And at least it was warm, so there would be no need to build a shelter; he could make do with the blanket beneath Jonah’s saddle. He knew how to build a fire; along with the tobacco tin he had a tinderbox, another legacy of the times he and Archer had spent together. Uncle Will had told him that if he was ever in the woods he should always carry the tools to make a flame. Fire provided warmth and a defence against predators. More importantly, when you were lost and alone, it raised the spirits. It meant you’d won your first battle against the wilderness.

So, if he could get a fire lit, it would be a start.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gunfire. Had he been alone, he would have struggled to tell which direction the sounds had come from, but Tam had turned his head half a second before the first shot even sounded, as if he’d anticipated the event. During the series of reports that followed, his focus did not waver.

“You hear that, lad? It’s the column! It must be!” Suddenly, he didn’t feel so afraid.

Picking up on the excitement in the boy’s voice, the dog wagged its tail.

The shots had come from a long way off, but gunfire signified people, which told him, if he discounted his horse and his dog, that he was no longer alone in the woods. That was enough to send a wave of relief coursing through him.

It was most likely a hunting party, he reasoned, sent out by the colonel to secure meat for the evening halt. He looked about him. Despite the density of the forest canopy there was still light beneath the trees. If he let Tam take the lead, there was every chance he’d be able to find his way back to the line, or at least cover most of the distance before it got too dark. With luck, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be close enough to see the cooking fires and they would guide him the last few yards.

Encouraged by that possibility, he cast aside all thoughts of finding a place to sleep and instead, with Tam running ahead of him, nose to the trail, he set off towards the source of the gunshots.

Tewanias had settled into a comfortable loping gait, unencumbered by the weight of his musket; his war club was strapped firmly across his back. He was breathing easily and, save for the soft pad of his moccasin-shod feet on the forest floor and the swish of his ammunition pouch against his hip, he produced no extraneous sounds as he ran.