Clancy gazed at the mob, back in their enclosure, the dogs keeping a sharp ear out for any that might push past it. Once a mob knew the white rags were no barrier, they’d not respect them again.

‘Can’t move them far without water.’

McKenzie nodded. ‘My word we can’t. I’m going to ride ahead. There’s grass enough here for another few days. Get ’em rested too.’

He rode off at first dawn the next day, thin light that began grey but was enough for the horse to see its way. By nightfall the next day he was back, his weathered face worried. ‘Stream’s still flowing — it’s two days away. But none between here and there.’

‘Should we go back?’ At least the cattle were eating and drinking. And — maybe — it would rain, even the few points needed to fill the holes in the creek for a day or two.

McKenzie shook his head. ‘We can make it. They’re in good condition. We’ll keep pushing them once we’re down on the dry. They should last out two days.’ But he exchanged a worried look with his wife.

They set off at half-light again, moving the animals faster now, with yells and sticks, the dogs nipping at their heels. The cattle looked bewildered and resentful but once they reached the flatter land they sped up of their own accord, with no grass to tempt them to dawdle.

They kept them going until well into the night, the early moon helping them move among the shadows. At last McKenzie signalled for them to stop. The five of them rounded the cattle up into a smaller mob than usual. The temptation to stray, with empty bellies and no water, meant a watch would need to be kept all night.

‘We get them going at grey light. Joe will do first shift tonight,’ announced McKenzie. Clancy nodded. That would give the girl some sleep and, while she was a superb rider, she’d had less experience than the men. ‘Clancy takes next watch.’ Which made sense too. ‘Then Tiger. The wife and I will take the last watch.’

Which meant by then the cattle would be stirring. Two riders might be needed — or more, if the cattle began to move, and experienced McKenzie was best placed to head off trouble.

But the animals were still in their mob, sullen and restless, when Clancy woke. The billy had boiled, the tea strong and fresh, with damper and a kind of white cheese that seemed to grow as well as butter in Mrs McKenzie’s saddlebags, and cockie’s joy. They shared their water with the dogs. The cattle looked on, shifting on their feet.

The cattle moved more slowly that day, their feet lagging. The men and women harried them, the dogs nipped them. The cattle trotted obediently, then slowed again as soon as a human or dog passed on.