‘Was he now?’ he replied as he kept his expression neutral and examined Danny’s limbs and ribs for any breakages.

‘Yeah, and my mate George’s dad was a soldier too. His name was John Blake.’

His heart was thudding and his hand wasn’t quite steady as he dabbed at the head wound with the cleanest part of his handkerchief. ‘Is that so?’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ said Danny with a sniff. ‘But John Blake and Dad didn’t come back.’ He looked up, his eyes wide and bright with unshed tears. ‘I thought you might be my daddy, you see,’ he added wistfully.

‘Now why should you think that, Danny?’

‘I heard Frank’s story about you,’ he said, his voice hitching, ‘and when I saw you coming out of the smoke I thought you might be Daddy coming to help me.’

His little voice was so plaintive it struck his heart, and he wanted to take him into his arms and rock away all the anguish that was clearly coursing through him. ‘My name is John Miller,’ he said instead, his own voice rough with emotion, ‘but I’m sure your daddy is watching over you right now. Perhaps he even sent me to find you.’ He gave the boy a reassuring smile. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts and spirits and things like the black fellas do, but I’ve been having some funny dreams lately,’ he finished.

‘Me too,’ he sniffed.

‘Now, Danny, we’ve got to get out of here. The fire is under control now, but all this smoke isn’t doing either of us any good.’ He regarded the boy solemnly. He was very pale. ‘It looks like you’re a bit shook about, mate. Can you walk, d’you think?’

‘I climbed down that rock, didn’t I?’ he retorted, his chin lifting in defiance despite the wariness in his eyes as he glanced away towards the fire. ‘Reckon I ain’t a baby. Course I can walk.’

He held out his hand and helped Danny to his feet. He saw the last of the colour drain from his face and his eyelids flutter and caught him as he fainted. Cradling him to his chest, he looked down at the pale, freckled face, his thoughts and emotions in turmoil – and then he picked up his kitbag and strode back into the smoke towards the dark pinnacles of Morgan’s Reach.

*

Django had been tracking Danny all afternoon. It hadn’t been hard once Billy Blue told him he’d been fascinated by Frank’s stories and had even mentioned going to Goff’s Siding to see where the mysterious soldier had been.

He’d followed the trail of tyre treads in the soft earth at the side of the round, and the discarded crusts of peanut-butter sandwiches – found where he’d hidden in a storm ditch, and eventually discovered the bike in the undergrowth.