The roar could be heard long before the falls came into view. Situated in a wide cleft at the end of a wooded gorge and tumbling in a thundering cascade from a height of seventy feet, it dominated the scenery around it. The narrowing of the gorge forced the track to veer away from the valley floor and up on to the side of the slope where it rose in a steady incline before eventually disappearing from view over the cataract’s boulder-strewn rim. Vapour from the falls filled the air and it was not long before the Oneidas’ muscled bodies were damp and glistening with spray. As they climbed higher, the noise of the water grew in volume, muting all other sounds.

Including the first gunshot.

The lead warrior was flung backwards as the rifle ball took him in the throat before angling upwards into his brain. The second man was unaware of the strike until he saw the back of his companion’s skull blow apart, showering him in blood and bone. As the scout let go a warning yell, Jem Beddowes, concealed among the rocks at the top of the slope, took his shot and grunted in satisfaction as his target clutched at his chest and jerked aside, toppling over the edge of the path into the torrent raging below. The surviving Oneida turned to flee, eyes widening as Wyatt and Billy Drew stepped into view, cutting off their retreat. There was nowhere to run. Both Rangers fired as one. The dual reports were deadened by the deluge of water. The Oneida went down, limbs splayed. From first shot to last, the culling had taken less than five seconds.

Donaldson and Jem Beddowes were already on their feet and making their way down the path, rifles cradled. Wyatt and Drew met them where the bodies lay in crumpled abandon.

“Bastards,” Donaldson swore. His face and hair were beaded with water droplets. Nudging the nearest corpse with the toe of his moccasin, his expression grew even harder. “Ah, sweet Jesus,” he murmured.

Wyatt looked down. Attached to the strap of the dead warrior’s ammunition pouch was a ragged segment of bloodstained flesh and matted black hair.

Beddowes reached for the knife at his waist.

“Don’t do it, Jem,” Billy Drew said warningly, taking his companion’s arm.

The flesh around Beddowes’ jaw tightened. His face a mask, he slid the knife back into its sheath.

Wyatt let go a sigh.

“What?” Donaldson turned.

“We’re missing one,” Wyatt said.

The others looked at him.

“Tewanias said there were four.”

“Could have got it wrong,” Billy Drew said.

Donaldson shook his head. “If Tewanias says there’s four, that’s how many there are.” He looked at Wyatt. “You think he passed us?”

“Not since we got here, and their point man wouldn’t be that far in front. He must have left a ways back, while we were skirting round them.”