Shadow of the Untamed

By Steven Chaffin

Living in the high plains of the territorial West in the 1860s proved to be a challenging endeavor—relying on family and neighbors for insight and survival.

Follow young siblings as they learn and grow through gains and tragic losses, experiencing trust and love of their Native American neighbors.

Titles such as lawman, outlaw, frontiersman, and savages were all given out freely. The truth about people shines through. A surprising understanding about friend or foe emerges. Out of the shadows, a place where legends and legacies are born, comes the Shadow of the Untamed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532077968

Steven Chaffin

Steven Chaffin is one of Mary Francis McCoy’s six children and the grandson of Curtis Shelby McCoy. As such, he is a direct descendant of the family that took part in an infamous feud that was a rich part of the history of the Appalachian Blue Ridge Mountains. Having such a historical family background is part of what sparked Steven’s love of research. Steven served twenty years in the United States Air Force. During his service, Steven learned four different languages and traveled to fifty-seven countries. During his time in these new places, he observed and was influenced by different customs. He respects and appreciates the enrichment that the cultures and heritage of others have to offer. Steven retired highly decorated from the Red Horse Squadron Special Ops. He now enjoys spending time with his lovely wife, children, and grandchildren. Steven is also an artist and enjoys painting and sketching. Steven favors outdoor activities that allow him to partake in all that the wilds of Wyoming have to offer, where he now resides.

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Copyright © 2019 Steven Chaffin.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-7797-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-7796-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019908739

iUniverse rev. date: 06/27/2019

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

A Note from The Editor

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About the Author

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Wyoming Territory trails. Heavily traveled routes can still be seen to this very day.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank the proud people of the Lakota tribe who made this book possible. I am exceedingly appreciative of the people in my life for their generous support and efforts. I also wish to extend a huge thanks to my brother and author Larry W. Simmons, a retired commander of SEAL Team 5 who taught me to never give up.

A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR

Dearest Reader,

Inside these pages you will discover an exciting tale involving the lawlessness of the western United States during its youth in the mid-1800s. This novel is a piece of historical fiction whose central location is Cheyenne, Wyoming. The story is loosely based on Native American tribes, the United States Cavalry, the United States railroad, and a very real female outlaw that lived during that time. The railroad and the US military were not always the proud organizations they are today. Long ago, without the assistance of laws and the enforcers of those laws, many cruelties occurred, and this novel touches on those difficult and sensitive subjects. Since then, the railroad and our military have provided thousands of citizens with job security, benefits, and the general enrichment of their lives. The author himself is a proud veteran of the United States Air Force. Though he acknowledges prior deficiencies in our country’s history he holds great repect for the women’s suffrage movement; the US railroad, which helped to create the city of Cheyenne; and the United States Air Force, which continues to breathe life into this great historical city.

The suffrage of both the Native Americans and the pioneers is a major focal point of this story and, as such, has been spoken of with the utmost care. The bravery of the men, women, and children from many different groups who faced and conquered the hardships of meager survival during such a harsh period of time is what inspired the author to bring you this thrilling tale.

Endurance, courage, adventure, and love, it is all but a Shadow of the Untamed.

Sincerely yours,

Jacqueline Hurlburt

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CHAPTER 1

Mabyn looked out upon the night sky and watched as the dawning sun began to fade the darkness into light. She thought about how each life resembled the lights from the stars, how they lit up in the twilight and shined forth their full glory. She pondered how each speck somehow gave birth to another, not fully understanding how the depth of their brightness could shine forth through the darkness of space, never grasping just where they all disappeared to in the light of day. All the young girl could see was how each one seemed to fade away with the ending of another night. Tears streamed down her face as she thought about how inside the cabin her own mother’s light was fading. Mabyn thought that perhaps as long as the night prevailed and she kept hold of her sight on a single star, somehow her beloved mother would hold on.

The young girl squinted her eyes, fighting back the urge to blink. She wiped away her tears and lost sight of the star she’d tried so desperately to remain fixed upon. Searching with despair, she cried out. The door creaked open, and out stepped her distraught father. It is over, my dearest Mabyn. Mother is among the stars now … in heaven.

No! the eight-year-old girl cried out. Oh, Father, it’s my fault! She wiped the tears from her youthful cheeks and looked out at the morning sky.

No, dear, there is nothing anyone could have done. She just lacked the strength, I am afraid. It’s no one’s fault. She simply couldn’t carry another breath. Now come on, child. You have been out here all night. Don’t need you catching ill.

