Anderson let the policemen pass and studied the approaching horseman. He was far enough behind the others to allow his plan to work. The man was young and dressed in civilian clothes. Perhaps from a nearby cattle run, employed as a guide into the mountains? Someone who had a little knowledge of the lie of the land? Whatever the reason for the young man’s presence in the police party, he’d found his victim and cocked his revolver, glad of the rumbling water behind him that would mask any sound of his movements when the moment came.

The man approached with reins draped lazily over one shoulder, his face shadowed by many days of beard. He carried a musket in his right hand and Anderson eyed the weapon wantonly. It was just the sort of long arm he would need to shoot down any pursuers that tried to cross the river behind him. His gaze drifted to the horse following behind its master like a faithful dog, finely muscled and well proportioned, a mount that looked as if it could run well in rough bush, with the stamina to carry its rider far. Anderson could hardly believe his luck.

He stood from his position and took one look back down the riverbank. The trail remained clear of any other men. With the revolver held in front of him he stepped out of the bush. Man and horse both continued on their way, unaware of the danger behind them.

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.