It hurt every time he breathed, and he suspected he’d cracked a rib or two when he’d fallen on that hard gravel. His head was pounding, his vision was blurred and a spear of agony shot up his leg every time Betsy slipped on the uneven shale. He was fighting the nausea and the ever-increasing darkness that filled his head – and was finding it almost impossible to stay on the mare’s back. Yet he knew he couldn’t give in to it. Knew he had to keep going until his precious Sal was safe.

‘Max, look,’ she said excitedly some time later. ‘There’s a dip in the bank.’

He tried to focus on where she was pointing, but the bank seemed to be shifting and swaying, the trees blurring into a kaleidoscope of mixed hues. ‘You lead the way,’ he murmured. ‘Betsy will follow Molly without any trouble.’

‘Max? Max, you look terrible. What is it?’

He couldn’t bear to see such love and concern in her expression and hurriedly looked away. ‘I’m fine,’ he said brusquely as he blinked the cold, stinging sweat from his eyes and took a firmer hold on the rope halter.

‘Well, you don’t look it,’ she replied. ‘Come on, follow me, and as soon as we get out of this damned river bed, you’re going to rest.’

He couldn’t afford to rest, didn’t dare lie down and give in to the throbbing, urgent need to sink into the oblivion that threatened to overwhelm him. He dipped his chin and tried to take deep, even breaths to combat the faintness, but each breath seared like a knife in his side.

Yet he kept going – kept tight hold of the halter and Betsy’s mane and almost bit through his lip to stop from crying out as the mare scrambled up the slope, jolting his ribcage.

‘Right, that’s it,’ said Sal forcefully. She slid off Molly’s back and rushed to Max’s side. ‘Let me help you down, Max. You need to rest, and I want to check that head wound. It’s bleeding again.’

‘There isn’t time,’ he rasped. ‘We have to head east and get closer to the main road. I’ll rest then.’

‘But, Max,’ she protested, ‘you’re crook and—’

‘Just do as you’re told for once, Sal,’ he hissed, and before she could reply, he’d turned Betsy’s head to the east and was plodding away from her. He had no fear that she wouldn’t follow, and within minutes he heard Molly trotting along behind him.

‘Do you have any idea of where we are?’ she asked as she drew alongside, his satchel and the water-bag swinging from her shoulder. ‘Only it’s getting darker by the minute, and soon we won’t be able to see anything.’