As Mabyn entered through the doorway, Brychen, her fourteen-year-old brother, pushed past her, heading out in a rush. Tears rolled down the young man’s face. He paused just short of the front stoop and waved a goodbye before setting out at a full run. Bry! Mabyn called out. Her father sat quietly and stirred the fire with a long piece of hickory. Putting her hands on her hips, attempting to look defiant, Mabyn made an attempt to impersonate her mother and said, Delvin McDonald, are you going to fetch the boy back or what? Her father seemed unmoved and kept up with his vigorous chastising of the flames with his stick. Running back over to the door, she watched as Brychen disappeared over the hilltop.

Mabyn’s eyelids grew heavy as she peeked around the dense quilt that was hung up as a wall for her small sleeping area. Delvin got up from his rocker, grabbed his rifle and shovel, and headed off into the daylight. Mabyn listened to her father go while still staring at her mother’s corpse. She knew what had to be done. She would now have to step up and become the woman of the house. She felt the weight of her burdens just as her mother must have—the heaviness that her mother had been made to carry, that had overtaken her in fatigue and eventually death. She longed to join her mother in a restful and endless sleep. Mabyn drifted off in the envy of death and the longing of the night’s stars.

Mabyn awoke to the sounds of horses whinnying and watched as carriage after carriage showed up out front. The town’s people were bringing food, which under normal circumstances would have wafted a delightful fragrance. As for now, it all just churned her stomach. She watched as the men and women, all dressed in black, dropped off each dish at the table and hurried past her mother’s bed to the cool air outside. Some paused briefly to make a quick gesture of the cross before racing out the door. Others just bowed their heads in quiet respect.

The news of her mother’s death had traveled fast. The town was fifteen miles away, a two-hour ride by horse buggy. Brushing away the dust from her small window, Mabyn could see the gathering. She could hear their senseless speech, garbled as it all mixed together. She listened intently to hear what was being said. The men began to meander away from the womenfolk. Her first thought was how it was apparent that they couldn’t wait to put her mother in the ground. The women stood closer to her window than the men, and their voices were easier to understand. When she eventually heard rank and in the ground, it all became too much, infuriating her to the point of taking action. Looking around the room, she found coveralls and a shirt belonging to her brother, Brychen. The clothes were twice her size, but by rolling them up as far as her small frame would allow, she managed to look fit for work. She stopped briefly to put on her mother’s straw hat. Mabyn knew she would never look or be like the women gossiping outside her window.

Strutting her way past the women, Mabyn went up to where the men were standing. She could hear the gasps as each woman took notice of her outlandish outfit. Walking straight up to a very large man sporting a bushy mustache, she spoke with gumption many would be surprised she could possess on the day of her own mother’s burial. Well, what are ya doing here? Ya going to help my papa dig that grave or what? she demanded. Two men jumped off a wagon, shovels in hand, and headed off over the hill. Six others just stood there in disbelief.

The large man with the mustache said, Little one, I think you should join the women now.

Not wanting to let her strength falter in such a pivotal moment and still angered by the women’s words she’d overheard, she replied sarcastically, Ya think too much, sir. Me? Join those damn cackling hens, peckin’ at each other like they’s the last known flecks of corn dust? Suppose I should spin tales of gossip and slander next. Why, I’d rather shovel steamin’ manure in the hot sun. Mabyn sat down next to the men on a straw bale.

The big man’s jaw dropped open. After a pause, he chuckled. The man winked at her and said, Hens they are, lil one. All the men broke out in laughter. The women stood there wide eyed and in shock.

Folks began to leave as the last shovelful of dirt was placed. Watching intently and scouring the nearby hillsides for signs of her brother, Mabyn sighed. Where are you, Bry? she thought. The wooden cross at her mother’s grave read, Mary Francis McDonald. Born March 3, 1831. Died September 18, 1863. Mabyn did her best to count, but all she knew was that her mother had been too young to have died. Ma had been only sixteen when she’d gotten pregnant with Brychen and had to marry Mabyn’s father.

Grabbing a twig, Mabyn scribbled in the dirt to count as best she could. Thirty-three? she thought. Wait, that’s not right. Brychen is fourteen, and Mama had him when she was seventeen. Thirty-one? She was still unsure whether she’d counted right. Math made Mabyn’s head hurt. In either case, her mother had still been too young to just die. Oh, Mama, she cried, turning with her head hung down. She didn’t even notice that her father had already left.

On the long walk back, she couldn’t believe how everyone had just left her there, not even offering her a ride back to the cabin. It was only a three-quarter-mile walk, but to Mabyn it seemed like ten. Halfway back, she stopped to rest and sat down on an old stump overlooking the sorriest field of corn she had ever laid eyes on. God, we need help! Could you please make it rain? The final quarter mile of her walk, the skies opened up, and it began to pour down. God, I didn’t mean just this minute. But thank you anyway. She looked