De Witt heard Lyle grunt and go down. Spinning, he stared in horror as, in a move almost too fast to follow, the Indian sprinted forward, grabbed a knot of hair, scored the knife blade around Trooper Lyle’s skull, placed his knee in the dead man’s back and ripped away the bleeding scalp. Only then did he wrench the tomahawk from the dead man’s chest and turn towards Trooper York’s body.

Stryker, meanwhile, having discharged both his weapons, was attempting to control Fitch’s horse. “Ride, Reverend! It’s our only chance!”

As Stryker vaulted into the saddle, another musket cracked. Stryker’s mount reared and the corporal’s body pitched to the ground. Freed from restraint, the horse took off, mane flying. It did not get far. There came yet another sharp report and the animal faltered. A second shot sent it crashing to the ground, eyes rolling white in its head, dark blood frothing from its nose.

Fear lent De Witt impetus, but as he hauled himself on to the mare’s back two more half-naked figures launched themselves over the lip from the opposite side of the gulley. Terrified, the pastor failed to see the new threat rising towards him.

It was only in the final second that he saw the dull gleam of steel as the sword curved towards the mare’s neck. Before he could react, he felt the shock as the blade sank into flesh. Following through with the blow, the attacker darted aside as the mare staggered under the assault. With her strength gone and the artery in her neck severed, she managed only a few faltering strides before her legs gave way and she collapsed to the ground, trapping the pastor beneath her.

A chorus of excited barks greeted the tumble.

De Witt shook his head dazedly. He had lost his hat and he was covered in blood, but not his own, for the mare’s heart was still pumping. He tried to move his legs but he could only feel his right one. His left was numb, pinned by the mare’s weight. As she convulsed and let go her final breath, the pastor looked for Stryker and saw the corporal’s bloodstained and motionless body in the dirt. Four wiry, semi-clad figures were crouched over him.

De Witt watched, helpless and in horror, as a knife rose and fell. The action was followed by a crow of triumph as a remnant of bloody scalp was brandished aloft. The pastor felt his stomach contract and his bowels turned to water when he saw their faces turn towards him.