His eyes wide with terror, the air still running up his windpipe, he felt a deep anger that filled him with the strength only a wild rage can summon. As the anger gripped him, Paddy took control of it and turned it inwards, into the shadowy recesses of his mind where the pain dwelled. The malignant force was powerless to resist.

With this new-found strength of will, Paddy tensed his vocal chords. His breath ran hard through his throat and his voice boomed out loud along the riverbank.

‘Toby, look out!’

Toby spun around at the warning. He had no time to look for the owner of that strangely familiar voice, for he was immediately confronted by a pistol only inches from his face, the muzzle appearing as large as a cave and the knuckle of the finger through the trigger guard beginning to whiten as it took up the tension. Instinctively, he threw up his arm and knocked the pistol aside as it discharged. A blast of heat from the muzzle singed his face. The ball passed a quarter of an inch from his ear, his eardrum almost rupturing at the roar of noise.

Anderson’s thumb curled over the hammer and the cylinder rotated as he cocked for a second shot. The Lovell was in Toby’s right hand, but there was no time to bring the heavy weapon up. He let it clatter to the ground, grabbed Anderson’s gun arm and lifted it high. The revolver fired again and the ball shot harmlessly into the sky.

‘You little bastard.’

Anderson’s face was so close that Toby could smell his putrid breath. The dark eyes were filled with rage.

Holding Anderson’s arm high, Toby pivoted on the balls of his feet and pushed his hip into Anderson’s side. The bushranger realised the futility of trying to use his pistol and let it drop. At the same time he brought his other arm around Toby’s front, reaching for his throat, his fingers clawing as he tried to get a death grip on the younger man’s neck.

Moonlight reared and plunged, his reins gripped in Toby’s hand. The horse came down on the struggling men, driving them apart. Toby let go of the reins and Moonlight galloped for the nearby bush, leaving them to fight it out.

Anderson stooped and snatched up the revolver. Shouting came from down the riverbank as Gatwick and Sloan appeared, running fast with their carbines at the ready. Sloan fired, still at full run, and the ball whispered between Toby and Anderson.

Toby threw himself to the ground as the bushranger faced the policemen and fired three shots in quick succession. Gatwick went over backwards and Sloan stumbled, hit in the leg. Anderson steadied himself for a killing shot at the limping constable, but Toby launched himself from the ground. He hit Anderson’s arm as the pistol fired and the shot went wide.