A lantern burned on the verandah as Toby pushed open the slip rails, allowing Sergeant McTavish and a member of the native police named Barraworn into the house paddock. No moon showed, but the stars gave enough light to see the way. The Southern Cross sat just above the horizon, lopsided at this late hour.

They reined in below the steps where the Smiths’ sulky stood beside the homestead, the horse still in the traces. The bodies of Toby’s mother, father and the bushranger lay on the ground where they had fallen, but someone had at least covered them with sheets. The horses whickered and shied at the smell of death, bringing Mrs Smith out onto the verandah, the Lovell tucked under one arm.

‘Ah, Toby, it’s you.’ She uncocked the musket. ‘How’s Paddy?’

Toby ran a sweaty palm over his face. The preceding few hours had blurred into a confusion of events. ‘Doc Collier says he’ll live.’ He shuddered as he recalled the depression in the side of his brother’s skull. ‘He’s keeping him at his place for a while.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ McTavish cut in. He had a hawk-thin face with beaked nose and a huge walrus moustache that seemed to be constantly twitching. Heavily veined cheeks indicated the sergeant’s penchant for hard liquor. Toby had been lucky enough to locate the policeman before the night’s session could begin in earnest. ‘I need you to explain to me everything that happened here.’

Toby took several breaths and began narrating the events of that afternoon, his voice a monotone in the darkness.

As he listened, McTavish squatted and lifted the sheet covering the bushranger’s body. ‘Little jaundiced-looking fellow,’ he muttered. ‘The other bugger was a big man, you say?’ He dropped the sheet and looked at Toby who nodded. ‘I’ve heard reports of these two getting into mischief over on the north road, usually with two or three natives.’ He pointed at the lump under the sheet. ‘This one your pa shot was Jack Tanner. He had a reputation for rolling drunk sailors outside waterfront pubs in Melbourne, but disappeared a year or two back when things got a little too warm for him. The one who murdered your parents is Anderson, the most evil bastard you never want to come across. He ran off from a convict work party around five years ago and is rumoured to have lived with the blacks for a while. Showed up last year with his little band of followers and started robbing folks on the roads to the diggings.’

The policeman moved towards the body of Sean O’Rourke. He lifted the sheet and Toby looked away, studying the stars over the hills.

‘I’m sorry, laddie,’ McTavish said on seeing him hold back. ‘I’m no’ a man to disturb the dead normally, but I’ll have to write a report for my superiors and I need to be sure of the facts.’

Toby nodded his acceptance but kept his gaze turned away.