SPOON VALLEY: ALONG THE SANTA FE TRAIL

This novel takes a snapshot of the decade just after the Civil War and describes the experiences of early pioneers in settling new lands in the eastern part of the Southwest ... and the hardships encountered.

The old trapper Sam Baynes is in a race with death. His days are numbered but he's determined to reach Spoon Valley and its gold ... a legacy for Jenny, the teen-age niece he left behind in Portola to fend for herself while he was gone.

F. Eugene Barber has written several short stories and this is his second novel. He has an AS, a BA, and an MBA. He was born on a farm in the Midwest at the start of the Depression and attended a rural school with ten other students ranging from the first to the eighth grade. His early memories are potbellied stoves, coal oil lamps, crank phones, chopping kindling wood, and chores around the barnyard.

During the Korean War he served in the Air Force and upon discharge, worked in the Aerospace  industry for most of his adult life. He spent many weekends traipsing around the western mountains and deserts with his wife, two daughters, and the family dog.

Mr. Barber has worked and traveled all over the world, including Africa and the Outback of Australia, and when in conversation, tends to compare his own ancestors’ hardships, in settling the West, with the struggles to explore and populate those two faraway continents.

His knowledge of early emigrant movements from the more settled parts of the United States to the Great American Desert, the Southwest, and the West Coast has been accumulated over a period of over forty years. He lives in Nevada with his wife, Yvonne.

“I wonder where the gold mine is.”

“I don’t know, but there is a well used trail going back towards thet cliff there. I can just make it out.”

“How are we gonna take keer of all six?”

“I ain’t shore. We gotta have a plan. I shore would hate to go back to Portola an get our bunch. We’d have to share the gold with ‘em.”

The Swensons climbed back down and walked up to the wash to get their horses.  They rode off the trail and into some grass.

“We’ll hide our tracks and go off up yonder an camp. We’ll think this thing out. Only us two, yu know?”

They made  camp up over the next ridge and down in a narrow ravine. The little creek was flowing from the north and there was enough grass sticking up through the patches of snow for the two horses.

“We won’t build no fire. We’ll just eat some hard crackers and cheese fer now. Maybe we’ll make a small cookin’ fire in the mornin’ after sunup.”

“Ja. I’ll get the whiskey. We kin have somthin’ to drink with the cheese an crackers.”

They ate and drank in silence. Rolf got his bedroll and lay down on it.

Olaf was thinking.

“Why don’t we split up. We kin go through the openin’ and yu kin go on one side of the barn and I’ll get on this side, between it and the main cabin. Yu kin get set so yu kin see me an when I motion, we’ll fire into them. I figure we kin kill all four of the men and them two flickas won’t be no trouble a’tall.”

“Ja! Sounds good. Let’s get some sleep.”

They passed the bottle around until both were sleepy.

The next morning found them coming groggily awake. Olaf pulled on his boots and got out the telescope and his rifle. He slipped over by one of the large boulders and looked down into the spoon-shaped valley. Two men were already up and working with the roof rafters and stringers.

Olaf rested his old rifle on an opening between two rocks and sighted down towards the barn.

“It’s a ways down there, but I reckon it would carry thet fer, but wouldn’t do no good. We’d give ourselves away. Better to go down on foot an git closer.”

They finished off the last bottle of Karl’s whiskey.

They both walked towards the trail and slowly slipped between the two big rocks at the opening.

There was no wind.