Fawn: A Novel

By Rich Haney

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 17, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469112633

Rich Haney

Born in Fluvanna County, Virginia, in 1945, Rich Haney began working part-time at WINA Radio in nearby Charlottesville when he was a high school junior.     While attending Lynchburg College, he continued to work at WINA on weekends.     Then, for eight years, he was Sports Director and Program Director for WINA.     During this period he did football play-by-play for Lane High School, then the record-setting, perennial state champions. He left WINA Radio in Charlottesville to become the Sports Anchor/Director of WTVR-TV, the CBS affiliate in Richmond, Virginia.      During his twelve-year stint at WTVR-TV, he also did football and basketball play-by-play on the radio networks of the University of Richmond, the University of Virginia and/or Virginia Tech University.     For five years he covered regional sports for the Raycom and CBS networks and also published a sports weekly, The Rich Haney Report, as well as a syndicated newspaper sports column. After a divorce, Rich moved to Montgomery, Alabama, when his son Tony received a baseball scholarship at Auburn University.    While Tony was at Auburn, Rich was the Sports Director/Anchor of WAKA-TV, the CBS affiliate in Montgomery.      It was in the Deep South, essentially alone for the first time, that Rich began researching and writing Historic Novels, which soon became his passion.      A recently published Civil War novel entitled CHATTAHOOCHEE encouraged him to move to Laramie, Wyoming, where he writes full-time. SACAJAWEA: Her True Story is Rich's first non-fiction work but, in Laramie, he has also deeply researched and written two Western Novels -- ROSEBUD and FAWN -- that are currently being represented by a New York agent.     His particular interest, symbolized by an extensive personal library that he is quite proud of, is the history of the American West, particularly the Plains Indians. ************     Even prior to the soon-to-be ubiquitous dollar coin, which debuts in March of 2000, Sacajawea is already the most memorialized female in American history.     Yet, controversy still rages as to whether she died in 1812 in South Dakota or in 1884 in Wyoming.     And where is she buried?     This book answers those questions by validating the Oral or Traditional History of the Shoshones, her own people, and explains why many white historians, including Ken Burns and Steven Ambrose, are wrong when it comes to America's greatest female icon.

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Copyright ©2000 by Rich Haney.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

CHAPTER ONE

The A-Bar-A

CHAPTER TWO

Laramie

CHAPTER THREE

The Buckhorn

CHAPTER FOUR

The Saloon Girl

CHAPTER FIVE

The Unfair Test

CHAPTER SIX

Little Girl Lost

CHAPTER SEVEN

A Fitful Night

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Stage from Tie Siding

CHAPTER NINE

A Glimpse of Stacy

CHAPTER TEN

Woman to Woman

CHAPTER ELEVEN

An Overflowing Cup

CHAPTER TWELVE

Es Mi Vida

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Blood ‘n Tears, the Ultimate Test

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A Respite from Laramie

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Confrontation with A Guardian Angel

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sweet Dreams

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Too Close to Heaven

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Worst of Things

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A Message from A Rainbow

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Rocks of Veedauwoo

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Showdown

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Afterglow: Shelter from the Storm

CHAPTER ONE

The A-Bar-A

Springtime in the Rockies was always a glorious time of the year for young Bret Holman but sunrise on May seventeenth, 1883, marked the start of what he believed was the happiest day of his life.

Through a dusting of snow, he led Master, his fully outfitted black stallion, from the barn to the main house on the A-Bar-A Ranch.

After tying Master to the hitching rail, he stepped around to the left side of the house, needing to take one last, long look at the gorgeous North Platte River, which twisted its way, on a south to north course, through eight miles of A-Bar-A territory. The Platte, the River Road of Oregon Trail fame, at this spot in Wyoming Territory separated the Sierra Madre Mountain Range off to the west from the Medicine Bow Mountain Range off to the east. The melting snow in the higher elevations this time of year left the Platte particularly rambunctious, adding a special touch to Bret’s aesthetic perceptions.

His gaze this morning soon left the Platte and checked out the snow-capped tops of both the Sierra Madres and the Medicine Bows.

Then he turned and walked hastily toward the front porch, actually leaping into the air at one point, clicking the heels of his boots together, and shouting, Yippee! Yippee!

Bret’s next order of business was to enter the house and say good-bye to his older brother Seth and also bid adieu to Tonya, the twenty-four-year-old full-blooded Shoshoni who had dutifully looked after the ranch house for the Holman brothers for five years.

Howdy, Bret. The sun’s barely up, you’ve already had breakfast and I guess Master is raring to go. You sure those mountain passes between here and Laramie are open?

Seth, although it was not yet 7:00 A. M., was already at work at his big desk in the spacious living room. Bret pulled up a chair and sat down.

Yeah, I checked things out all the way to French Creek yesterday. If those two trails are passable, I can make it the rest of the way easy.

The Holman brothers were on the threshold of becoming legendary cattlemen in Wyoming Territory, despite their youth. At thirty-two, the sickly, cerebral, bespectacled, five-foot-eight Seth was physically the exact opposite of his twenty-six-year-old, six-foot-two, starkly handsome and robustly healthy brother. Seth spent hours each day at his desk while Bret was a regular cowboy, in charge of twenty-one men. Their late father, Samuel Holman, had fallen in love with the Rockies ten years earlier on a trip from Illinois and when he retired he sold two businesses to stake his young sons in the ranching business.

