The man from Windorah was still grinning as he slammed a meaty hand on Ben’s shoulder. ‘No worries, mate. We’ll put her out for you, and then get over to Carey Downs – they’ve got a real bastard to deal with by all accounts.’ He turned away and began to bellow orders to his men.

As Ben smiled ruefully and eased his bruised shoulder he watched the four bowsers line up next to his, and within minutes the jets were soaking the long line of men who were still hacking at the trees and beating back the flames. He began to breathe more easily, for beneath that heavy onslaught of water the flames were dying, the roar of the fire and the crackle of flame finally falling silent.

Ben contacted Jake on the walkie-talkie. ‘How’s it going over there?’

‘Better now we’ve got some help from Windorah and Blackall. The blokes from Charleville and Quilpie say they’re making some headway to the south of us. But Big Mac got himself badly burned. Silly bugger was trying to race the fire and get the gas canisters and stores of kerosene out of the barn when the whole thing blew hell west and crooked.’

‘But he’s all right, isn’t he?’

‘He’ll live,’ said Jake, ‘but the Chinese cook’s dead, and two others won’t make it either. I’ve sent nine casualties back to the hospital, and can’t afford to lose any more. How is it at your end?’

‘We’re winning now we’ve got help. Once I’m sure it’s dowsed enough to keep just a small working party here, we’ll be on our way.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Jake, and cut the connection.

Ben took a long drink of water and grabbed a rather stale-looking sandwich from the nearby tucker box. The fire was definitely ebbing. The bowsers were inching southward as the men on the ground continued to chop down trees and beat the flames into submission with shovels and sacking and anything else they could lay their hands on. Deciding that the big man from Windorah had everything under control for the moment, he reached again for the walky-talky.

‘Any news of Danny?’

‘Django called in about an hour ago,’ replied a weary-sounding Emily. ‘He reckons Danny must have gone along the main road, heading your way, because he found his bike under some bushes about ten miles north of Goff’s Siding.’

‘What the bloody hell was he doing out there?’

‘I have no idea,’ she retorted crossly. ‘Django said he was following his tracks, that’s all. I’m not a flaming mind reader.’

He scrubbed his face with his free hand. ‘Sorry, Em. I didn’t mean to shout at you.’

‘We’re all at the end of our tethers, Ben. I’ll tell you the minute I get any news. How’s Jake?’