‘Stop it, Becky,’ murmured Jane, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Thinking the worst won’t bring them home any quicker.’

Becky blinked away the tears and forced herself to keep her hands steady as she bathed Big Mac’s burns. ‘I know, but …’

As if on cue there was a shout from the street. ‘They’re back! They’re back!’

Becky and Jane looked at one another, hope gleaming in their eyes. ‘You go,’ said Jane. ‘It might be Django and Danny.’

She didn’t need telling twice, and ran out of the examination room and straight into Frances, who was hysterically trying to stop her son from going back to the fire.

‘Let him go, Frances,’ she said as she pushed past in the narrow corridor. ‘They need every hand they can get out there, and your boy has proved today that he’s man enough to join them.’

Without waiting for Frances’s reaction, she ran out on to the veranda to find that it was quite dark now, and a warm wind was blowing the dust along the street.

Her initial response to the scene was one of mixed emotions. It hadn’t been Danny and Django who’d come back, but at least one of her family had made it home safely. For Delilah was perched regally on her stock horse, her children clinging to her as she lead the Carey Downs convoy into town.

But as she watched the townspeople welcome the long cavalcade of wagons, horses, cars, lorries and utes, she could see no sign of the white hospital utility. Dread chilled her as she ran down the steps and caught up with Delilah, who was swinging down from her horse. ‘Where’s Dad?’

The Aboriginal girl frowned as she turned back and regarded the untidy gathering which had followed her through the bush and into town. ‘Missus Milly alonga have baby,’ she muttered. ‘Doc say along me, quick, quick. We alonga give good track ’im follow.’

‘That’s the last of the convoy, Delilah,’ Rebecca replied, her voice tight with fear and tension as the wind ruffled her hair. ‘He’s not there, which means he’s still back on the track somewhere – and the wind’s getting up.’

‘I alonga get ’im. Take kids.’ She dumped the baby in Rebecca’s arms and nudged the two toddlers towards her. ‘Go Missus Becka,’ she told them firmly. ‘Mum alonga back soon.’ With that she stuck her bare foot in the stirrup, swung up into the saddle and urged the sturdy little mount into a gallop.

The baby started howling and the two small girls looked up at her with wide tear-filled eyes and trembling chins. Rebecca knew that if she didn’t do something quickly, she’d have three screaming children on her hands. ‘Come on,’ she said, jiggling the baby in her arms and holding out her free hand. ‘Reckon you might like a couple of bickies and some milk?’