She held the butt between her finger and thumb. The long barrel and revolving chamber of the weapon gleamed from regular care and the wood of the stock was polished to a high sheen from handling. The intricate inlay on the butt marked it as a weapon of some value and undoubted importance to its owner. She unloaded the firearm and set it on a side table with its ammunition.

Whoever Mr Hunt was, he felt dangerous and the sooner he was gone from her house the better.

Gritting her teeth, she peeled back the fabric from the wound on his leg. It had stopped bleeding but it looked nasty, a blackening mass swelling the leg above the knee. The horse had caught him a glancing blow. Certainly enough to inconvenience him for a while.

‘I’m right sorry to be a nuisance.’

Adelaide started at the low voice that carried the soft, flattened vowels of an American. She turned to look into his face. A pair of steady slate-grey eyes watched her with a peculiar intensity. ‘You’re not a nuisance,’ she replied. ‘By all accounts, you saved my son and for that I thank you.’

He moved his leg and grimaced, the corners of his eyes creasing into well-carved grooves. ‘I don’t think it’s broken,’ he said through tight lips. ‘Just patch it up and I’ll be on my way.’

‘I’ll let the doctor be the judge of that,’ Adelaide said and looked up at a sharp rap on the back door. ‘Thank goodness.’

She stood aside to admit William Penrose and Dr Alfred Bowen, an Irishman in his late middle age with a cheerful disposition and a reputation for not being sober after midday. As Dr Bowen passed she caught whiskey fumes and frowned, hoping the doctor wouldn’t need to do anything too serious with his patient.

They were followed by Amos Burrell carrying the mailbags.

‘Is ’e all right?’ Amos jerked his head at Hunt.

Adelaide glared at the coachman. ‘Next time pay more attention to your duties and less to a pretty face and these accidents won’t happen. Now go and put the mail in the post office and come back here. We may need you.’

Amos looked down at his dusty boots and mumbled something that sounded like ‘Yes, ma’am,’ as he sidled out of the door, passing Netty. The two exchanged glances and Netty coloured.

Penrose and Bowen stood looking down at the stranger. Bowen slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a battered silver flask from which he took a swig.

Penrose glanced at Adelaide and shrugged. They had no choice. Bowen was the only doctor in Maiden’s Creek and his drinking did not generally seem to affect his skills.