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Updated: May 21, 2025
"The Fawn of Springvale," she proceeded, "the gentle Fawn of Springvale, for it was on the account of my gentleness I was so called, is stricken the arrow is here in her poor broken heart; and what did she do, what did the gentle creature do to suffer or to deserve all this misery?"
Had I not seen the unselfish, kindly, generous spirit that had marked all his business career? Springvale never called him grasping, save as his prosperity grated on men of Mapleson's type. "Will you sign a relinquishment to your claim, and trust to me that it is the best for us to do?" he asked. "Just as soon as we get to an inkstand," I answered.
Seldom was a larger funeral train seen, than that which attended her remains to the grave-yard; and rarely was sorrow so deeply felt for any being so young and so unhappy, as that which moved all hearts for the fate of the beautiful but unfortunate Jane Sinclair the far-famed Fawn of Springvale.
So I asked no questions, but let him speak. "O'mie comes by natural right into a dislike, even hatred, of the red race. It may be I know something more of him than anyone else in Springvale knows. His story is a romance and a tragedy, stranger than fiction.
John Baronet's mind was not on Springvale, nor on the river. His thoughts were of his son and of her who had borne him, the sweet-browed woman whose image was in the sacredest shrine of his heart. Judson's advent was ill-timed, and his excessive lack of tact made the matter worse. "Mr. Baronet," he began pompously enough, "I must see you on a very grave matter, very grave indeed."
More than once in the decades since then it has been my fortune to return to Springvale and be met at the railway station and escorted home by the town band.
The very air about Springvale was full of tradition. The town had been from the earliest times a landmark of the old Santa Fé trail. When the freighters and plainsmen left the village and climbed to the top of the slope and set their faces to the west there lay before them only the wilderness wastes.
When I turned to go, the tent flap was pulled back for me from the outside and I stepped forth and stood face to face with Jean Pahusca himself, standing stolidly before me wrapped in a bright new red blanket. We looked at each other steadily. "You are in my land now. This isn't Springvale."
Those Cheyennes know these Plains as well as you know the streets of Springvale. They are built like giants, and they fight like demons. Don't underestimate the size of the contract. I know John Baronet well enough to know that if his boy begins, he won't quit till the battle is done. I want you to go into this with your eyes open.
I have never seen him since we parted on the prairie that August evening. The next day he went to Red Range to stay for a short time. By the end of a week I had left Springvale, and we are to each other only boyhood memories now. Out on the open prairie, where there was room to think and be alone, I went to fight my battle.
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