Mrs Greaves folded her arms and considered her patient. ‘You are looking better this morning. Are you hungry?’

‘I’ve not eaten since we stopped at the river yesterday so yes, ma’am, I am a mite hungry.’

‘I’ll see to some food,’ she said. ‘In the meantime, the doctor is here to see you.’

She stood aside to admit the doctor. Caleb had only the dimmest memory of the man from the day before and what he did remember was not favourable. The man had not been able to do his job without the help of a whiskey flask, but in the morning light the cheerful face surrounded by a halo of white hair inspired a certain degree of confidence.

‘Well then, Mr Hunt. Welcome to Maiden’s Creek. Not sure if I introduced myself properly. Alfred Bowen,’ the doctor said, the soft lilt of an Irish accent still pronounced.

‘Doc,’ Caleb acknowledged warily, scanning the man’s florid face for signs of inebriation, but Bowen appeared perfectly sober.

‘What brings you to Maiden’s Creek, Mr Hunt?’ Bowen said as he peeled back the bandage.

‘I have a claim. Pretty Sally—’ He broke off and swore volubly at the doctor’s ungentle touch. ‘My leg is not broken but it will be if you treat it like that.’

‘Good God,’ the doctor said.

They both stared at the bright green mash that had been smeared over the injury. The doctor sniffed it. ‘Parsley,’ he concluded. ‘Miss Redley’s work, unless I am much mistaken.’ He cleaned the gunk away, revealing the swollen and blackened injury. ‘I have something a little more efficacious than parsley. Time for my friends.’

He produced a glass jar from his bag that he held up to the light.

Caleb winced, recognising the dark shapes. ‘Leeches?’

‘Best cure I know for bruising.’

The doctor extracted half-a-dozen of the bloodsuckers and placed them strategically on the hoof-shaped imprint, where they immediately attached.

Caleb shuddered. He hated leeches but he had to agree with Bowen, they were a good cure for such a bad bruise. Certainly better than Netty’s parsley mash.

Bowen pulled up a stool and sat down, watching like a proud father as his little assistants went to work. ‘It’ll be a few weeks before you’re fully fit again. Where did you say your claim was?’

‘Pretty Sally.’

‘You won’t be seeing it for a while yet, Mr Hunt. Pretty Sally is a hell of a hike.’

‘Is all the countryside around here this steep?’

‘Worse,’ Bowen said. ‘Can you bend your knee for me?’

Caleb complied, glad that the man’s shaking fingers were required to do no more than this basic prodding.

‘I was a surgeon at Sebastapol,’ Bowen said. ‘I thought I was done with soldiers.’

‘How did you know I’ve been a soldier?’