Desperately, De Witt clawed for the opening to his saddle bag. Thrusting his hand inside, he searched for the pistol. Felt the stock beneath his fingers. His hand, though, was slick with the mare’s blood. The weapon slid from his grip. He made another frantic lunge. Curling his hand more firmly around the pistol butt, he pulled the weapon out and drew back the hammer.

Blood was trickling into the corner of his eye. Half-blinded, he tried to blink it away. Through a crimson mist, he saw that the Indians were making their way towards him. They were walking slowly. Taking their time, he realized; knowing full well that he wasn’t going anywhere.

One of them was holding a short sword. The blade dripped blood. De Witt knew this had to be the one who’d slit the mare’s throat. The sword-holder grinned. His mouth formed a malevolent gash in his sun-darkened face. Another brave extended a finger and mimed the pulling of a trigger; taunting him, playing on his terror. A third drew a long knife from a sheath across his chest.

Raising the pistol, De Witt thought of his wife and daughter.

“Forgive me, Esther,” he whispered tearfully.

Before placing the muzzle of the pistol in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

At the sound of the first shot, Wyatt raised his head. He didn’t have to ask the others if they’d heard it. He knew they had, even though it was very faint; just as they all heard the succession of reports that followed it.

“Don’t sound like a hunting party,” Donaldson said, frowning as the firing faded away. “How far do you reckon?”

“Hard to say,” Wyatt said. “Could be a mile, could be three.”

“Not the column then,” Billy Drew said.

Wyatt shook his head. “Too close. Besides, if they were under attack, there’d be more shooting.”

“Scouts in trouble?” Jem Beddowes suggested.

“Could be,” Wyatt said. “Only one way to find out.”

They set off running.

It was the stench of blood that drew them to the place of ambush and the faint whiff of powder that had failed to dissipate, having been trapped by the gulley’s walls. They had gauged the distance and then fanned out to cover the ground in a search pattern. Somewhat inevitably it was Tewanias – whose sense of smell had led them to the place – who discovered the first body.

The dead horse lay on its side. The blood from the wounds in its head and chest had congealed upon its hide and pooled on to the ground beneath it. The flies were already clustered thickly around the animal’s eyes, nostrils, mouth and hindquarters.

The next corpse was human and was sprawled a yard or so away, a wide slit in its throat and the front part of its scalp removed. The flies were busy there as well.

“Anyone know him?” Wyatt asked, looking down at the ruined features.