Teasing the torn edges of the material around the entry hole in each garment back into their original position with his forefinger and thumb, Hawkwood examined how closely the edges fitted together. It was a crude way of judging if any material had been shorn off by the musket ball and forced into the wound. Thankfully, from what he could see, the volume of the material looked to be intact. It wasn’t a fool-proof method of detecting the possibility of foreign intrusion, but it was the only measure they had to go by, under the circumstances.

Inspecting the wound again, Hawkwood was relieved to discover that there didn’t appear to have been significant blood loss since the makeshift bandage was applied. The main concern now was the risk of infection. Having seen the state of the troopers and the encampment, there was no telling what manner of dirt had become engrained within the fibres of their clothing.

Both men understood the consequences of allowing wounds to go untreated. For now, though, they had no option but to deal with the injury as best they could with the materials available, which were precious few. The priority must be to keep the wound as clean and as dry as possible.

A further search of the cabin brought to light a treasure trove in the shape of a dented tin mug. Using water from one of the canteens to swill it out, Hawkwood refilled it and placed it at the side of the fire. When the contents began to bubble, he removed it from the ashes, waited a few minutes, then, taking a strip from Lawrence’s already torn shirt and dipping it into the water, he ignored his patient’s muttered expletives and swabbed the wound as best he could, before reapplying the pads and the make-do bandage.

Lawrence dug out the strips of pemmican he’d found and passed one to Hawkwood. Clad in their greatcoats and huddled over the fire, they chewed on them while they checked the arms and ammunition. The cartridges had been well packed in the troopers’ pouches and had retained their integrity. The muskets they dried and cleaned as best they could after their immersion in the river. As they worked, they felt the warmth returning to their bones.

When the time came for them to depart, they did so with some reluctance, torn between the desire to linger in front of the fire and the knowledge that to stay would invite the risk of capture.

The good news was that both sets of breeches were dry, as was Lawrence’s shirt. His jacket still held some residual dampness, but it was wearable, if slightly scorched in places.

Extinguishing the fire, they made their exit. Outside, the night seemed twice as cold as it had before they had taken shelter, giving them one more pressing reason to keep moving.