Late that afternoon, he trudged up to the edge of the plateau and looked down into a broad river valley. Some twenty miles away, light reflected off water. There was a large river down there and, judging by the high country to the east, it must be flowing into the west, towards the settled areas. If he could reach it, he could follow it to civilisation. The country between the river and where he stood was covered with thick forest, and the valley wall dropped away steeply, plunging a half-mile or more to where the glittering water lay.

Two days, maybe three and I’ll reach the river.

He shifted the saddlebags onto his other shoulder and started forward.

Barraworn paused beside a wall of boulders and eyed the markings on one of the great stones. All that morning he had led the party into the north, his keen eyes picking out small features which reassured him they were on the right track. Here and there he found the remains of campfires or trees which had been stripped of their bark to make the carrying bowls Aboriginal women use to collect food. He could see rocks that bore marks where tools and spears had been sharpened. To him the countryside had the same look an abandoned town or village might have to a white man, and the beginnings of superstitious dread were creeping into his mind.

‘What is it, Barraworn?’ McTavish asked, as he reined in beside the tracker.

Barraworn turned to the sergeant, his eyes wide with terror. ‘This place, bad yamma, boss.’ He cast his gaze over crude paintings of figures, the outlines of hands stencilled beneath the overhang of a huge boulder where they were protected from the weather. ‘This the place where spirits live.’

‘What’s the problem?’ Toby asked as he came up beside them.

‘He says there is bad magic in this place. Evil spirits live here,’ McTavish said. ‘The laddie’s scared to hell.’

Toby studied the rock paintings and then looked into the terrified eyes of Barraworn. ‘All right, matey,’ he said. ‘You go and scout around to see if there are any recent tracks leading away from here. Don’t come too close if you don’t want to.’

Relieved, Barraworn urged his mount away from the boulders. He gave them a wide berth as he circled around to cast for recent spoor.

Toby swung from the saddle. He passed Moonlight’s reins to Sloan then pulled the Lovell from its scabbard. McTavish did the same and they moved cautiously along the natural wall of boulders. They had not gone far when the warbling call of a magpie caught Toby’s attention. He looked to where Barraworn sat his mount, fifty paces out into the bush. The tracker made the warbling call again and pointed back towards the boulders.

Toby and McTavish moved along the base of the boulders until they were in line with the direction Barraworn had indicated. Four dead horses lay beside the rocks, all tied to a tether. The mountain dingos had been at work, the sides of the dead animals torn open.