couple of years. No one knows where they were during that time, but when they finally surfaced in California, Henry had a new wife, and Melvyn was madder than a wet h en. Wherever they were, old Henry met Frannie and married her. And, apparently, that’s when the trouble started.”
    “Do you mean Frannie was trouble?” Chris asked.
    “I have a feeling I know where this is going, Chris.” I turned to Stu. “I’d be willing to bet Melvyn was upset because he wanted Frannie for himself.”
    “And you’d win that bet, Mrs. Cross.”
    “Please, call me Pamela.”
    The older man, who seemed to be a busboy, brought our drinks. He was medium height with long silver hair, pulled back in a ponytail, and he was a little stoop-shouldered.
    “Thanks, Charlie,” Stu said.
    I watched the older man for a moment before turning back to Stu.
    “Yes, ma’am. Pamela. As the story has come down through the years, Frannie told some of the ladies here in town that she met Melvyn before she met Henry. He tried to court her, but she wasn’t interested in him. Then my uncle showed up in town, looking for Melvyn, who’d