He put out an emergency alert for every fire station within reasonable distance to come and help – with two fires several hundred miles apart he simply didn’t have the manpower to cope. Once he’d given the salient details, he checked the fire truck and water bowser, yanked on his service jacket, boots and helmet and drove as swiftly as the heavy load allowed down into Morgan’s Reach, where Django and Jake would already be organising things.

Jake was doing his best, but the main street was crowded with every kind of vehicle as men streamed in from nearby stations to offer their help and the women hastily filled tucker bags and drinking-water cans while their children gathered together spades, shovels and old sacks. Jim Rider, his family, neighbours and farm workers had just arrived along with their cattle, horses and dogs, and it was absolute mayhem.

‘We’ve got two fires,’ Ben said quietly to Jake.

‘Yeah, I heard,’ he replied, his expression grim. ‘I’ve sent another small group over to Wallaby Creek with two of the water bowsers, and am about to send a bigger one to Carey Downs. But it’ll take them a fair while to get there, and I just hope they’ve sent some help up from Charleville and Quilpie.’

‘They’ve promised they’re on the way – but we have to move quickly. Big Mac says it’s spreading fast, and if it gets to Wilga there’s nothing to stop it tearing right through Warratah Forest – and we won’t be able to do a damned thing about it.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Django?’

‘Sitting by the two-way,’ shouted Jake over his shoulder as he ran back to organise the volunteers.

Ben decided to get some first-hand knowledge of the fire, and looked around for Jim Rider. He found him by the stock pens, where his cattle were now milling about. ‘How bad is it out there, Jim?’

‘It’s a big bugger all right,’ he said laconically. ‘Came ripping through without warning, and we just about escaped with our lives. Last I saw of it, it was moving north – could reach here before morning if something ain’t done quick.’

Ben felt a chill of foreboding and was about to turn away when the other man grasped his sleeve. ‘The young doc’s still out there – refused to leave the bloke he was treating.’

Ben had heard the earlier call from Gilburn, and in the subsequent chaos had forgotten that Blackman’s Creek was several miles east of the station on the other side of the main road, and directly in the line of fire from Wallaby Creek. ‘How long ago was this? Was he alone?’

Jim scratched his bristly chin. ‘About a couple of hours ago, and he was with three of Don Warrington’s men.’