Book Spotlight: Stay with the Wagons: A Pioneer Western Adventure by David Fitz-Gerald

 

Follow the tour HERE

Venture deep into the uncharted wilderness and crest the continental divide.

Stay with the Wagons is the enthralling third chapter in the Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail series. Dorcas Moon has discarded her mourning dress and yearns for freedom and independence amidst the vast frontier. But a perilous world and a commanding wagon master keep her tethered. Ultimately, it's a brutal bout of fever and ague that confine her to camp.

Relentless disasters and beguiling challenges unfold in this installment. A young man is crushed beneath a wagon wheel. Dorcas' son breaks an arm, a grizzly bear attacks the wagon train, and the looming threat of attacking outlaws whips the emigrants into a worried frenzy. How many must perish before they reach the end of the trail?

As chaos reigns, her troubled daughter, Rose, disappears once again, leading Dorcas on a perilous quest. Tracking Rose to a sacred site, they encounter a blind seer and a legendary leader, Chief Washakie. Rose's enchantment with Native American adornments sparks Dorcas' concern about an unexpected suitor and raises worries about Rose's age.

Stay with the Wagons is bursting with action, adventure, and survival. It is a story of resilience and empowerment on the Oregon Trail.

Claim your copy now and re-immerse yourself in a tale of high-stakes survival, unexpected alliances, and the indomitable spirit of Dorcas Moon.

 

Buy Links:

 This title / series is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

 Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/stay-with-the-wagons

 

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.

 Author Links: 

Website: https://www.itsoag.com/GATOT

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorDAVIDFG

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorDaveFITZGERALD/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authordavefitzgerald/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/AuthorDaveFITZGERALD/

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/david-fitz-gerald

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/dfitzgerald

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17341792.David_Fitz_Gerald

Linktree https://linktr.ee/authordavidfitzgerald

Book spotlight and excerpt: A Grave Every Mile: A Pioneer Western Adventure by David Fitz-Gerald

 

Follow the tour HERE 

Embark on a harrowing trek across the rugged American frontier in 1850. Your wagon awaits, and the untamed wilderness calls. This epic western adventure will test the mettle of even the bravest souls.

Dorcas Moon and her family set forth in search of opportunity and a brighter future. Yet, what awaits them is a relentless gauntlet of life-threatening challenges: miserable weather, ravenous insects, scorching sunburns, and unforgiving terrain. It's not merely a battle for survival but a test of their unity and sanity.

Amidst the chaos, Dorcas faces ceaseless trials: her husband's unending bickering, her daughter's descent into madness, and the ever-present danger of lethal rattlesnakes, intensifying the peril with each step. The specter of death looms large, with diseases spreading and the eerie howls of rabid wolves piercing the night. Will the haunting image of wolves desecrating a grave push Dorcas over the edge?

With each mile, the migration poses a haunting question: Who will endure the relentless quest to cross the continent, and who will leave their bones to rest beside the trail? The pathway is bordered by graves, a chilling reminder of the steep cost of dreams.

A Grave Every Mile marks the commencement of an unforgettable saga. Start reading Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail now to immerse yourself in an expedition where every decision carries the weight of life, death, and the pursuit of a brighter future along the Oregon Trail.

 

Buy Links: 

This title is available on #KindleUnlimited.

 Universal Link

•*´¨)✯ ¸.•*¨) ✮ ( ¸.•´✶

Excerpt

 

Independence, Missouri, April 13, 1850

I hate it when men fight. After a man throws his first punch, he doesn’t remember why he’s fighting. Where’s the marshal? A town the size of Independence must have a lawman.

A crowd gathers in the rutty street as two men face each other, circling, waiting for an opportunity to swing. The blond combatant hollers in a high-pitched voice, “Take that back, Bobby.”

The dark-haired man, evidently Bobby, shouts, “No, I won’t. You can’t make me.”

The other man shouts, “You can’t talk about my wife like that. I’ll rip your head off.”

“She may be your wife, Wayne, but she’s also my sister. I’ll say what I want.”

Wayne lands a glancing blow on Bobby's cheek. As the punched man’s face turns, I realize these aren’t men. They’re practically boys.

The crowd cheers, encouraging them on. I’ve heard enough. If nobody is going to stop them, I will. My youngest daughter whines as I slide her from my hip, and wails when her feet reach the boardwalk in front of the dry goods store. My twelve-year-old daughter’s eyes reflect trepidation and I reassure her. “Don’t worry, Rose, honey. Hold Dahlia Jane’s hand. Stay right here until I return, and please don’t wander off, for Heaven’s sake.” I glance about to see where my husband and the boys are, but they're nowhere in sight. Not that Larkin would intervene. He would just shake his head and frown.

Two steps from the walkway, in front of the mercantile, my boots meet the muddy, uneven street. Even over the heads of observers, now three deep, I peg the fighters. At times like these, being a woman who is taller than most men is an advantage. As I push people aside, the two men growl at each other. Their arms lock as the evenly matched scrappers transition from fisticuffs to grappling. A trickle of blood dribbles from the corner of Bobby's mouth, and Wayne has a crimson eyebrow.

A tidy-looking young woman catches my attention. First, she addresses the dark-haired man, evidently her husband. “Stop it, Bobby." Then she reprimands her brother. "Knock it off, Wayne. You are creating a scene. Somebody will get hurt.” She glances up at me, her brow furrowed. It seems like a plea for help. I should know better than to interfere in the business of strangers. How many times have I been warned not to get involved? I can never help myself in such situations.

