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.
Book Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/First-Drive-Vermillion-Western-Adventure-ebook/dp/B0D3JM8LYC
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/first-drive-a-seph-vermillion-western-adventure-by-david-fitz-gerald
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/213012434-first-drive
Character Profile – Meet Lullaby and Yodel
In First Drive, James “Lullaby” Funderburk and his older brother, William “Yodel” Funderburk, are more than cowboys. They anchor the Deatherage outfit with wisdom, music, and their unshakable bond.
The brothers hail from Springfield, Illinois, where their father worked for the bosses’ dad. But it was their Granny Matilda, with her firm hands and unyielding spirit, who left the deepest mark on their hearts and minds.
At 19 and 20 years old, these young black cowboys carry the wisdom of storms weathered and lessons learned beyond their years.
Lullaby is the outfit’s spiritual compass, a calming voice of faith and wisdom. When the cowboys need a steadying presence, they turn to Lullaby for a thoughtful prayer or a soothing hymn.
Yodel, by contrast, is quieter, often letting his harmonica speak for him. He teases his brother when the mood strikes, but his rare words carry weight.
Together, they embody balance: Lullaby’s steady faith and thoughtful guidance complemented by Yodel’s restless energy and mischievous heart.
One stormy night on the trail, as the firelight danced and the wind roared, Lullaby shared a memory with his fellow cowboys—a story shaped by Granny Matilda’s wisdom and the lessons of his youth.
The boys were quiet, listening intently as Lullaby began to speak, his deep voice loud enough to carry over the wind, but steady.
Back when I was just a kid, about eight or nine years old, we lived up in Springfield with Granny Matilda. She was a strong woman, not just in her hands, but in her spirit too. One night, there was a storm so fierce, I thought it might tear the house right off its foundation. Wind howlin’, lightning flashin’, and rain hammering the roof like it had a grudge. We were scared—me and my brother, Billy-Goat, though he never would have admitted it.
Granny lit a single candle. I remember it like it was yesterday. She set it down in the middle of the room, and she made us both sit there with her. The wind rattled the windows, and the whole house creaked, but she just kept her eyes on that flame.
“Don’t pay that storm no mind,” she said. “Look at the center of the flame.” And I did. I stared right at it, and the more I looked, the more I saw how steady it was, even when the wind outside tried to shake everything else. “That’s where the fire’s strongest,” she told me. “No matter how wild things get, the center holds.”
Billy-Goat, though, he couldn’t sit still. Always fidgeting, tapping his foot. Granny smiled at him, passed him his harmonica, and said, “Play me something, Billy Goat. You know you got music in you.” And sure enough, he started playin’. The storm didn’t seem to bother him much after that.
Granny had a way with music. She could sing a lullaby that would put you to sleep faster than a long day in the saddle, but she’d also yodel when she was feeling lighthearted, just to make us laugh. And that night, she did both—softly hummin’ a lullaby one minute, lettin’ out a little yodel the next. It was like she was remindin’ us that no storm could take away what we held inside.
By morning, the storm had passed, and Billy-Goat, with that quiet grin of his, teased me, sayin’, “You keep staring at that flame, Jimbo. One day, you’ll be puttin’ folks to sleep while I’m playin’ tunes for ‘em.” He didn’t say much, but when he did, it stuck with you.
Lullaby paused, letting the memory linger before adding:
I learned a lot from Granny that night. The storm didn’t stop, but I found my peace in that old flame, just like she said. I’ve carried that lesson with me ever since. Don’t matter how rough it gets. As long as you hold onto what’s steady, you know where you belong.
His words settled over the group like a warm blanket, drawing the cowboys closer to the flickering fire and to each other.
The brothers’ shared upbringing shaped them into complementary forces on the trail. Lullaby’s faith keeps the crew grounded, while Yodel’s harmonica fills the silences and lifts heavy hearts. Their music helps quiet the beeves, and their balance calms restless souls.
Whether leading the outfit in prayer, lightening the mood with a tune, or sharing Granny Matilda’s wisdom, the Deatherage outfit would not be the same without these musical brothers.
Even as storms rage and danger looms, Lullaby and Yodel remind their trailmates to find their center—where the fire burns strongest—and hold steady no matter what comes.
**FREEBIE ALERT!**
**Get the freebie prequel Farewell to Poesta Creek here!**
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Excerpt
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.
** And look out on the horizon for book 2 riding in soon! **
Dead Heat
Coming May 2025
Giveaway
$20 Amazon
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!
About the Author
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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