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.

Anderson dropped the empty pistol and advanced on Toby like a bear. He let the pair of saddlebags slide down his arm, caught them in his hand and brought them up in a backhanded swing that caught Toby in the chest. He sprawled backwards into the scrub at the edge of the riverbank and Anderson moved in for another blow.

Rolling to his feet, Toby rushed at the bigger man. They came together with a jarring thump, like a sack of wheat hitting a wagon load bed, jostling crazily as each tried to get a hold on the other. He felt hands clawing at his throat and arched his back to stay out of reach.

Somewhere in the distance someone was yelling. The others had heard the gunshots and were coming. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Paddy running towards them, musket in hand. All he had to do was hold Anderson for thirty seconds and his brother would be here to help him.