Boone touched his cap. “Colonel.” He turned to his companion. “Let’s go, Nate.”

There was neither disappointment nor resentment in either man’s expression, merely stoic acceptance of a decision made by a superior officer.

Johnson and Scott acknowledged the salute and watched as the two scouts waded out to the waiting gunboat. Then, with a final glance along the shore, the two officers set off for the jolly boat.

It was a short row out to the ship. As Inflexible’s crew sprang to their stations, Johnson commandeered a spyglass from the ship’s commander and led the way aft. Placing the instrument to his eye, he studied the shoreline once more.

“Any sign of them?” Scott asked after several long seconds had elapsed.

Collapsing the glass, Johnson sighed wearily. “No.”

“It doesn’t mean they haven’t found the boy,” Scott pointed out. “Or that they’ve run into trouble. Both Stryker and Wyatt think they have until midday to get here. We shouldn’t assume the worst because they haven’t made the boats. And as you reminded Boone and Cavett, they know to continue on foot. It’s a fair distance, but not that difficult a journey for men of their experience, especially at this time of year.”

Johnson’s gaze drifted towards the gunboat. It had yet to get underway.

Behind them the crew were scurrying about the deck as an officer yelled commands: “Top men aloft! Stand by all lines!”

Further south over the stern, Johnson could see the twin peaks of Bulwagga Mountain rising over the surrounding forest.

There was a clatter of blocks behind him as the ropes were hauled in tight. Canvas flapped loudly as the sails tumbled from the yards.

Steadying himself against the rail as the deck shifted, he turned back to his second-in-command as the Inflexible’s bow began to come round. As he did so, he caught sight of the gunboat and frowned. Her sail still hadn’t been raised.

Inflexible’s captain called out to his steersman. “Easy on the helm, Mr Swanson. A point to starboard, if you please!”

Scott followed Johnson’s gaze. “She in difficulties, do you think?”

Sluggishly, her sails filling, Inflexible began to gather momentum.

As Scott and Johnson looked on, a slim figure at the stern of the gunboat stood and raised his arm.

Johnson extended the spyglass and held it to his eye. “It’s Boone.”

“Why’s he holding his gun above his head?”

“He appears to be signalling.”

“Signalling?” Scott ducked as a yard let out an ominous groan above him.

“I’ll be damned,” Johnson muttered.

“What is it?” Scott asked. “Are they in trouble?”

“Only when I get them home. The damned fools.”