It was very slow at first – almost a lazy meander of brown that travelled deep into the heart of those clumps where it could gather strength and begin to spread. But the fumes of petrol coming from the boot were a deadly haze, drifting about the car waiting for the first spark to ignite it.

As the heat increased in the dry embrace of those pale fronds they wilted and charred under the assault. And then the first flame flickered to life.

Within moments it was joined by others, finding the dribble of petrol that traced the path of the metal cap kicked into the field – and racing to feed upon it. The narrow stream voraciously engulfed the petrol-soaked cap and became a much larger, hungrier flow, extending its reach, moving inexorably towards the can that lay shimmering in the half-light.

But there were other flames lapping hungrily at the overheated undersides of the car. The air shimmered like a living thing as the birds rose from the surrounding trees with shrill cries of alarm and the hot wind began to blow across the empty landscape.

The first explosion sent the remains of the petrol can into the air – feeding the fire – widening its reach.

The second was much bigger, and blew the car apart. Boot, bonnet and doors were flung into the undergrowth beneath the trees as the windscreen shattered and the leather seats began to burn. One of the tyres was tossed across the track in a cartwheel of flame to land in a welcoming bed of dead leaves and twigs that lay on the edge of the forest that covered several thousand square miles and led to numerous homesteads and stations.

The flames engulfed the car now, and still they multiplied, reaching out with greedy fingers to consume everything in their path as the hot wind strengthened. The overhanging trees were already blossoming with flame as the fire raced up the slender white trunks in search of more fuel. And there was fuel aplenty in the eucalyptus oil that emanated from their leaves.

As the fire claimed the trees on both sides of the narrow track the heated breath of the wind stoked the flames to greater fury. There was little chance of anyone seeing it in time to stop it spreading further. The low clouds masked the smoke, a range of mountains stood between it and the fire-watch station at Morgan’s Reach, the nearest homestead was over a hundred miles away – and Algernon Baker had been mistaken when he’d thought he was on the main road.

8

It had been a long tussle of wills, but Becky had finally managed to give the blacksmith an injection in his hairy backside. ‘There,’ she said, giving the spot a brisk rub to ease the sting, ‘that’ll stop you being sick.’

‘I hate needles,’ Charley muttered as he pulled up his pyjama trousers. ‘When can I get outta here?’