Paddy kept his eyes firmly closed.

Infuriated, the stranger shook him by the hair and screamed, ‘Where does Daddy hide his money?’ He shook so hard that some of Paddy’s hair came away in his fist and he lost his grip. Paddy cried out and fell to the floor. He scrambled for the door on all fours, reached the verandah and broke into a full run.

Toby ran after him, but the stranger grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and held him fast. He saw Paddy reach the rail and leap it in a clumsy lunge, landing in the dust beyond where he rolled to his feet and kept running.

The three Aborigines were crowded around the pot, using their hands to ladle stew into their mouths. The one who had come to the kitchen door saw Paddy land in the yard and gave chase.

‘Run, Paddy!’ But Toby could see that his brother wasn’t going to make it. The Aborigine caught him in several paces and the club hissed through the air. The vicious knob of fire-hardened wood struck Paddy on the side of his head. His brother let out a grunt and sprawled in the dust where he lay still.

‘You bastards!’ Toby felt his stomach slide with terror and anger. He struggled to get free, but the stranger just chuckled under his breath and pushed him out onto the verandah.

Toby stopped struggling and stooped towards his mother, but a kick in the backside sent him tumbling down the steps.

‘Stay down,’ the deep voice warned.

He lay on the ground and watched as the stranger went to his horse. He was carrying the hind quarter from the kitchen table and tossed it to one of the Aborigines.

‘Take this, Tarrat. If we get nothing else from this place, at least we will eat well for the next few days.’ He then walked to where Toby lay sobbing on the ground and took hold of his shirt front, pulling him to his feet. The stranger held him so close Toby could smell stew on his rancid breath.

‘Don’t be fool enough to follow me, boy.’ The dark eyes seemed to burn through him.

Toby’s head lolled like a drunkard’s as he was shoved backwards. The stranger swung up onto his horse and rounded on the Aborigines.

‘On your horses, you black heathens.’

The Aborigines dropped the pot and ran for their animals, springing lithely onto their backs. One of them gathered up the reins of their dead companion’s horse, ignoring his body on the ground. They followed the white man towards the slip rails.