Gift of the Heart [antikvár]

Prologue Tryon County, New York November, 1778 H e didn't want to die alone. Not like this, not hidden beneath the shadows of the tallest trees, unmoumed, unburied save for the drifting snow that would cover his body only until the wolves found him. Or the Senecas. Better the wolves. Jamie forced himself to take another step, and another, the prints left behind in the snow staggered like a drunkard's. If Butler's men were tracking him, they could do it with one eye closed and the other asleep, but Jamie was far past being able to stop them. The ball from Sergeant Herrick's pistol had gone clear through his left shoulder, and the wound had seemed clean enough. Jamie was a large man, strong, and he'd survived worse. Because he'd been on the trail with the other Rangers, he had plenty of ground meal and dried beef in his hunting pouch, and as long as he