Publisher's Synopsis
"They can't!" she whispered. "How dare they think that of you, and after you've just risked your life to help them!" Phoebe was sitting very stiff and straight, pulling herself up as high as she could - which was not very high at all. The corners of Jim's mouth twitched. She always did this when she was incredibly angry and indignant. "Now Miss Lloyd, please answer every question fully with the complete truth - " "Of course I shall tell the truth." Her voice was contemptuous. "There is no need to lie or conceal." "Mark Barrett has testified that on the night of December the twenty-fourth, while he, you, and Winfield were attempting to avoid British soldiers in the woods on your father's land, Winfield shot and killed one of these soldiers. Is that correct?" "It is. I saw him. And why a man who killed a British soldier in defense of two Patriots is being held prisoner, I simply do not understand!" ... There is one colonist who believes in Jim implicitly. There are some who believe he should be hung. There are Englishmen who still believe in their major. There is one who is plotting his death. Where can Jim go now? Is there any way he could return home? He must make his choice. Yet one path, the most daring of all, he cannot take. However righteous, it is closed to him, for he has already pledged allegiance ... He was scrambling from cover to cover endeavoring to shake them off his trail. But they were fresh and he was tired. Jim could feel their presence closing in, even more than he could see or hear it. Quite suddenly they had scrambled over a boulder directly behind him. Jim whirled around, whipping his pistol from his belt. "No closer!" he barked harshly, aiming for them. The two soldiers froze. One was some young guy Jim had never seen before, and the other was Brent Randall. "You also Brent?" Jim asked, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. He was used to this by now, former friends and acquaintances, people he had liked, hunting him down. The ironic thing was that this time he had done nothing to which they would object. He raised the gun menacingly. "Stay where you are." He began to slowly back away. The two rebels glanced at each other uncertainly. "Now what do we do?" the soldier asked. "Look, I don't think he'll shoot," Brent insisted. "And he's tired, we could run him down easily." "Fine," his companion agreed. "And since you're so sure, you go first." Brent hesitated. He swallowed hard. "All right," he agreed casually. He stepped forward. Then he began to run and the other ran after him. "I warned you!" Jim hollered. A shot rang out. The soldier hit the dirt. Brent kept running. The shots deliberately went wild. Brent had not been hit. The soldiers scrambled to his feet again and Jim began to sprint as fast as he could. His boots pounded hard on the dirt. His breath came in short painful gasps. Yet he was still muttering fiercely, "Father I trust You. I rely on the immensity of Your power and not my own. I'm not distressed, I'm not distressed, I really am not distressed! I am pursued but never cut off, knocked down but always have life, I see no way out but I never despair - Phoebe, I'm trying, I really am trying! - Father, show me! Show me Your will working in my life. I do not yet have perfect faith to always believe even when I can never see!" The three men were racing as fast as they could along the narrow, rocky trail. They each had their eyes fixed on the person whom they were pursuing. They did not look down at the treacherous path on the side of the cliff. They ran recklessly on, their boots flying swift and sure. Then one of those pairs of boots slipped. His body hit the ground and on that icy trail slid. His hands clutched frantically and found nothing. A shout went up, cry of terror that echoed in the frosty air. And his two companions in this merry chase of life and death watched in horror as he fell off the cliff which overhung a valley some hundred yards
