He handed the tracker one of his clean towels. ‘I’ll need you to keep the sweat out of my eyes, Sam,’ he said, ‘and the flies off the wound.’ At the tracker’s nod, he began laying out his instruments on the second clean towel he’d spread in the lee of the stretcher.

‘Mike, you move the horses away from here and clear away their dung – it’s attracting the flies – then keep the fire going. We’re going to need more hot water.’

Once Terence had set up a drip for the anaesthetic, and everything was prepared to his satisfaction, he eyed the two men who were crouched with him beneath the awning. The tracker’s expression was inscrutable, but he continued to move his hat back and forth against the buzzing flies as Paddy squatted on his haunches, his scrubbed hands held out to pass the instruments.

‘Ready?’ Terence asked softly. At their nods, he took a deep breath. ‘Then let’s get this done.’

The animal’s horn had torn through muscle and soft tissue, and pierced the stomach, liver and intestines. He’d seen the same sort of wounds inflicted by mortar fire, and knew that even if he managed to repair the damage, it would be touch and go as to whether Ross would live.

But as Paddy quietly and efficiently passed him instruments and swabs, and the tracker continued to mop the sweat from his eyes and bat away the flies, Terence began to feel a spark of hope. Ross was young and fit, his heartbeat was regular and surprisingly strong, and as long as infection didn’t set in, it was possible he would survive.

*

The gall bladder had been too badly gored to save, but Terence had managed to tie off all the bleeds, repair the tears in the stomach and liver and was carefully cutting away the damaged section of the intestine when Mike called softly from the other side of the wagon.

‘There’s a mob of people and animals coming this way,’ he said. ‘Can’t make out who they are, but it looks like a fair number.’

Terence was concentrating hard on the task of clamping off the two ends of the intestine as he removed the damaged section. Dropping it into the kidney dish, he waited for Sam to mop away the sweat that was stinging his eyes and then took the threaded suturing needle from Paddy.

‘Go and tell them to take a wide path away from us,’ he ordered. ‘There’s enough dust already. And ask them if they have any spare drinking water,’ he added. ‘We’re down to our last.’

The needle was the finest he had, and Terence concentrated hard as he carefully stitched the intestine back together. He held his breath as he removed one of the clamps and then the other. It was holding.