I step toward the snarling bruisers, grab each man by the back of his shirt, and separate them. The scrawny hooligans are surprisingly easy to lift. Maybe they seem so light because of all the years I spent chopping wood. The brown-haired man squirms more than his opponent, who implores, “What are you doing, lady? Have you gone mad?”

“My name ain’t Lady. It’s Dorcas, or Mrs. Moon, if you must.” Their dangling legs barely reach the ground. I clutch wads of fabric in my fists and their feet dance urgently beneath them, trying to find purchase within the muck. I feel like a schoolmarm interrupting a playground scuffle, but these are not children. I gaze into the dark eyes of one boy, then the bright eyes of the other. “What’s gotten into you? I’m sure you know better than to behave like this. What would your mothers think to see you now? You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

The people around us shuffle out of the way, and I’m surprised by an oncoming carriage. It’s too late to duck to the side of the street. A team of shiny black horses swiftly conveys a magnificent rig through a gloppy puddle a few feet from the boys and me, drenching my pink checked dress in pungent mud.

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.

 Author Links: 

Linktree https://linktr.ee/authordavidfitzgerald

Website: https://www.itsoag.com/GATOT

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorDAVIDFG

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorDaveFITZGERALD/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authordavefitzgerald/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/AuthorDaveFITZGERALD

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/david-fitz-gerald

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/dfitzgerald

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17341792.David_Fitz_Gerald

 

 

Going West Wasn't So Deadly for Early Mormon Pioneers

By Stephanie Pappas

A group of Mormon pioneers pose for a photo at South Pass, Wyoming in about 1859. Credit: Charles Roscoe Savage, courtesy of the Harold B. Lee Library

Snakebites. Disease. Wolves. Exposure.
Pioneers who headed West during the 1800s had plenty to fear, but a new study finds that at least one group of these migrants — early Mormons — did just fine on their trek to Salt Lake City.
An analysis of historical records reveals that the mortality rate for early Mormon pioneers was a mere 3.5 percent, hardly higher than the national mortality rate at the time. The average American between the 1840s and 1860s, when the Mormon pioneers were heading West, had between a 2.5 percent and 2.9 percent chance of dying in a given year.
"This is one of the first definitive analyses with the most up-to-date data regarding how many people were in this immigration, how many pioneers died and the breakdowns of these deaths," study researcher Dennis Tolley, a statistician at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, said in a statement.
Mormon migration
Joseph Smith founded the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (or LDS Church) in 1830. Smith and his followers were often discriminated against, and Smith himself was killed by a mob in 1844.
The founder's successor, Brigham Young, organized the fledgling religious group, calling for a western migration into what was then Mexico and what is now Utah. Between 1847 and 1868, more than 60,000 Mormons made the journey, according to LDS Church history. Many traveled by wagon train; a few walked, carrying their belongings (and sometimes their family members) in wheelbarrow-like handcarts.
These handcart travelers provide some of the most harrowing tales of the migration. Ten groups of handcart-toting pioneers made the journey to Salt Lake City between 1856 and 1860, according to church histories. Eight arrived more or less safely. The two largest, the Willie and Martin handcart companies, met with a disaster that rivaled that of the infamous "Donner Party," a group of (non-Mormon) pioneers who became stranded in California in 1846 and resorted to cannibalism.
James G. Willie and Edward Martin led 500 and 665 pioneers, respectively. The groups got a late start, however, and didn't leave the area that is now Omaha until August. By October, the companies were stranded in Wyoming, dying of cold, hunger and disease. Rescue parties from Salt Lake City saved many, but more than 200 people lost their lives.
Safe travels
The story of the Willie and Martin companies is a tragic one, and modern Mormons often memorialize it with recreations of short handcart journeys. But only 5 percent of Mormon pioneers made the passage West by handcart, Tolley and his colleagues said in a statement.
"The [Mormon] youth go out and learn that a lot of people died, and they push the handcart, and after three days they think they are practically dead,” study researcher and retired LDS Church historian Mel Bashore said in the statement. "But most people traveled in wagons to Utah. The whole Mormon trail movement that spanned 20 years was a really successful endeavor."
Bashore and Tolley analyzed 56,000 records of pioneers who traveled to Salt Lake City between 1847 and 1868. The researchers found 1,900 deaths during the journey or within the calendar year of arrival in Salt Lake, making the overall mortality rate 3.5 percent.
Disease was a major killer, followed by accidents such as being trampled by livestock or run over by a wagon, the researchers reported. Four pioneers were killed by Native Americans; two died from snakebites or scorpion stings; one was murdered, and two were — yikes — eaten by wolves.
Taken alone, the Willie and Martin companies had a 16.5 percent mortality rate, and handcart travel in general was more perilous than journeying by wagon. Handcart pioneers died at a rate of 4.7 percent, compared to a 3.5 percent mortality rate for pioneers with wagons.
"Those travelling with handcarts were presumably poorer, malnourished and all sorts of other factors," Tolley said. These factors would have affected their morality rate.
The mortality rate for women was 3.6 percent, compared to 3.3 percent for men. The youngest immigrants fared best: Those under age 20 had only a 1.75 percent mortality rate.
The findings will appear in an upcoming issue of the journal BYU Studies, which focuses on LDS Church history and teachings.
http://www.livescience.com/46834-mormon-pioneers-mortality-rate.html