‘Some of it, I think. A few of these contain coins,’ Toby said. ‘There are a few with jewellery in them, but most have nuggets and gold dust.’

‘Then he still has some of the escort gold with him. Whatever he thought he could carry out of here.’

‘Unless he’s hidden that somewhere else. Not putting all his eggs in one basket so to speak,’ Toby mused. ‘Maybe he’s coming back with new horses to collect the lot.’

‘That’s possible, laddie,’

‘What are we going to do with it all?’

‘It’s far too bulky to take with us,’ McTavish said. ‘Let’s cover it back up. We can come back for it later. Right now we need to travel as fast as possible.’

Sloan, Gatwick and Paddy were standing by their horses near the opening when Toby and McTavish emerged. Gatwick was smoking a pipe and looked rather concerned.

‘That bloody tracker of yours will not come anywhere near this damned place, Sergeant, and I can’t say as I blame him. It gives me the creeps, it does.’

‘Not to worry, Constable,’ McTavish gave him a cheery smile. ‘We’ll be moving on as soon as he gives us a direction to go in. Where is the good fellow, by the way?’

Sloan pointed to a distant shape in the trees. ‘Over there. He won’t come any closer than that. Says there are evil spirits at work.’

‘Yes,’ McTavish said, as he took the reins of his horse. ‘We have seen their work inside.’ He swung up onto the back of his horse, leaving Sloan with a puzzled look on his face.

They rode over to where Barraworn sat his horse a respectful distance from the boulders.

‘What have you found for us?’ the sergeant asked.

‘White fella go this way, boss,’ Barraworn said. ‘Maybe two, maybe three days ago. Black fella follow along behind.’

‘So it would seem your theory about a survivor is correct.’ McTavish tipped his hat at Toby.

‘Survivor?’ Gatwick asked.

‘I’ll fill you in as we ride, Constable,’ McTavish answered. Then to Barraworn he said, ‘Lead on, Macduff.’

At sunset Anderson found a place to hide among some rocks where the ground was hard and stony and he knew his trail couldn’t be followed. He dared not light a fire. Late that afternoon, he had stumbled across a small spring and had spent a little time mixing water with his meagre supply of flour to make up a dough which he had then eaten raw. It was bland and tasteless, but had mostly stilled his hunger pangs.

He backed into a gap between two large rocks and made himself as comfortable as possible, propped facing the opening. Attack, if it came, could only be from that one direction, and he drew the revolver from his belt and placed it ready for use on his lap. Satisfied he had done all he could, he fell into a fitful sleep.