He did. By the fourth breath the pain had almost gone. His body floated and so did his mind, drifting like she-oak leaves in the water, though he still had no wish to sleep. Even the ache from his fall had gone.

‘That’ll do you for tomorrow, the day after too,’ remarked Mr McKenzie, throwing the fish scraps and a hunk of damper to the dogs.

Mrs McKenzie brewed another billy, with river mint this time and only enough tea leaves in it to stop Tiger complaining. Clancy sipped and watched the flames, reliving the pounding of hooves about him, the sudden protection of Rose, her whip and her horse. Without Rose, he’d be dead . . .

‘I’d be dead if you hadn’t used that whip of yours,’ he said, the words flowing from him as he thought them.

She laughed, shaking her head, not looking at him. ‘Mr McKenzie gave it to me last Christmas, showed me how to use it.’

‘I’m glad he did. Thank you. For saving me, for coming back for me . . .’ When had he grown so used to native features that he found her beautiful, the most beautiful woman he had known, not just in her skin but in her soul?

He didn’t say it. He hoped he didn’t say it. But all of them, even Tiger, must have seen the way he looked at Rose across the flames.

‘Time to turn in,’ said McKenzie abruptly, though the first star was only just riding the depths of the sky. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

Clancy leaned on him gratefully as he relieved himself, then managed to crawl into his swag, still holding the smoking piece of mushroom. He waited for McKenzie to tell him again that he’d skin him if he put a hand on Rose. But the old man just said abruptly, ‘We did good today. Worst of it’s over. There’s water and grass from now on, I reckon.’

‘Good,’ said Clancy, feeling himself float up into the treetops. McKenzie left him. A bird flew down, vast winged, black against the black, almost as if he had arrived to keep Clancy company. An owl, he thought, still breathing in the smoke. And McKenzie had said nothing about the way he’d looked at Rose, because McKenzie was wise enough to have known how he was looking and why.

Clancy loved her. Loved her too much to ‘put a hand’ on her, too much to ever tell her that he did. For what had he to offer her? A man more than twenty years older than her, with a few pounds in the bank and a father who’d never accept a black wife, even if they could find someone to marry them.