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Pioneer

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Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass

The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin by Benjamin Franklin

The Best American Memoirs of Life Before 1940

101 books — 2 voters

Boots and Saddles or, Life in Dakota with General Custer by Elizabeth Bacon Custer

And Die in the West by Paula Mitchell Marks

Favourite Old West History Reads

256 books — 9 voters

The Patron Saint of Liars by Ann Patchett

Hunter's Horn by Harriette Simpson Arnow

Kentucky Fiction

48 books — 20 voters

Across the Wide and Lonesome Prairie by Kristiana Gregory

All Together in One Place by Jane Kirkpatrick

Oregon Trail fiction

54 books — 44 voters

Westerns, Western Romance, Cowboys, and the Old West

82 books — 18 voters

Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder

Silver Fox Homestead Book Recommendations.

2 books — 2 voters

Featured News & Interviews

Get Ready! Readers' Most Anticipated Books of 2026

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“ The horses, reluctant and excited from the first, become furious and wild. At the next shoal-personal nastiness being past consideration-we dismount, at knee-deep, to give them a moment's rest, shifting the mule's saddle to the trembling long-legged mare, and turning Mr. Brown loose, to follow as he could. After a breathing-spell we resume our splashed seats and the line of wade. Experience has taught us something, and we are more shrewd in choice of footing, the slopes around large trees being The horses, reluctant and excited from the first, become furious and wild. At the next shoal-personal nastiness being past consideration-we dismount, at knee-deep, to give them a moment's rest, shifting the mule's saddle to the trembling long-legged mare, and turning Mr. Brown loose, to follow as he could. After a breathing-spell we resume our splashed seats and the line of wade. Experience has taught us something, and we are more shrewd in choice of footing, the slopes around large trees being attractively high ground, until, by a stumble on a covered root, a knee is nearly crushed against a cypress trunk. Gullies now commence, cut by the rapid course of waters flowing off before north winds, in which it is good luck to escape instant drowning. Then quag again; the pony bogs; the mare, quivering and unmanageable, jumps sidelong among loose corduroy; and here are two riders standing waist-deep in mud and water between two frantic, plunging-horses, fortunately not beneath them. Nack soon extricates himself, and joins the mule, looking on terrified from behind. Fanny, delirious, believes all her legs broken and strewn about her, and falls, with a whining snort, upon her side. With incessant struggles she makes herself a mud bath, in which, with blood-shot eyes, she furiously rotates, striking, now and then, some stump, against which she rises only to fall upon the other side, or upon her back, until her powers are exhausted, and her head sinks beneath the surface. Mingled with our uppermost sympathy are thoughts of the soaked note-books, and other contents of the saddle-bags, and of the.hundred dollars that drown with her. What of dense soil there was beneath her is now stirred to porridge, and it is a dangerous exploit to approach. But, with joint hands, we length succeed in grappling her bridle, and then in hauling her nostrils above water. She revives only for a new tumult of dizzy pawing, before which we hastily retreat. At a second pause her lariat is secured, and the saddle cut adrift. For a half-hour the alternate resuscitation continues, until we are able to drag the head of the poor beast, half strangled by the rope, as well as the mud and water, toward firmer ground, where she recovers slowly her senses and her footing. Any further attempts at crossing the somewhat "wet" Neches bottoms are, of course, abandoned, and even the return to the ferry is a serious sort of joke. However, we congratulate ourselves that we are leaving, not entering the State. ...more ”
― Frederick Law Olmsted, A Journey through Texas: Or a Saddle-Trip on the Southwestern Frontier

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“ [April 23, 1852. Friday.]...Arrived at Provo at noon...This town looks dirty. The houses look miserable, and many young men idling in the Streets. It seems there is not much energy here, and there seems to be little spirit of accommodation or friendship among people. ”
― William Clayton, An Intimate Chronicle: The Journals of William Clayton

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