as large, well-nourished, and sound of wind, which was why Jamie had bought him two days before. He was also ahard- mouthed, bad-tempered reester of a horse, which was why he hadn't cost much. As they sailed over a small creek, jumped a fallen log and hared up an almost vertical hillside littered with scrub-oak andpersimmon, Jamie found himself wondering whether he'd got a bargain or committed suicide. That was the last coherent thoughthe had before Gideon veered sideways, crushing Jamie's leg against a tree, then gathered his hindquarters and charged downthe other side of the hill into a thicket of buckbrush, sending coveys of quail exploding from under his huge flat feet.Half an hour of dodging low branches, lurching through streams and galloping straight up as many hillsides as Jamie could pointthem at, and Gideon was, if not precisely tractable, at least manageable. Jamie was soaked to the thighs, bruised, bleeding fromhalf a dozen scratches, and breathing nearly as hard as the horse. He was, however, still in the saddle, and still nominally incharge.He turned the bay's head toward the sinking sun and clicked his tongue."Come on, then," he said. "Let's go home."They had exerted themselves mightily, but given the rugged shape of the land, had not covered so much ground as to losethemselves entirely. He turned Gideon's head upward, and within a quarter-hour, had come out onto a small ridge herecognized.They picked their way along the ridge, searching for a safe way down through the tangles of chinkapin, poplar and spruce. Theparty was not far away, he knew, but it could take some time to cross to them, and he would as soon rejoin them before theyreached the Ridge. Not that Claire or MacKenzie could not guide them--but he admitted to himself that he wished very muchto return to Fraser's Ridge at the head of the party, leading his people home."Christ, man, ye'd think ye were Moses," he muttered, shaking his head in mock dismay at his ow...