A chronic asthmatic condition had slowed Seth all his life but the rarefied air of the Rockies had at least helped to stabilize the condition. Bret and Tonya, in particular, were quite protective of Seth and they reveled in the pride he took concerning the burgeoning majesty of the A-Bar-A. To them, the splendiferous ranch was a monument to Seth’s unflinching quest to make something special out of a life that otherwise was so unfairly littered with obstacles.

As the young co-owners of the A-Bar-A, the dichotomous nature of the brothers was now being heralded as the perfect complement, with Seth the mastermind and Bret the hands-on adornment. Jealousy or conflicts? In ten years, there had been none.

I’m happy for you, Bret. Seth removed his spectacles and grinned at his brother. And get back here in one piece. Your days for checking out the Buckhorn are numbered. I still can’t figure out how a non-drinker loves that danged old saloon so much, except for the fights and the poker. If you quit the Buckhorn now, you know, they’ll retire your reputation as the greatest undefeated pugilist in southern Wyoming Territory.

Well, Bret said, smiling sheepishly, you’re forgetting when those mountain men worked me over pretty good a couple years ago.

Naw, that don’t count. It took four mountain men to do it!

They both laughed heartily. Seth, not one to be distracted very long from business aspects of the A-Bar-A, recovered first.

Hey! He tapped a stack of newspapers sitting on the edge of his desk. I bet you haven’t looked through these. In these four newspapers there are no less than three major articles on the A-Bar-A. He laughed. The Laramie Sentinel calls us the best ranching outfit in Wyoming Territory and predicts we’ll overtake the Swan Ranch as the biggest. Hell, Bret, the Swan people are running over 50,000 head and we’re at 19,200 right now. But Swan is run by big money from Scotland and the papers consider you ‘n me locals. But the Cheyenne paper is the most laudable. It says the A-Bar-A is the best run ranch in the territory and also the most beautiful. Well, they’ve at least got it right about the last part. And the Saratoga paper says, with me pushing the pencils and you in charge of twenty-one devoted cowboys, we complement each other perfectly. When you get back, you might wanna read some of these articles.

I will. Bret stood up. Anything I can do for you in Laramie?

Naw. Today is Monday. Just be back by Sunday. That gives you a whole week. I’ve got that Cattlemen’s Association meeting a week from today.

I’ll be back Sunday. Bill Cummings is in charge of the men. He might just be twenty-three but he’s a helluva foreman, don’t ya think?

Yeah, you picked a good man.

Bret exited the living room and went down the hall to the kitchen. Tonya was sitting at the table crocheting a blanket.

Taking a little break after breakfast?

Yeah, Bret. You know this relaxes me.

She got to a stopping point and stood up, moving over to put her arms tightly around him. You take care in Laramie. Tell Abby how much I love her.

I will. His arms cradled her lovingly. Seth is excited about those newspapers lauding the A-Bar-A. Have you read ‘em?

He read ‘em to me. Gosh, Bret! Are we growing too fast?

I dunno. If the prices in St. Louis stay good, and the railroads help supplement the cattle drives, I reckon we’d best take advantage. I do need to swap for or buy about ten new bulls, to keep the breeding pure, but I’ll get that done.

He leaned Tonya back and spread his left hand over her stomach, rubbing it gently. I’ve been waiting for you or Seth to mention this to me, Tonya.

Normally effusive, especially around Bret, Tonya pursed her lips and shyly lowered her head. He had known for several weeks that she was a few months pregnant. His hand under her chin induced eye contact again.

All I wanna say before I leave, Tonya, is that I’m happy for both you and Seth. When I get back, I’ll make it a point to discuss your pregnancy with Seth but while I’m gone let him know how I feel. You’ll make the best mother and the prettiest wife in Wyoming Territory. I’ve said for five years you’re the best thing about the entire A-Bar-A. Seth loves you and I know you love him but not setting a date to be married concerns me. Tell Seth if that’s not done this week before I get back he’s gonna tangle with me. In ten years on the A-Bar-A we haven’t disagreed about anything but I won’t stand by and see you hurt in any way.

Her eyes were misty now and she buried her face against his chest. Yes, I know, Bret. I love Seth but you’ve always been my best friend. I only spoke Shoshone when I got here but after working outside from sunup to sunset you spent hours each night teaching me English. Knowing how you feel about my baby means the world to me. She pushed back, gifting him with flashing eyes and a happy smile. You’ve always made me proud to be a Shoshoni and proud to be a part of the A-Bar-A, Bret. Now you’ve made me proud to be a mother, and a wife. I’ll talk with Seth while you’re gone. We’ll set a date. Like me, he was too worried about your feelings and that was the last thing we should have been worried about. She sent him an awesome grin. But this is kinda new for me, Bret… being with child ‘n all and about to marry a hot-shot rancher.

You deserve it, Tonya. I can’t be totally happy around the A-Bar-A unless I know you’re happy. You want a boy or a girl?

I want a girl. Seth wants a boy. She laughed. But ya know, we can try again… especially when it’s legal!

Bret hugged her dearly and kissed her cheek. What can I get for you in Laramie? You name it.

"Nothing I need, just you being my friend. That new General Store in Encampment, with Bill