Let him ride at the back of the line for a day or two, he thought. He’ll get over it.

With Barraworn in the lead, they continued towards the river. In places the going was steep and difficult, the horses forced to squat on their haunches, slipping and sliding on loose scree. In others the slope was densely wooded and barricaded by tumbledown boulders, forcing a long traverse to find a way through. They continued without a break until well into the afternoon. When the ground began to level, Toby could hear the murmur of cascading water. Ten minutes later he glimpsed the river through the trees, no more than seventy paces away and some forty feet below.

The bush was so dense and low that they were forced to dismount and lead their horses the last twenty paces through a tangle of scrub. Finally, they stood above the rushing waters, the bank close to twenty feet high. Barraworn turned downstream along Anderson’s spoor, and the rest of the party followed on foot, leading their mounts.

Toby stopped and let McTavish come up beside him. ‘Once we find a way down to the water, we’ll rest up for a bit, let the horses drink their fill. God knows they deserve it.’

McTavish nodded and moved on past Toby, who waited to relay his instructions to Gatwick and Sloan. The policemen both gave a smile at the welcome news and kept moving, leaving Toby to wait for Paddy. The path remained empty for the next few minutes and he began to worry that something had happened to his brother. He was about to head back along their trail when he glimpsed Paddy a hundred yards along the riverbank, examining the inside of Patch’s mouth.

‘He’ll have to put a halter on that horse,’ Toby said under his breath.

Paddy finished his examination and began to follow along, leading Patch on a loose rein.

I can’t wait forever, Toby decided. He’ll just have to catch up once we find a way down to the river. He turned and headed off, leading Moonlight back towards the rest of the party.

From below the edge of the riverbank, Anderson watched the black tracker lead his horse downstream. His guess had been correct; they were looking for somewhere to get down to the water so the horses could drink. Earlier that morning he had found the nearest place was a quarter-mile further along where the bank had collapsed onto a narrow strip of sand. Anderson had laid his spoor for them to follow, then doubled back deep in the bush and crossed to this hiding place, careful not to leave any sign that would alert the tracker.

His plan was simple enough: he would wait beside the trail until the last horseman came level with him and then spring his ambush, kill the man and take the horse. He would then head upstream and look for a place to cross the river and lie up where any pursuers would be easy targets in the open, should they try and follow.