Grab your hat, step into your boots, and strap
on those spurs.
Your cow pony is saddled up and ready to ride
the trail from
San Antonio to Abilene.
First Drive
A Seph Vermillion
Western Adventure Book 1
by David
Fitz-Gerald
Genre
Historical Western Adventure Fiction
Grab your hat,
step into your boots, and strap on those spurs. Your cow pony is saddled up and
ready to ride the trail from San Antonio to Abilene.
Seph Vermillion
grew up dirt poor. As long as he can remember, he's been pushing a plow and
arguing with a mule. A couple of times a year, a trio of bandits ravage the
family farm and make off with their savings.
Pa never returned
home after the war. Seph's siblings have been gone so long, he doesn't remember
what they look like. When Ma dies after a long illness, Seph trades the family
farm for a horse named Sheriff. The kid next door tells Seph about the Deatherage
Longhorn Cattle Ranch. The allure of adventure beckons. They partner up and hit
the trail. Lacking skills, they are the last cowboys hired and agree to work
for half pay.
The outfit's top
hand, Stoke Moreland, pranks, taunts, and threatens Seph. Why does the seasoned
cowboy seem intent on driving him off? Seph doesn't know much about
self-defense, but he is tired of being a victim and feeling violated. How long
can he turn the other cheek?
The trail is
fraught with hazards from perilous river crossings to the mother of all
stampedes. When they realize they're being tracked, followed, and hunted, a
growing sense of doom overwhelms the fledgling outfit of cowboys who are still
wet behind the ears. The outlaws that plagued Seph's past have followed them
and they are determined to take the herd. Their plan is simple: pit the cowboys
against each other, pick them off one by one, and stampede the beeves.
Since they left
San Antonio, the drovers have looked forward to whooping it up at the end of
the trail. That was before somebody began killing cowboys. Now, Abilene seems
like an impossible dream. Will anybody make it to the end of the trail?
Grab your slicker, fetch your bedroll, and swing up into the saddle. Sign on with the Dagger D, Angry R brand—First Drive is calling your name.
**FREEBIE
ALERT!**
**Get the freebie prequel
Farewell to Poesta Creek here!**
https://dl.bookfunnel.com/8i8386a45t
** And look
out on the horizon for book 2 riding in soon! **
Dead Heat
Coming May 2025
David Fitz-Gerald
writes westerns and historical fiction. He is the author of twelve books,
including the brand-new series, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail set in 1850. Dave
is a multiple Laramie Award, first place, best in category winner; a Blue
Ribbon Chanticleerian; a member of Western Writers of America; and a member of
the Historical Novel Society.
Alpine landscapes
and flashy horses always catch Dave’s eye and turn his head. He is also an
Adirondack 46-er, which means that he has hiked to the summit of the range’s
highest peaks. As a mountaineer, he’s happiest at an elevation of over four
thousand feet above sea level.
Dave is a lifelong fan of western fiction, landscapes, movies, and music. It should be no surprise that Dave delights in placing memorable characters on treacherous trails, mountain tops, and on the backs of wild horses
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April 23, 1868
The sharp crack of gunfire sliced through the air, jolting Seph Vermillion from a daydream. He sat up tall in the saddle. The skin on his forearms prickled. A familiar punch detonated in his gut. That blast in his belly signaled danger.
His ear twitched, and he blinked rapidly.
The first shot was followed by several more, each one closer than the first.
Seph glanced down at the buttstock of his rifle. His father called the Hawken Uncle Yves, but Seph never knew his grandfather's brother—or why his father had named it after his long-departed uncle. He considered drawing the gun from its scabbard.
His heart thundered in his chest. He glanced at his partner, Slaw. The look on his friend's face mirrored his own sense of dread.
They had hoped to avoid trouble on their journey to San Antonio.
The sound of pounding hooves on the trail behind them grew to a rumbling thunder. With an urgent nod, Slaw signaled a detour off the trail.
Seph dug his heels into the side of his claybank dun, a fast horse named Sheriff, and dropped the lead rope on his pack mule. Immediately, Seph was on the heels of his partner's horse, a dapple-gray called Win, short for Winter.
Dirt chunked from Win's hooves, pelting Seph. Seph hunched over Sheriff's neck and squinted, hoping to keep the gravel from stinging his eyes.
As they raced across rugged terrain, Seph spared a glance over his shoulder. Dread coiled in his belly at the sight of three familiar figures in hot pursuit. The approaching riders hooted, hollered, and howled.
These weren't random bandits. Seph knew these skunks all too well. He couldn't count the times they had raided the Vermillion family farm. They'd gallop into the barnyard, help themselves to whatever they wanted and ride away, heckling and cajoling. Seph was always left to deal with the aftermath.
But this time was different. Seph was no longer a helpless victim. Never again, Seph told himself. He gritted his teeth, urging Sheriff onward. Determination flowed through his limbs, and Sheriff lengthened his strides.
He was thrilled to own a horse that loved to run.
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