David Fitz-Gerald
Frontier & Pioneer Western Fiction
Book Description
From a shootout in Independence, Missouri to a rendezvous with destiny at Independence Rock...
Welcome to the Prairie!
Alvah Nye rides west leading a hastily assembled wagon train. These brave emigrants are the final party to hit the trail in 1851. Some say they're desperate. Others swear they're doomed.
After a deadly shootout on Liberty Street leaves Levi Thacker's favorite grandson dead, the vengeful Thacker brood is out for blood. They'll stop at nothing to hunt down Alvah Nye. Every innocent settler is caught in their crosshairs, though none know they're in harm's way.
The wholesome Pinecroft family carries tragic secrets of their own. Nobody knows why they uprooted suddenly and raced toward the frontier. They're the first to hire onto Alvah's expedition.
With grim tales of the Donner Party still echoing along the trail, keeping the settlers together becomes an impossible challenge. Supplies run low. Tempers fray. Fear spreads up and down the line like a prairie fire.
And somewhere on the harsh plains, Alvah finds himself unexpectedly drawn to a steadfast, God-fearing young woman. Even the faintest hint of romance can change a man's course and shape a family's destiny.
Action, danger, and a frayed thread of hope converge in this sweeping western saga. Perfect for fans of Heck's Journey, The Sacketts, and Little House on the Prairie.
Barrel into this wilderness adventure where ordinary people become legends.
Pick up Alvah's Rifle today.
Excerpt
From Chapter 1, opening scene
Alvah Nye bent over to get a closer look at the guns in the window.
A bullet smashed through the glass and tore through the back brim of his hat. If he hadn't hunched his shoulders to get a closer look, that bullet would have caught him in the throat.
The shattering sound echoed in his ears as he jumped back from the display.
A man with a loud voice shouted, "Hands on your head. Come outside now. Nobody will be hurt."
Alvah turned sideways and spoke to the shopkeeper. "What do you want to do, mister?"
The man tossed him a rifle. "Shoot 'em."
"You sure?" Alvah asked. He cocked the rifle. It was just the sort of gun he had in mind when he stepped into Gal's Gunshop.
"You better believe it. That glass cost me a month's profit." Whatever he said next got lost in the fog of a grumble and the pulse of action.
Another shot blew through the window, whipping past Alvah's ear with a whine. It was hard for a man to disregard two bullets buzzing so close to his brains in such a short while.
He lifted the rifle, set the butt against his shoulder, closed an eye, and fired at a man pointing a gun back at him. Clamping his molars together to firm his resolve, Alvah squeezed the trigger.
He cringed when the sniper collapsed to his knees and toppled backward into the middle of Walnut Street.
The shopkeeper howled with delight. "You got 'im!"
Alvah held a finger to his lips. In the quiet that followed, he was sure he heard the sound of footsteps. The man who fired bullets through Gal's Gunshop window must not have been alone. Maybe there were two or three others. It was hard to tell. But Alvah was sure there was more than one.
The shopkeeper didn't stay quiet very long. Alvah set the rifle on top of a display case just as the man darted from behind the counter. Moments later, the grateful proprietor gripped his shoulders firmly. His hands trembled. "Thank you, thank you, young fella. I'm indebted to ya."
Alvah tried to calm the man down. "Don't mention it, friend."
"My, you're a burly lad. You looked like a big 'un from behind the counter." His face brightened and he added, "I feel like an elf standing before you."
Meeting strangers always seemed to include some mention of his height. His broad shoulders and solid chest made him look even more imposing, so he'd been told. As usual, he tried to shift the subject as quickly as he could. "Nonsense, sir. I expect elves are half your size." He extended a hand. "I'm Alvah. Alvah Nye."
"Land sakes," the man gasped. "What has happened to my manners? I'm Galinn Lindell. Folks call me Gal."
The gunshop door swung open and tripped the trigger on the bell bolted above the doorjamb. "What just happened here?" a man shouted. "There's a dead man in the street and your window's busted, Gal."
"I know, Sheriff Pepper. I know!" The gunsmith was wound up tight. "There was an attack just after I opened up shop. This lad, er… man defended me and my merchandise."
Sheriff Pepper turned his head and looked Alvah up and down. "What are you doing here?"
Alvah answered in as few words as he could. "I'm a wagon master. Comanches swiped my rifle on the way back to Independence. I'm looking to replace it."
The lawman sneered. "You the fool fixin' to lead them wagons outta here today?"
"Yes, sir," Alvah answered. He knew leaving this late was risky. It'd been troubling him for weeks and he had strongly considered sitting the season out. "We got a load of catching up to do. Soon as I replace my rifle, I'll be on my way."
Sheriff Pepper scratched his head. "What about the body in the street? I might have to hold you, fella."