Paddy slipped the bridle from Patch’s head and pulled a halter on in its place. Unless he took steps now, he could injure the horse. When he caught up with the others, he would swap Patch for one of the packhorses and rest the animal’s mouth from the troublesome bit. Although Patch would follow happily along behind moonlight and he could ride on the halter if need be, if the ground became tricky, he would need to have more control over his mount than the halter could offer.

He slung the bridle over his shoulder and took up the lead rope, tugging it urgently as he stepped out. He had no desire to annoy the others further, following his unfortunate incident with the musket.

As he walked, he looked down at the river some twenty feet below. The water ran wide and deep, the bank severely undercut and impassable. Ahead he could hear a thundering rush as the river cascaded over a bar of rocks. The narrow game trail stretched ahead. Paddy urged Patch along and they entered a sunlit clearing. He pulled his hat low over his eyes and could see his brother about to lead Moonlight into the bush at the far side of the clearing. Toby was only a hundred yards ahead of him now. He had made up his lost time.

A shape appeared out of dense bush above the riverbank. At first Paddy thought it was a kangaroo, a big eastern grey that had been trapped against the steep bank by the appearance of men and horses and was now making a bolt for higher ground, but he paused in mid-stride as he realised this was no kangaroo. He watched as the man lifted a pistol and started down Moonlight’s flank. He was a big man and a full, unkempt beard obscured his face, but Paddy knew he had seen this man before.

Anderson.

Undetected by Toby, the bushranger closed to within three paces and aimed the revolver at the back of his head. In the next moment the man who had murdered Paddy’s parents would take his brother from him.

His musket was still in its scabbard and would take too long to retrieve. Paddy filled his lungs to shout a warning and instantly the pain flared in the side of his head. Any noise he made died in the back of his throat, little more than a rasping hiss.

Anderson closed to a pace from Toby, the pistol almost touching the back of his head. Paddy drew another breath and opened his mouth. As he let the air rush through his throat, he felt the blinding agony tighten its grip on his mind. He managed to tense his throat muscles, to tighten his neglected vocal chords to a point where they might make some kind of noise, but the throbbing flared into a blinding pulse of agony. Stars swam in his vision and he felt the tension go out of his throat as his voice was taken from him and that horrible hiss began.