Kane’s hat was blown off; he did not stop to retrieve it but slowed his pony down to a walk. His younger brother would be furious with him for giving up the race, but Kane was in no mood for the contest. Luke was out of sight now and Kane lingered along the edge of a narrow fast-running stream to see if it held any wild watercress with its dark green tangy leaves. He loved wild cress piled on top of thickly buttered bread, soaked in vinegar and liberally sprinkled with sea salt. He would eat it late at night with Beatrice, who could be relied on to keep his waywardness a secret; she approved of boys being boys.

There were many unusual and sometimes eerie sounds to be heard on the moors. Rumours of lost souls of those who had stumbled and drowned in the bogs came to mind and folk were apt to look fearfully over their shoulders. All thoughts of watercress and secret suppers vanished as Kane heard a cry like nothing he had heard before. His heart hammering in his chest, he urged his pony forward.

Luke was a good distance away from him but it soon registered in Kane’s mind that what he could hear were the terrified high-pitched screams of his brother. Kane spurred his pony on, dreading what had happened.

He found Luke lying face down over a granite boulder close to the meeting house; his pony could just be seen running a race of its own along the path that led to the Wheal Ember mine. Bringing his mount to a jarring halt Kane hurtled off and raced to his brother who was now babbling incoherently.

Kane recoiled in horror when he saw Luke’s injuries. There was a deep gash that seemed to reach right across his head which was running with blood, and his right arm was forced back and upwards at the shoulder at a grotesque angle.

Fearfully Kane moved closer and touched Luke’s good shoulder.

‘Can you get up, Luke? Can you move at all?’

Luke kept babbling and Kane fought his horror and fear to stop himself from freezing on the spot. With an effort he knelt down to look into Luke’s stricken face. Blood from the gash was trickling over his face and dripping off his chin.

Kane wanted to be sick but he knew he had to do something, to take charge of the situation, or his brother might die. His voice was panicky but the words came out clearly.

‘I’ll get you on my pony, Luke. You’re not to worry, you’ll be all right, I… I promise.’