Ben had quickly ordered the men to position the bowsers at equal distances along the line of the fire, not only to try to extinguish the flames, but to soak the ground in front of them and protect the axe-men as they chopped down the trees in the fire’s path. The youngest volunteers then cleared them away and chased down any trickle of flame that might be reaching for the mulga scrub and clumps of spinifex that grew across the valley floor.

The hardiest of the volunteers had been ordered to dig a deep trench that was wide enough to stop the flow of flame. It was slow, gruelling work, for the heat was intense, the smoke disabling and the ground as solid as iron.

Ben mopped the sweat from his face as he took a moment’s rest. The water from the bowsers was making the smoke so thick it was hard to breathe at all, but to his experienced eye it seemed they were at last beginning to make a bit of headway. He peered through the swirling smoke to the youngest volunteers, who were still working at clearing the felled trees. Their youth and enthusiasm meant they stood a chance of holding this beast at bay.

He blinked the stinging sweat and grime from his eyes and actually grinned as he saw Pete and Mark Baker, the reverend’s twins, enthusiastically beat out two rivers of flame that were heading for quite a large clump of very dry grass. They’d certainly proved themselves today – as had every man here.

Ben pulled the kerchief back over his nose and resumed digging. He was working alongside Charley Sawyer, who was swinging the pickaxe with ease, his great arms moving like a metronome as the rock-hard earth yielded to his assault. The other men might not have been built like Charley, but they too seemed to have got into a rhythm and the trench was growing rapidly.

The roar and crackle of the fire, the ringing of axes against wood and the shouts of the men almost drowned the voice that came over the walkie-talkie that Ben had attached to his belt. Stepping away from the work, he turned his back on the fire and sought the meagre shelter of a nearby truck to get out of the heat.

‘Ben Freeman,’ he said tersely.

‘We’re going to need more help over here,’ came Jake’s shout. ‘The homestead’s gone and the fire’s spreading towards Wilga. I’ve had five casualties already and don’t reckon we can hold it back much longer.’

‘Have you heard from the other fire stations?’

‘Like you, we’ve got men from Quilpie, Charleville and Thargomindah working to the south of the fire – but we can’t hold it back this side without more help.’