‘Is this as far as the track goes?’ Tilly asked.

‘Nope. It takes a loop around to the caves, but that’s too far for today. They’re a bit out of the way, and there’s nothing much to see, really. Just holes on the cliff. I daresay we wouldn’t get there more than a couple of times a season. Though somebody’s been poking around – there’s old vehicle tracks under ours.’

‘Didn’t Connor visit? I’m sure he said something about it,’ Tilly replied.

‘Well, I can’t see a botanist chainsawing trees, even if it wasn’t done months back,’ Luke said dryly.

‘No.’ He didn’t know and she felt obscurely guilty that she couldn’t tell him, so changed the subject. ‘Look, it’s well past noon. Why don’t we take our lunch over to the paintings and eat it there?’ She slapped wildly at another march fly. ‘Hopefully there’ll be fewer insects away from the water.’

‘You took the words outta my mouth,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

Chapter Eighteen

Over dinner that evening, Sophie, apprised of the chainsawed tree, frowned and said, ‘Probably the traffickers, Luke. It’s another good argument for opening the spring country to paying customers. Less opportunity for clandestine operations if we had a ranger stationed there and people coming and going. Thieves need isolation to work in.’

‘Whoa back, boss. Now you want to add a residence to the list? The WPA will never go for that!’

Sophie sighed. ‘I know. But are you going to volunteer to live in a tent? I think not. Protection comes with a cost. Either we’re willing to pay it or . . .’ She trailed off.

‘It’ll be a one-off,’ Matt said dismissively. ‘Ain’t worth spending a fortune on. If you were to open the joint you gotta think of the road as well – keeping that up won’t come cheap.’

‘I know.’ Sophie sighed. ‘Nothing does.’

‘I think I’d rather see them stay as they are – the springs,’ Tilly said. ‘It’s so beautiful there. Unspoiled, you know? That would all change with people and their noise and rubbish. You’d have to have smelly engines for water and light—’

‘And of course you’d rather live in a cave,’ Luke teased, ‘and flog your washing on the rocks.’

‘Well,’ she said spiritedly, ‘at least I’d hang it properly, not just chuck it at the clothesline. Shirts aren’t meant to be pegged up by their cuffs, you know, Luke. And speaking of caves, when do we get to visit them?’

‘Huh! Who’d want to? Chuck us the butter, will ya.’ Matt reached a hand to receive it. ‘Ta. It’s a hole in the hill crawling with wallaby ticks. Good place to keep away from.’