“We’ll hold them off, give you time to get away.” Wyatt removed his hand and turned. “You gave us quite a scare, lad. You hurt?”

The boy shook his head.

“Good. You’re to go with Tewanias. He’ll look after you.”

“They’re coming, Lieutenant!” Donaldson announced.

Wyatt turned to Tewanias. “I need you to do this. We’ll follow if we can, but you keep him safe. Promise me?”

Tewanias continued to hold Wyatt’s gaze. A second passed, then two. Finally, he nodded.

The boy stared at Wyatt. “Aren’t you coming?”

Wyatt smiled. “We’ll be along, lad. Right now, our job is to slow the buggers down. You do as Tewanias says. You and Tam, you stay with him, no matter what. He says run, you run. He says hide, you hide. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good lad.”

“Best make it quick,” Donaldson warned, cocking his rifle.

“Two hundred and seventy yards, Lieutenant,” Boone said. The scout spat out the remains of his tobacco plug, raised himself up, rested the length of his rifle on the top trunk and tucked the weapon into his shoulder. “Fish in a Goddamned barrel.”

The Mohawk slipped the Oneida’s carbine from his shoulder and handed it to Wyatt, keeping possession of his own gun. The message was obvious: You’ll need all the help you can get.

“All right, boys.” Wyatt said, placing the carbine to one side in readiness. “Pick your targets.” To Tewanias, he said, “Run when I say. They’ll be in range for us, but you’ll be out of range for them.”

“Unless the buggers have got rifles as well,” Billy Drew muttered.

“Not helpful, Billy,” Donaldson said sternly.

The Rangers, as skirmishers, all carried rifles which, although they took longer to load, were more accurate than muskets; useful for shooting at specific targets from a distance, namely enemy officers. Regular troops were issued with muskets, including those on the Continental side, but militia used their own weapons, which because they were used for hunting, tended to have grooved bores.

“Time to find out,” Wyatt said. He flicked a glance at Tewanias who, along with the boy, was crouched low, ready to move. “Set?”

The Mohawk reached out, laid his hand on the Ranger’s shoulder. “O:nen ki’ wahi’, Wy-att.”

Wyatt smiled ruefully. Words seemed inadequate.

As Tewanias took the boy’s arm, Wyatt turned back and raised his weapon. “Aim for the uniforms – they’re more likely to be the officers. Pick your targets. Take your first shots from me.”

Steadying his breathing, Wyatt signalled that he was ready and the four Rangers and the scout rose as one. Sighting on a blue uniform, Wyatt exhaled slowly, paused, and fired.

The cue taken, four rifles cracked alongside him. As the smoke dissipated, five distant figures were left sprawling.

“Now,” Wyatt said.